noon
`` You can shoot , then ! '' demanded the trapper , with a glow of latent fire , glimmering about his eyes ; `` is your hand true , and your look quick ? '' `` The first is like a steel trap , and the last nimbler than a buck-shot . I wish it was hot noon , now , grand ` ther ; and that there was an acre or two of your white swans or of black feathered ducks going south , over our heads ; you or Ellen , here , might set your heart on the finest in the flock , and my character against a horn of powder , that the bird would be hanging head downwards , in five minutes , and that too , with a single ball . I scorn a shot-gun ! No man can say , he ever knew me carry one , a rod . '' `` The lad has good in him !