nothing further worth mentioning occurred to the hunters that day, save that little tolly trevor was amazed—we might almost say petrified—by the splendour and precision of the trapper’s shooting, besides which he was deeply impressed with the undercurrent of what we may style grave fun, coupled with calm enthusiasm, which characterised the man, and the utter absence of self-assertion or boastfulness.

but if the remainder of the day was uneventful, the stories round the camp-fire more than compensated him and his friend leaping buck. the latter was intimately acquainted with the trapper, and seemed to derive more pleasure from watching the effect of his anecdotes on his new friend than in listening to them himself. probably this was in part owing to the fact that he had heard them all before more than once.

the spot they had selected for their encampment was the summit of a projecting crag, which was crowned with a little thicket, and surrounded on three sides by sheer precipices. the neck of rock by which it was reached was free from shrubs, besides being split across by a deep chasm of several feet in width, so that it formed a natural fortress, and the marks of old encampments seemed to indicate that it had been used as a camping-place by the red man long before his white brother—too often his white foe—had appeared in that western wilderness to disturb him. the indians had no special name for the spot, but the roving trappers who first came to it had named it the outlook, because from its summit a magnificent view of nearly the whole region could be obtained. the great chasm or fissure already mentioned descended sheer down, like the neighbouring precipices, to an immense depth, so that the outlook, being a species of aerial island, was usually reached by a narrow plank which bridged the chasm. it had stood many a siege in times past, and when used as a fortress, whether by white hunters or savages, the plank bridge was withdrawn, and the place rendered—at least esteemed—impregnable.

when mahoghany drake and his young friends came up to the chasm a little before sunset leaping buck took a short run and bounded clear over it.

“ha! i knowed he couldn’t resist the temptation,” said mahoghany, with a quiet chuckle, “an’ it’s not many boys—no, nor yet men—who could jump that. i wouldn’t try it myself for a noo rifle—no, though ye was to throw in a silver-mounted powder-horn to the bargain.”

“but you have jumped it?” cried the indian boy, turning round with a gleeful face.

“ay, lad, long ago, and then i was forced to, when runnin’ for my life. a man’ll do many a deed when so sitooate that he couldn’t do in cold blood. come, come, young feller,” he added, suddenly laying his heavy hand on little trevor’s collar and arresting him, “you wasn’t thinkin’ o’ tryin’ it was ye?”

“indeed i was, and i think i could manage it,” said the foolishly ambitious tolly.

“thinkin’ is not enough, boy,” returned the trapper, with a grave shake of the head. “you should always make sure. suppose you was wrong in your thinkin’, now, who d’ee think would go down there to pick up the bits of ’ee an’ carry them home to your mother.”

“but i haven’t got a mother,” said tolly.

“well, your father, then.”

“but i haven’t got a father.”

“so much the more reason,” returned the trapper, in a softened tone, “that you should take care o’ yourself, lest you should turn out to be the last o’ your race. come, help me to carry this plank. after we’re over i’ll see you jump on safe ground, and if you can clear enough, mayhap i’ll let ’ee try the gap. have you a steady head?”

“ay, like a rock,” returned tolly, with a grin.

“see that you’re sure, lad, for if you ain’t i’ll carry you over.”

in reply to this tolly ran nimbly over the plank bridge like a tight-rope dancer. drake followed, and they were all soon busily engaged clearing a space on which to encamp, and collecting firewood.

“tell me about your adventure at the time you jumped the gap, mahoghany,” begged little trevor, when the first volume of smoke arose from their fire and went straight up like a pillar into the calm air.

“not now, lad. work first, talk afterwards. that’s my motto.”

“but work is over now—the fire lighted and the kettle on,” objected tolly.

“nay, lad, when you come to be an old hunter you’ll look on supper as about the most serious work o’ the day. when that’s over, an’ the pipe a-goin’, an’ maybe a little stick-whittlin’ for variety, a man may let his tongue wag to some extent.”

our small hero was fain to content himself with this reply, and for the next half-hour or more the trio gave their undivided attention to steaks from the loin of the fat buck and slices from the breast of the wild duck which had fallen to tolly’s gun. when the pipe-and-stick-whittling period arrived, however, the trapper disposed his bulky length in front of the fire, while his young admirers lay down beside him.

the stick-whittling, it may be remarked, devolved upon the boys, while the smoking was confined to the man.

