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.