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"If he try to escape, I swear by the bones of my grandfather," said the more inimical of the two, inheritor of a clan-feud with the Macruadhs, "I will shoot him." Bob of the Angels burst into a scornful laugh. "You will! will you?" "I will not kill him; I don't want to be hanged for him! but I will empty my shot-barrel into the legs of him! So take your chance; you are warned!"
"If he try to escape, I swear by the bones of my grandfather," said the more inimical of the two, inheritor of a clan-feud with the Macruadhs, "I will shoot him." Bob of the Angels burst into a scornful laugh. "You will! will you?" "I will not kill him; I don't want to be hanged for him! but I will empty my shot-barrel into the legs of him! So take your chance; you are warned!"
What the shot-barrel can not kill, the rifle will. It is not a gun that any sportsman would own, save as a curiosity, or for target use. The State Ornithologist of Massachusetts, Mr. E.H. Forbush, informs me that already the "Sunday gun" has become a scourge to the bird life of that state.
"So I jist up with old drop-'em, and I let drive with a handful o' bullets I had dropped into ther shot-barrel, and I put a piece o' lead on t'other side o' trail, dropped ther ribbons and set my two puppies ter barking, as soon as I hed laid ther silk onter ther team and got 'em inter a run.
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