It was fully six feet long; the
barrel was large, and the dark steel finely polished; the stock was
black walnut, ornamented with silver trimmings. Using Jonathan's
powder-flask and bullet-pouch, Wetzel proceeded to load the weapon.
He poured out a quantity of powder into the palm of his hand,
performing the action quickly and dexterously, but was so slow while
measuring it that Joe wondered if he were counting the grains. Next
he selected a bullet out of a dozen which Jonathan held toward him.
He examined it carefully and tried it in the muzzle of the rifle.
Evidently it did not please him, for he took another. Finally he
scraped a bullet with his knife, and placing it in the center of a
small linsey rag, deftly forced it down. He adjusted the flint,
dropped a few grains of powder in the pan, and then looked around
for a mark at which to shoot.
Joe observed that the hunters and Colonel Zane were as serious
regarding the work as if at that moment some important issue
depended upon the accuracy of the rifle.
"There, Lew; there's a good shot. It's pretty far, even for you,
when you don't know the gun," said Colonel Zane, pointing toward the
river.
Joe saw the end of a log, about the size of a man's head, sticking
out of the water, perhaps an hundred and fifty yards distant.
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