mid-air. He struck the ground with a heavy thump, made a blind leap
toward the youthful hunter, who recoiled several steps more, and
then, after a brief struggle, the beast lay dead.

During these moments, Jack Carleton, following the rule he was
taught when first given his gun, occupied himself with reloading the
weapon. A charge of powder was poured from the hollow cow's horn,
with its wooden stopper, into the palm of his hand, and this went
rattling like fine sand down the barrel. The square piece of muslin
was hammered on top until the ramrod almost bounded from the gun;
then the bullet which the youthful hunter had molded himself, was
shoved gently but firmly downward, backed by another bit of muslin.
The ramrod was pushed into its place, and the hammer, clasping the yellow,
translucent flint, was drawn far back, like the jaw of a wild cat,
and the black grains sprinkled into the pan. The jaw was slowly let
back so as to hold the priming fast, and the old fashioned rifle, such
as our grandfathers were accustomed to use, was ready for duty.

Jack surveyed the motionless figure on the ground and said:

"I don't think you'll ever amount to anything again as a painter; at
any rate, you ain't likely to drop on to a fellow's head when he is
walking under a tree."

And, without giving him any further notice, he turned about and
resumed his walk toward the Mississippi.

It was vain, however, for him to seek to suppress his anxiety. The
trail of the flying horse still indicated that he was going on a
dead run, and some unusual cause must have impelled him to do so.