asure in which he possessed them.

Old Jeff Lynn, riverman, hunter, frontiersman, puffed slowly at his
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.

Another interval followed in which neither spoke. Jeff was slowly
pursuing his line of thought. After Joe's last remark he returned
his pipe to his pocket and brought out a tobacco-pouch. He tore off
a large portion of the weed and thrust it into his mouth. Then he
held out the little buckskin sack to Joe.

"Hev' a chaw," he said.

To offer tobacco to anyone was absolutely a borderman's guarantee of
friendliness toward that person.

Jeff expectorated half a dozen times, each time coming a little
nearer the stone he was aiming at, some five yards distant. Possibly
this was the borderman's way of oiling up his conversational
machinery. At all events, he commenced to talk.

"Yer brother's goin' to preach out here, ain't he? Preachin' is all
right, I'll allow; but I'm kinder doubtful about preachin' to
redskins. Howsumever, I've knowed Injuns who are good fellows, and
there's no tellin'. What are ye goin' in fer--farmin'?"

"No, I wouldn't make a good farmer."

"Jest cum out kinder wild like, eh?" rejoined Jeff, knowingly.

"I wanted to come West bec