shirt off my back afore I wos done with it."

"I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimed
Varley, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly young
backwoodsman, as he joined them.

His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. It
missed fire, and it hung fire; and even when it did fire, it remained
a matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations
from the direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or
_its_ bad shooting.

Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or more
hunters on the scene of action. They were a sturdy set of bronzed,
bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they would
prove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight.
A few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground with the
prize rifle on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--the
latter tumbling, scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat and
clumsy, and happy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten that
it had been nearly roasted alive only a few weeks before.

Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussed
with animation.

And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never before
been seen on the western frontier. It was shorter in the barrel and
larger in the bore than the weapons chiefly in vogue at that time,