"All that level ahead of us. In spring, and in summer too, unless it's a dry season, there's water everywhere among the trees and bushes; but it's frozen hard now."
"What is there beyond?"
"Nothing but mountains, 'way back into the Adirondacks. We'd better load up, Charley."
"Why, are not the guns loaded?"
"No. Father never lets a loaded gun come into the house. Aunt Sally won't either. Shall I load your gun for you?"
"Load my gun! Well, I guess not. As if I couldn't load my own gun!"
Charley set himself to work at once, for the movements of old Nap were getting more and more eager and rapid, and there was no telling what might happen.
But Charley had never loaded a gun before in all his life. Still, it was a very simple piece of business, and he knew all about it. He had read of it and heard it talked of ever so many times, and there was Jim loading his own gun within ten feet, just as if he meant to show how it should be done. He could imitate Jim, at all events; and so he thought he did, to the smallest item; and he hurried to get through as quickly, for it would not do to be beaten by a country boy. And then, too, there was old Napoleon Bonaparte—that is to say Nap—beginning to yelp like mad.
They were just on the edge of the swamp, and it was, as Jim said, "a great place for rabbits."
"He's after one! There he comes!"