"I believe it was only a log! But wont you please load it up again for me?
Here are some cartridges." "Corny," said I, "how would you like to have our rifle?
It will be better than a pistol for you." She agreed, instantly, to this exchange, and I showed her how to hold and manage the gun.

I didn't think it was a very good thing for a girl to have, but it was a great deal safer than the pistol for the people on board.

The latter I put in my pocket.
Corny made one shot, but did no execution.

The other gunners on board had been firing away, for some time, at two little birds that kept ahead of us, skimming along over the water, just out of reach of the shot that was sent scattering after them.
"I think it's a shame," said Corny, "to shoot such little birds as that.
They can't eat 'em." "No," said I; "and they can't hit 'em, either, which is a great deal better." But very soon after this, the shorter yellow-legged man did hit a bird.
It was a water-turkey, that had been sitting on a tree, just as we turned a corner.

The big bird spread out its wings, made a doleful flutter, and fell into the underbrush by the shore.
"Wont they stop to get him ?" asked Corny, with her eyes open as wide as they would go.
One of the hands was standing by, and he laughed.
"Stop the boat when a man shoots a bird?
I reckon not.