pipe while he mused thus to himself: "Mebbe I'm wrong in takin' a
likin' to this youngster so sudden. Mebbe it's because I'm fond of
his sunny-haired lass, an' ag'in mebbe it's because I'm gettin' old
an' likes young folks better'n I onct did. Anyway, I'm kinder
thinkin, if this young feller gits worked out, say fer about twenty
pounds less, he'll lick a whole raft-load of wild-cats."

Joe walked to and fro on the logs, ascertained how the raft was put
together, and took a pull on the long, clumsy steering-oar. At
length he seated himself beside Lynn. He was eager to ask questions;
to know about the rafts, the river, the forest, the
Indians--everything in connection with this wild life; but already
he had learned that questioning these frontiersmen is a sure means
of closing their lips.

"Ever handle the long rifle?" asked Lynn, after a silence.

"Yes," answered Joe, simply.

"Ever shoot anythin'?" the frontiersman questioned, when he had
taken four or five puffs at his pipe.

"Squirrels."

"Good practice, shootin' squirrels," observed Jeff, after another
silence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined.
"Kin ye hit one--say, a hundred yards?"

"Yes, but not every time in the head," returned Joe. There was an
apologetic tone in his answer.