Satan was mine! Frank and Jim came along early in the afternoon.

What with packing, changing saddles and shoeing the horses, we were all busy.

Old Baldy would not be shod, so we let him off till a more opportune time.

By four o'clock we were riding toward the slopes of Buckskin, now only a few miles away, standing up higher and darker.
"What's that for ?" inquired Wallace, pointing to a long, rusty, wire-wrapped, double-barreled blunderbuss of a shotgun, stuck in the holster of Jones's saddle.
The Colonel, who had been having a fine time with the impatient and curious hounds, did not vouchsafe any information on that score.

But very shortly we were destined to learn the use of this incongruous firearm.