Part 29 (2/2)

”But I haven't got a mother,” said Tolly.

”Well, your father, then.”

”But I haven't got a father.”

”So much the more reason,” returned the trapper, in a softened tone, ”that you should take care o' yourself, lest you should turn out to be the last o' your race. Come, help me to carry this plank. After we're over I'll see you jump on safe ground, and if you can clear enough, mayhap I'll let 'ee try the gap. Have you a steady head?”

”Ay, like a rock,” returned Tolly, with a grin.

”See that you're _sure_, lad, for if you ain't I'll carry you over.”

In reply to this Tolly ran nimbly over the plank bridge like a tight-rope dancer. Drake followed, and they were all soon busily engaged clearing a s.p.a.ce on which to encamp, and collecting firewood.

”Tell me about your adventure at the time you jumped the gap, Mahoghany,” begged little Trevor, when the first volume of smoke arose from their fire and went straight up like a pillar into the calm air.

”Not now, lad. Work first, talk afterwards. That's my motto.”

”But work is over now--the fire lighted and the kettle on,” objected Tolly.

”Nay, lad, when you come to be an old hunter you'll look on supper as about the most serious work o' the day. When that's over, an' the pipe a-goin', an' maybe a little stick-whittlin' for variety, a man may let his tongue wag to some extent.”

Our small hero was fain to content himself with this reply, and for the next half-hour or more the trio gave their undivided attention to steaks from the loin of the fat buck and slices from the breast of the wild duck which had fallen to Tolly's gun. When the pipe-and-stick-whittling period arrived, however, the trapper disposed his bulky length in front of the fire, while his young admirers lay down beside him.

The stick-whittling, it may be remarked, devolved upon the boys, while the smoking was confined to the man.

”I can't see why it is,” observed Tolly, when the first whiffs curled from Mahoghany Drake's lips, ”that you men are so strong in discouragin'

us boys from smokin'. You keep it all selfishly to yourselves, though Buckie an' I would give anythin' to be allowed to try a whiff now an'

then. Paul Bevan's just like you--won't hear o' _me_ touchin' a pipe, though he smokes himself like a wigwam wi' a greenwood fire!”

Drake pondered a little before replying.

”It would never do, you know,” he said, at length, ”for you boys to do 'zackly as we men does.”

”Why not?” demanded Tolly, developing an early bud of independent thought.

”Why, 'cause it wouldn't” replied Drake. Then, feeling that his answer was not a very convincing argument he added, ”You see, boys ain't men, no more than men are boys, an' what's good for the one ain't good for the tother.”

”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 st.u.r.dy 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.

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