I have come down from big game to vermin.

I have here a saloon rifle.

I wait till a water-rat comes, and then I shoot him." The canoe had drifted closer to the land, the paddle trailing in the water.
"You are looking at my white hairs," he went on, in a sudden need of conversation.

"Please bring your boat a little nearer." The paddle twisted lazily in the water like a fish's tail.
"Hold tight," he said, reaching down.
With a little laugh he lifted the canoe and its occupant far up on to the bank.
"Despite my white hairs," he said, with a tap of both hands on his broad chest.
"I attach no importance to them," she answered, taking his proffered hand and stepping over the light bulwark.

"I have gray ones myself.