“I think,” said Will Osten, reining up by the side of a copse which crowned the brow of an eminence, “that this seems a good camping place.”
“There is not a better within ten mile of us,” said Big Ben, dismounting. “This is the spot I have been pushing on for all day, so let us to work without delay. We have a hard day before us to-morrow, and that necessitates a hard feed an’ a sound sleep to-night. Them’s the trapper’s cure for all ills.”
“They cure many ills, doubtless,” observed Will, as he removed the saddle from his jaded steed.
Larry, whose duty it was to cut firewood, remarked, as he administered his first powerful blow to a dead tree, that “grub and slumber at night was the chief joys o’ life, and the only thing that could be compared to ’em was, slumber and grub in the mornin’!” To which sentiment Bunco grinned hearty assent, as he unloaded and hobbled the pack-horses.
Soon the camp was made. The fire roared grandly up among the branches of the trees. The kettle sent forth savoury smells and clouds of steam. The tired steeds munched the surrounding herbage in quiet felicity, and the travellers lay stretched upon a soft pile of brushwood, loading their pipes and enjoying supper by anticipation. The howling of a wolf, and the croaking of some bird of prey, formed an appropriate duet, to which the trickling of a clear rill of ice-cold water, near by, constituted a sweet accompaniment, while through the stems of the trees they could scan—as an eagle does from his eyrie high up on the cliffs—one of the grandest mountain scenes in the world, bathed in the soft light of the moon in its first quarter.
“’Tis a splendid view of God’s handiwork,” said the trapper, observing the gaze of rapt admiration with which Will Osten surveyed it.
“It is indeed most glorious,” responded Will, “a scene that inclines one to ask the question, If earth be so fair, what must heaven be?”
“It aint easy to answer that,” said the trapper gravely, and with a slight touch of perplexity in a countenance which usually wore that expression of calm self-reliance peculiar to men who have thorough confidence in themselves. “Seems to me that there’s a screw loose in men’s thoughts when they come to talk of heaven. The Redskins, now, think it’s a splendid country where the weather is always fine, the sun always shining, and the game plentiful. Then the men of the settlement seem to have but a hazy notion about its bein’ a place of happiness, but they can’t tell why or wherefore in a very comprehensible sort o’ way, and, as far as I can see, they’re in no hurry to get there. It seems in a muddle somehow, an’ that’s a thing that surprises me, for the works o’ the Almighty—hereaway in the mountains—are plain and onderstandable, so as a child might read ’em; but man’s brains don’t seem to be such perfect work, for, when he comes to talk o’ God and heaven, they appear to me to work as if they wor out o’ jint.”
The trapper was a naturally earnest, matter-of-fact man, but knew little or nothing of the Christian religion, except what he had heard of it from the lips of men who, having neither knowledge of it nor regard for it themselves, gave a false report both of its blessed truths and its workings. He glanced inquiringly at our hero when he ceased to speak.
“What is your own opinion about heaven?” asked Will Big Ben looked earnestly at his companion for a few seconds and said—