'Willie couldn't hit the broadside of a bam,' said Tip. 'He don't take
to it nat'ral.'
'Killin' an' book learnin' don't often go together,' said Uncle Eb.
I turned in by the side of Gerald and Uncle Eb went off with Tip
for another trip in the dugout. The night was chilly but the fire
flooded our shanty with its warm glow. What with the light, and the
boughs under us, and the strangeness of the black forest we got
little sleep. I heard the gun roar late in the night, and when I woke
again Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor were standing over the fire in the
chilly grey of the morning. A dead deer hung on the limb of a tree
near by. They began dressing it while Gerald and I went to the
spring for water, peeled potatoes, and got the pots boiling. After a
hearty breakfast we packed up, and were soon on the road again,
reaching Blueberry Lake before noon. There we hired a boat of the
lonely keeper of the reservoir, found an abandoned camp with an
excellent bark shanty and made ourselves at home.
That evening in camp was one to be remembered.
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