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. He
thought to hit it would be a fine shot; but was amazed when he heard
Colonel Zane say to several men who had joined the group that Wetzel
intended to shoot at a turtle on the log. By straining his eyes Joe
succeeded in distinguishing a small lump, which he concluded was the
turtle.

Wetzel took a step forward; the long, black rifle was raised with a
stately sweep. The instant it reached a level a thread of flame
burst forth, followed by a peculiarly clear, ringing report.

"Did he hit?" asked Colonel Zane, eagerly as a boy.

"I allow he did," answered Jonathan.

"I'll go and see," said Joe. He ran down the bank, along the beach,
and stepped on the log. He saw a turtle about the size of an
ordinary saucer. Picking it up, he saw a bullet-hole in the shell
near the middle. The bullet had gone through the turtle, and it was
quite dead. Joe carried it to the waiting group.

"I allowed so," declared Jonathan.

Wetzel examined the turtle, and turning to the old missionary, said:

"Your brother spoke the truth, an' I thank you fer the rifle."

Chapter VIII.

"So you want to know all about Wetzel?" inquired Colonel Zane of
Joe, when, having left Jim and Mr. Wells, they returned to the
cabin.

"I am immensely interested in him," replied Joe.

"Well, I don't think there's anything singular in that. I know
Wetzel better, perhaps, than any man living; but have seldom talked
about him. He doesn't like it. He is by