“Jasper earned that calash for you, Mabel, without much trial of his gifts.”
“It was fairly done, Pathfinder.”
“No doubt, no doubt. The bullet passed neatly through the potato, and no man could have done more; though others might have done as much.”
“But no one did as much!” exclaimed Mabel, with an animation that she instantly regretted; for she saw by the pained look of the guide that he was mortified equally by the remark and by the feeling with which it was uttered.
“It is true, it is true, Mabel, no one did as much then; but—yet there is no reason I should deny my gifts which come from Providence—yes, yes; no one did as much there, but you shall know what can be done here. Do you observe the gulls that are flying over our heads?”
“Certainly, Pathfinder; there are too many to escape notice.”
“Here, where they cross each other in sailing about,” he added, cocking and raising his rifle; “the two—the two. Now look!”
The piece was presented quick as thought, as two of the birds came in a line, though distant from each other many yards; the report followed, and the bullet passed through the bodies of both victims. No sooner had the gulls fallen into the lake, than Pathfinder dropped the butt-end of the rifle, and laughed in his own peculiar manner, every shade of dissatisfaction and mortified pride having left his honest face.
“That is something, Mabel, that is something; although I have no calash to give you! But ask Jasper himself; I'll leave it all to Jasper, for a truer tongue and heart are not in America.”
“Then it was not Jasper's fault that he gained the prize?”