"Your shot doesn't seem to have hurt him at all." "Yes, it did," insisted Tom.

"I hit him, for he jumped." "But you only made him more angry; I am afraid we are not through with him yet." The rifle was of the old-fashioned, muzzle-loading kind, and Aunt Cynthia gave what help she could to her nephew, as he began reloading it.

From the powder flask she poured a charge down the barrel, upon which Tom pressed the conical bullet, wrapped about with a small bit of greased muslin.

Then he had only to place a percussion-cap on the tube, and he was ready for business.
But before this stage of the proceedings was reached, something startling happened.
Jim Travers paid no heed to what his young friend was doing.

Stooping over the burning wood in the fireplace, the flame of which was quite feeble, because the day was mild, he began fanning it with his hat.