The Wrong Man — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

10 , THE WRONG MAN Having finished loading his piece, he turned toward the person whose laugh had announced his approach. “Wal, my Yankee friend, what do you want?” he demanded, in a voice in which there was considerable asperity. “What do I want, eh ?” repeated the new-comer. “ Waal, now, Mr. Never-miss, that isa purty question for you to ask Haven't you ever hearn tell of the attraction of admiration ?” “No,” replied the hunter, who hardly knew how to take the meaping of the Yankee. “ Waal, now, that’s what has drawed me down into these parts, that same attraction of admiration. Hearing the report of your gun, I hurries around to get a glimpse of its effect, and J’ ve seen it.” The words of the speaker were uttered with a broad provin- cial twang, which made it evident the epithet of Yankee had not been misapplied. He was a tall, stout young man, with @ good-humored countenance, and a shrewd, knowing look, some- ‘what approaching to an expression of cunning. His florid cheeks proved that hc was not a permanent denizen of the western country, the iuhabitants of which, at that period, were erty marked by a more sallow complexion. He held in is hand a willow staff, just taken from the tree, and as he walked slowly along the beach, seemed busily engaged cutting a spiral strip from its bark, while a smirk on his broad face de- noted that he was satisfied with his attempt at wit. -A scowl was upon the hunter’s brow as he replied: “You had better mind your cart and tin-pans, Mr. Peddler, and not come cavorting about me; else you'll find ’'m marks- man enough for you.” “Du tell,” replied the Yankee, whittling as coolly as ever. “Perhaps you never have heern how we Yankees up in Con- necticut shoot, did you ?” “No; but I'll swear it ain’t much a “ You'll swear to a lie, then, that’s all. hy, you,” said the peddier, looking up with a beaming countenance, “ my dad was one of the greatest shots the world ever seen. He was ninety- seven years old when he died, and I remember the day before he was out huntin’ till dark.” “Did he shoot any thing ?”’ “Shoot any thing! You'd better believe he did. It took our two spun of oxen a week to bring in the animiles he brought down that day. My uncle tried to count the bears, and deers, and turkeys that we found, but, as he neyer learnt to count more’n a hundred, he had to give it up befure be got half through.” _ “Great dad he must ’ve ; think he might have made © “t} better than a tin ped of his son.” ithout noticing the insinv | te esi ticing auation, the personage spoken ta —