The only way to make an animal’s story untragic is to finish before you reach the end, so I shall leave them here—that little company of fur-clad, bright-eyed captains, making the long journey southward before the frost should come. Far down the stream was a bend, where the fleet turned, and even with the field-glass I could not see around a corner, so with one last lingering look and a deep sigh, I gave it up.
But a glimmer caught my eye, and, trembling with excitement, I raised my glass once more, fixing it upon the bend of the river, where the last boat was just rounding the curve.
Was it fancy, or did Kitchi-Kitchi stand up, wave her hand at me, and across the boundless waste of waters that lay between us, send me a parting smile?
JIM CROW
I always called him that because he was so dark and because I have no race prejudice whatever. People used to allude to him as my Crow, but the real truth lay much deeper than that. If there was any idea of possession in our somewhat singular relationship, I was Jim’s—he was not in the least mine.
He adopted me one day at sight. I was walking through a pasture about fourteen miles from my cabin, when I saw Jim sitting upon a rail fence. He did not move at my approach, and I thought he must be a stuffed animal, put out to dry by some taxidermist in the neighbourhood. I walked up to him and, at length, stroked his head gently. At this, he opened his eyes, yawned, and with a sleepy “Caw-w-w-w,” perched upon my shoulder and so rode home with me, in spite of my protests.
To this day I have never been able to solve the mystery. I examined him carefully for signs of damage, but to all intents and purposes he was sound in wind and limb, free from pink-eye, string-halt, or glanders, and not afraid of automobile or steam roller.
He ate plentifully of the simple meal I cooked over my camp-fire, and, while I washed the dishes, followed me around like a devoted dog. I suppose he must have recognised me as a Little Brother of the Woods—at any rate, he stuck to me closer than a brother while our strange attachment lasted.
When I perceived that Jim had no intention of leaving the cabin, I went outside, shook him off my shoulder, and ran back, closing the door gently but firmly. Imagine my surprise to hear a loud, jubilant “Caw!” from the rafters. Jim had anticipated me, and had flown in—when, I did not know. Three times this was repeated. At last, I thrust my head and shoulders through the window and remained there some time, enjoying the landscape and the Summer moonlight. Jim, still on my coat collar, finally went to sleep, and this time I easily dislodged him, then quickly closed the window with a triumphant bang.