Island hunting yesterday afternoon, and camped on a piece of a raft we found, and about midnight he must a kicked his gun in his dreams, for it went off and shot him in the leg, and we wanted him to go over there and fix it and not say nothing about it, nor let anybody know, because we wanted to come home this evening and surprise the folks. “Who is your folks?” he says. “The Phelpses, down yonder.” “Oh,” he says.  And after a minute, he says: “How'd you say he got shot?” “He had a dream,” I says, “and it shot him.” “Singular dream,” he says. So he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, and we started.  But when he sees the canoe he didn't like the look of her--said she was big enough for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two.  I says: “Oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the three of us easy enough.” “What three?” “Why, me and Sid, and--and--and _the guns_; that's what I mean.” “Oh,” he says. But he put his foot on the gunnel and rocked her, and shook his head, and said he reckoned he'd look around for a bigger one.  But they was all locked and chained; so he took my canoe, and said for me to wait till he come back, or I could hunt around further, or maybe I better go down home and get them ready for the surprise if I wanted to.  But I said I didn't; so I told him just how to find the raft, and then he started. I struck an idea pretty soon.  I says to myself, spos'n he can't fix that leg just in three shakes of a sheep's tail, as the saying is? spos'n it takes him three or four days?  What are we going to do?--lay around there till he lets the cat out of the bag?  No, sir; I know what _I'll_ do.  I'll wait, and when he comes back if he says he's got to go any more I'll get down there, too, if I swim; and we'll take and tie him, and keep him, and shove out down the river; and when Tom's done with him we'll give him what it's worth, or all we got, and then let him get ashore. So then I crept into a lumber-pile to get some sleep; and ne