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.