Two guns hung on the spreading deer antlers there.

One was a musket Jean's father had used in the war of the rebellion and the other was a long, heavy, muzzle-loading flintlock Kentucky, rifle with which Jean had learned to shoot.
"Reckon I do, dad," replied Jean, and with reverent hands and a rush of memory he took the old gun down.
"Jean, you shore handle thet old arm some clumsy," said Guy Isbel, dryly.

And Bill added a remark to the effect that perhaps Jean had been leading a luxurious and tame life back there in Oregon, and then added, "But I reckon he's packin' that six-shooter like a Texan." "Say, I fetched a gun or two along with me," replied Jean, jocularly.
"Reckon I near broke my poor mule's back with the load of shells an' guns.

Dad, what was the idea askin' me to pack out an arsenal ?" "Son, shore all shootin' arms an' such are at a premium in the Tonto," replied his father.

"An' I was givin' you a hunch to come loaded." His cool, drawling voice seemed to put a damper upon the pleasantries.
Right there Jean sensed the charged atmosphere.