The trapper stooped down, and slowly unfastened the buckskin jacket from the leathern belt. He next held it up in both hands, and examined it carefully.
"It stood the test well, that's wot it did," he remarked. "Never thought when I made it that it 'ud be the means of savin' me life."
"And did you make this yourself?" Grey inquired with surprise.
"Sartin, every stitch of it. It's not made with yer measly fancy thread, either, but with good stout raw hide. But even that wouldn't have borne the strain if it hadn't been fer somethin' else which made it strong."
"What was that, Dan?"
"'Twas the good Lord, that's who it was. As I kneeled thar in that awful place, with only that slender thing to keep me from death, I thought how I uster kneel at me mother's knees when a little child. It's been sich a long time sence I said a prayer that I didn't know what to say. But I remembered the prayer she taught me then, an' as I struggled up that rock with me hands clingin' to this jacket I said over in me mind,
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord me soul to keep.
It wasn't altogether suitable, I own, but it was wonderful comfortin', an' I think the Lord knew wot I meant jist as well as if it had been a long one an' fixed up with fine words. But, thar, I've talked 'bout enough. We must git away from here, an' hike it home as fast as we kin. It's gittin' late, an' I'm afeered we can't reach Hishu afore dark."