“i can’t see why it is,” observed tolly, when the first whiffs curled from mahoghany drake’s lips, “that you men are so strong in discouragin’ us boys from smokin’. you keep it all selfishly to yourselves, though buckie an’ i would give anythin’ to be allowed to try a whiff now an’ then. paul bevan’s just like you—won’t hear o’ me touchin’ a pipe, though he smokes himself like a wigwam wi’ a greenwood fire!”

drake pondered a little before replying.

“it would never do, you know,” he said, at length, “for you boys to do ’zackly as we men does.”

“why not?” demanded tolly, developing an early bud of independent thought.

“why, ’cause it wouldn’t” replied drake. then, feeling that his answer was not a very convincing argument he added, “you see, boys ain’t men, no more than men are boys, an’ what’s good for the one ain’t good for the tother.”

“i don’t see that” returned the radical-hearted tolly. “isn’t eatin’, an’ drinkin’, an’ sleepin’, an’ walkin’, an’ runnin’, an’ talkin’, an’ thinkin’, an’ huntin’, equally good for boys and men? if all these things is good for us both, why not smokin’?”

“that’s more than i can tell ’ee, lad,” answered the honest trapper, with a somewhat puzzled look.

if mahoghany drake had thought the matter out a little more closely he might perhaps have seen that smoking is as good for boys as for men—or, what comes to much the same thing, is equally bad for both of them! but the sturdy trapper liked smoking; hence, like many wiser men, he did not care to think the matter out. on the contrary, he changed the subject, and, as the change was very much for the better in the estimation of his companions, tolly did not object.

“well now, about that jump,” he began, emitting a prolonged and delicate whiff.

“ah, yes! how did you manage to do it?” asked little trevor, eagerly.

“oh, for the matter o’ that it’s easy to explain; but it wasn’t my jump i was goin’ to tell about; it was the jump o’ a poor critter—a sort o’ ne’er-do-well who jined a band o’ us trappers the day before we arrived at this place, on our way through the mountains on a huntin’ expedition. he was a miserable specimen o’ human natur’—all the worse that he had a pretty stout body o’ his own, an’ might have made a fairish man if he’d had the spirit even of a cross-grained rabbit. his name was miffy, an’ it sounded nat’ral to him, for there was no go in him whatever. i often wonder what sitch men was made for. they’re o’ no use to anybody, an’ a nuisance to themselves.”

“p’r’aps they wasn’t made for any use at all,” suggested tolly, who, having whittled a small piece of stick down to nothing, commenced another piece with renewed interest.

“no, lad,” returned the trapper, with a look of deeper gravity. “even poor, foolish man does not construct anything without some sort o’ purpose in view. it’s an outrage on common sense to think the almighty could do so. mayhap sitch critters was meant to act as warnin’s to other men. he told us that he’d runned away from home when he was a boy ’cause he didn’t like school. then he engaged as a cabin-boy aboard a ship tradin’ to some place in south america, an’ runned away from his ship the first port they touched at ’cause he didn’t like the sea. then he came well-nigh to the starvin’ p’int an’ took work on a farm as a labourer, but left that ’cause it was too hard, after which he got a berth as watchman at a warehouse, or some place o’ the sort but left that, for it was too easy. then he tried gold-diggin’, but could make nothin’ of it; engaged in a fur company, but soon left it; an’ then tried his hand at trappin’ on his own account but gave it up ’cause he could catch nothin’. when he fell in with our band he was redooced to two rabbits an’ a prairie hen, wi’ only three charges o’ powder in his horn, an’ not a drop o’ lead.

“well, we tuck pity on the miserable critter, an’ let him come along wi’ us. there was ten of us altogether, an’ he made eleven. at first we thought he’d be of some use to us, but we soon found he was fit for nothin’. however, we couldn’t cast him adrift in the wilderness, for he’d have bin sure to come to damage somehow, so we let him go on with us. when we came to this neighbourhood we made up our minds to trap in the valley, and as the injins were wild at that time, owin’ to some rascally white men who had treated them badly and killed a few, we thought it advisable to pitch our camp on the outlook here. it was a well-known spot to most o’ my comrades, tho’ i hadn’t seen it myself at that time.

