“But, brother Luce,” inquired François, “what did you mean when you said there might be many more links to this chain?”
“Why, who knows but the blue-winged fly was preying upon some other creatures smaller than himself? And these again, upon others still less; who, though invisible to our eyes, possess life and organisation as well as we. Who knows to the contrary? And who knows the reason why a mysterious Providence has created those beings to be the food of each other? That is a question about which we can arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.”
“Who knows, brother,” said François, “since you are speculating—who knows but there may be an extra link at the other end of the chain? Ho, Basil! what say you? Suppose we fall in with grizzly bears.” And François laughed as he put the question.
“And supposing we do,” replied Basil, “you are as likely to form that link as anybody else.”
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Lucien. “I hope that in all our travels we shall see neither a grizzly bear nor an Indian.”
“And I hope for nothing of the sort,” rejoined Basil. “I long to have a crack at a grizzly; and as for Indians, I haven’t the least fear of them, so long as I carry this.”
As Basil made this remark, he drew out the little beaded case from his bosom, held it up a moment, and then returned it to its place again.
“Now, brother,” cried François, “tell as about that pouch, and how it is to save us from Indians. I am really curious to know.”
“Not now, my boy,” replied Basil, with a patronising air. “Not now. We must prepare our supper, and get to sleep. We have lost half a day drying our rags, so we must make up for it by an early start in the morning. Then for the prairies!”
“Then for the prairies!” echoed François,—“the prairies—the wild horses—the big-horns—and the buffalo!”