“I nearly always say so—­I’ve said so so often that I can’t help it.  But now, as we are on the right footing, I can tell you that I wintered once in Arkansaw, and that’s enough to let you know I’m no greenhorn, no how you can fix it.  And moreover, I tell you, if old Boone wasn’t here hisself, I’d kill this bar as sure as a gun, and my gun is as sure as a streak of lightning run into a barrel of gunpowder;” and as he spoke he threw up his heavy gun and saluted the iron with his lips.

“Is your’s a rifle?” inquired Joe, to prolong the conversation, his companion showing symptoms of a disposition to fall into his habit of going ahead again.

“Sartainly!  Does anybody, I wonder, expect to do any thing with a shot-gun in sich a place as this?”

“Mine’s a shot-gun,” said Joe.

“Dod—­did you ever kill any thing better than a quail with it?” inquired Sneak, contemptuously.

“I never killed any thing in my life with it—­I never shot a gun in all my life before to-night,” said Joe.

“Dod, you haven’t fired it to-night, to my sartain knowledge.”

“I mean I never went a shooting.”

“Did you load her yourself?” inquired Sneak, taking hold of the musket and feeling the calibre.

“Yes—­but I’m sure I did it right.  I put in a handful of powder, and paper on top of it, and then poured in a handful of balls,” said Joe.

“Ha! ha! ha!  I’ll be busted if you don’t raise a fuss if you ever get a shot at the bar!” said Sneak, with emphasis.

“That’s what I am after.”

“Why don’t you go ahead?” demanded Sneak, as Joe’s pony stopped suddenly, with his ears thrust forward.  “Dod! whip him up,” continued he, seeing that his companion was intently gazing at some object ahead, and exhibiting as many marks of alarm as Pete.  “It’s nothing but a stump!” said Sneak, going forwards and kicking the object, which was truly nothing more than he took it to be.  Joe then related to him all the particulars of his nocturnal affair with the supposed stump, previous to his arrival at the camp, and Sneak, with a hearty laugh, admitted that both he and the pony were excusable for inspecting all the stumps they might chance to come across in the dark in future.  They now emerged into the open space which was the boundary of the woods, and after clambering up a steep ascent for some minutes, they reached the summit of a tall range of bluffs.  From this position the sun could be seen rising over the eastern ridges, but the flat woods that had been traversed still lay in darkness below, and silent as the tomb, save the hooting of owls as they flapped to their hollow habitations in the trees.