“when we came to the gap, one of the young fellows named bounce gave a shout, took a run, and went clear over it just as leapin’ buck did. he was fond o’ showin’ off, you know! he turned about with a laugh, and asked us to follow. we declined, and felled a small tree to bridge it. next day we cut the tree down to a plank, as bein’ more handy to shove across in a hurry if need be.

“well, we had good sport—plenty of b’ar and moose steaks, no end of fresh eggs of all sorts, and enough o’ pelts to make it pay. you see we didn’t know there was gold here in those days, so we didn’t look for it, an’ wouldn’t ha’ knowed it if we’d seen it. but i never myself cared to look for gold. it’s dirty work, grubbin’ among mud and water like a beaver. it’s hard work, too, an’ i’ve obsarved that the men who get most gold at the diggin’s are not the diggers but the storekeepers, an’ a bad lot they are, many of ’em, though i’m bound to say that i’ve knowed a few as was real honest men, who kep’ no false weights or measures, an’ had some sort of respec’ for their maker.

“however,” continued the trapper, filling a fresh pipe, while tolly and his little red friend, whittling their sticks less vigorously as the story went on and at length dropping them altogether, kept their bright eyes riveted on drake’s face. “however, that’s not what i’ve got to tell ’ee about. you must know that one evening, close upon sundown, we was all returnin’ from our traps more or less loaded wi’ skins an’ meat, all except miffy, who had gone, as he said, a huntin’. bin truer if he’d said he meant to go around scarin’ the animals. well, just as we got within a mile o’ this place we was set upon by a band o’ redskins. there must have bin a hundred of ’em at least. i’ve lived a longish time now in the wilderness, but i never, before or since, heard sitch a yellin’ as the painted critters set up in the woods all around when they came at us, sendin’ a shower o’ arrows in advance to tickle us up; but they was bad shots, for only one took effect, an’ that shaft just grazed the point o’ young bounce’s nose as neat as if it was only meant to make him sneeze. it made him jump, i tell ’ee, higher than i ever seed him jump before. of course fightin’ was out o’ the question.

“ten trappers under cover might hold their own easy enough agin a hundred redskins, but not in the open. we all knew that, an’ had no need to call a council o’ war. every man let his pack fall, an’ away we went for the outlook, followed by the yellin’ critters closer to our heels than we quite liked. but they couldn’t shoot runnin’, so we got to the gap. the plank was there all right. over we went, faced about, and while one o’ us hauled it over, the rest gave the savages a volley that sent them back faster than they came.

“‘miffy’s lost!’ obsarved one o’ my comrades as we got in among the bushes here an’ prepared to fight it out.

“‘no great loss,’ remarked another.

“‘no fear o’ miffy,’ said bounce, feelin’ his nose tenderly, ‘he’s a bad shillin’, and bad shillin’s always turn up, they say.’

“bounce had barely finished when we heard another most awesome burst o’ yellin’ in the woods, followed by a deep roar.

“‘that’s miffy,’ says i, feelin’ quite excited, for i’d got to have a sneakin’ sort o’ pity for the miserable critter. ‘it’s a twin roar to the one he gave that day when he mistook hairy sam for a grizzly b’ar, an’ went up a spruce-fir like a squirrel.’ sure enough, in another moment miffy burst out o’ the woods an’ came tearin’ across the open space straight for the gap, followed by a dozen or more savages.

“‘run, bounce—the plank!’ says i, jumpin’ up. ‘we’ll drive the reptiles back!’

