“I don’t see that” returned the radical-hearted Tolly. “Isn’t eatin’, an’ drinkin’, an’ sleepin’, an’ walkin’, an’ runnin’, an’ talkin’, an’ thinkin’, an’ huntin’, equally good for boys and men? If all these things is good for us both, why not smokin’?”
“That’s more than I can tell ’ee, lad,” answered the honest trapper, with a somewhat puzzled look.
If Mahoghany Drake had thought the matter out a little more closely he might perhaps have seen that smoking is as good for boys as for men—or, what comes to much the same thing, is equally bad for both of them! But the sturdy trapper liked smoking; hence, like many wiser men, he did not care to think the matter out. On the contrary, he changed the subject, and, as the change was very much for the better in the estimation of his companions, Tolly did not object.
“Well now, about that jump,” he began, emitting a prolonged and delicate whiff.
“Ah, yes! How did you manage to do it?” asked little Trevor, eagerly.
“Oh, for the matter o’ that it’s easy to explain; but it wasn’t my jump I was goin’ to tell about; it was the jump o’ a poor critter—a sort o’ ne’er-do-well who jined a band o’ us trappers the day before we arrived at this place, on our way through the mountains on a huntin’ expedition. He was a miserable specimen o’ human natur’—all the worse that he had a pretty stout body o’ his own, an’ might have made a fairish man if he’d had the spirit even of a cross-grained rabbit. His name was Miffy, an’ it sounded nat’ral to him, for there was no go in him whatever. I often wonder what sitch men was made for. They’re o’ no use to anybody, an’ a nuisance to themselves.”
“P’r’aps they wasn’t made for any use at all,” suggested Tolly, who, having whittled a small piece of stick down to nothing, commenced another piece with renewed interest.
“No, lad,” returned the trapper, with a look of deeper gravity. “Even poor, foolish man does not construct anything without some sort o’ purpose in view. It’s an outrage on common sense to think the Almighty could do so. Mayhap sitch critters was meant to act as warnin’s to other men. He told us that he’d runned away from home when he was a boy ’cause he didn’t like school. Then he engaged as a cabin-boy aboard a ship tradin’ to some place in South America, an’ runned away from his ship the first port they touched at ’cause he didn’t like the sea. Then he came well-nigh to the starvin’ p’int an’ took work on a farm as a labourer, but left that ’cause it was too hard, after which he got a berth as watchman at a warehouse, or some place o’ the sort but left that, for it was too easy. Then he tried gold-diggin’, but could make nothin’ of it; engaged in a fur company, but soon left it; an’ then tried his hand at trappin’ on his own account but gave it up ’cause he could catch nothin’. When he fell in with our band he was redooced to two rabbits an’ a prairie hen, wi’ only three charges o’ powder in his horn, an’ not a drop o’ lead.
“Well, we tuck pity on the miserable critter, an’ let him come along wi’ us. There was ten of us altogether, an’ he made eleven. At first we thought he’d be of some use to us, but we soon found he was fit for nothin’. However, we couldn’t cast him adrift in the wilderness, for he’d have bin sure to come to damage somehow, so we let him go on with us. When we came to this neighbourhood we made up our minds to trap in the valley, and as the Injins were wild at that time, owin’ to some rascally white men who had treated them badly and killed a few, we thought it advisable to pitch our camp on the Outlook here. It was a well-known spot to most o’ my comrades, tho’ I hadn’t seen it myself at that time.
“When we came to the gap, one of the young fellows named Bounce gave a shout, took a run, and went clear over it just as Leapin’ Buck did. He was fond o’ showin’ off, you know! He turned about with a laugh, and asked us to follow. We declined, and felled a small tree to bridge it. Next day we cut the tree down to a plank, as bein’ more handy to shove across in a hurry if need be.