“while i was speakin’ we were all runnin’ full split to meet the poor critter, bounce far in advance. whether it was over-haste, or the pain of his nose, i never could make out, but somehow, in tryin’ to shove the plank over, bounce let it slip. down it went an’ split to splinters on the rock’s a hundred feet below! miffy was close up at the time. his cheeks was yaller an’ his eyes starin’ as he came on, but his face turned green and his eyes took to glarin’ when he saw what had happened. i saw a kind o’ hesitation in his look as he came to the unbridged gulf. the savages, thinkin’ no doubt it was all up with him, gave a fiendish yell o’ delight. that yell saved the poor ne’er-do-well. it was as good as a spanish spur to a wild horse. over he came with legs an’ arms out like a flyin’ squirrel, and down he fell flat on his stummick at our feet wi’ the nearest thing to a fair bu’st that i ever saw, or raither heard, for i was busy sightin’ a redskin at the time an’ didn’t actually see it. when the savages saw what he’d done they turned tail an’ scattered back into the woods, so we only gave them a loose volley, for we didn’t want to kill the critters. i just took the bark off the thigh of one to prevent his forgettin’ me. we held the place here for three days, an’ then findin’ they could make nothin’ of us, or havin’ other work on hand, they went away an’ left us in peace.”

“an’ what became o’ poor miffy?” asked little trevor, earnestly.

“we took him down with us to a new settlement that had been started in the prairie-land west o’ the blue mountains, an’ there he got a sitooation in a store, but i s’pose he didn’t stick to it long. anyhow that was the last i ever saw of him. now, boys, it’s time to turn in.”

that night when the moon had gone down and the stars shed a feeble light on the camp of those who slumbered on the outlook rock, two figures, like darker shades among the surrounding shadows, glided from the woods, and, approaching the edge of the gap, gazed down into the black abyss.

“i told you, redskin, that the plank would be sure to be drawn over,” said one of the figures, in a low but gruff whisper.

“when the tomahawk is red men do not usually sleep unguarded,” replied the other, in the indian tongue.

“speak english, maqua, i don’t know enough o’ your gibberish to make out what you mean. do you think, now, that the villain paul bevan is in the camp?”

“maqua is not a god, that he should be able to tell what he does not know.”

“no, but he could guess,” retorted stalker—for it was the robber-chief. “my scouts said they thought it was his figure they saw. however, it matters not. if you are to earn the reward i have offered, you must creep into the camp, put your knife in bevan’s heart, and bring me his scalp. i would do it myself, redskin, and be indebted to nobody, but i can’t creep as you and your kindred can.”

“i’d be sure to make row enough to start them in time for self-defence. as to the scalp, i don’t want it—only want to make certain that you’ve done the deed. you may keep it to ornament your dress or to boast about to your squaw. if you should take a fancy to do a little murder on your own account do so. it matters nothin’ to me. i’ll be ready to back you up if they give chase.”

while the robber-chief was speaking he searched about for a suitable piece of wood to span the chasm. he soon found what he wanted, for there was much felled timber lying about the work of previous visitors to the outlook.

in a few minutes maqua had crossed, and glided in a stealthy, stooping position towards the camp, seeming more like a moving shadow than a real man. when pretty close he went down on hands and knees and crept forward, with his scalping-knife between his teeth.

it would have been an interesting study to watch the savage, had his object been a good one—the patience; the slow, gliding movements; the careful avoidance of growing branches, and the gentle removal of dead ones from his path, for well did maqua know that a snapping twig would betray him if the camp contained any of the indian warriors of the far west.

at last he drew so near that by stretching his neck he could see over the intervening shrubs and observe the sleepers. just then drake chanced to waken. perhaps it was a presentiment of danger that roused him, for the indian had, up to that moment, made not the slightest sound. sitting up and rubbing his eyes, the trapper looked cautiously round; then he lay down and turned over on his other side to continue his slumbers.

like the tree-stems around him, maqua remained absolutely motionless until he thought the trapper was again sleeping. then he retired, as he had come, to his anxiously-awaiting comrade.

“bevan not there,” he said briefly, when they had retired to a safe distance; “only mahoghany drake an’ two boy.”

“well, why didn’t ye scalp them!” asked stalker, savagely, for he was greatly disappointed to find that his enemy was not in the camp. “you said that all white men were your enemies.”

“no, not all,” replied the savage. “drake have the blood of white mans, but the heart of red mans. he have be good to injins.”

“well, well; it makes no odds to me,” returned stalker, “come along, an’ walk before me, for i won’t trust ye behind. as for slippery paul, i’ll find him yet; you shall see. when a man fails in one attempt, all he’s got to do is to make another. now then, redskin, move on!”