Part 4 (2/2)

”It's a grand country! D'ye see the little clear spot yonder, on the river bank, with the aspen grove behind it, an' the run of prairie on the right, an' the little lake not a gun-shot off on the left? That's the spot I've sometimes thought of locatin' on when my gun begins to feel too heavy. There'll be cities there some day. Bricks and mortar and stone 'll change its face--an' cornfields, an'--but not in our day, lad, not in our day. The redskins and the bears 'll hold it as long as we're above ground. Yes, I'd like to settle down there.”

”Come, come, Redhand,” said Bounce, ”this sort o' thing 'll never do.

Why, you're as hale and hearty as the best on us. Wot on 'arth makes you talk of settlin' down in that there fas.h.i.+on?”

”Ha!” exclaimed Waller energetically, ”I guess if ye goes on in that style ye'll turn into a riglar hiplecondrik--ain't that the word, Bounce? I heer'd the minister say as it was the wust kind o' the blues.

What's _your_ opinion o' settlin' down, Hawkswing?”

To this question the Indian gravely replied in his own language (with which the trappers were well acquainted), that, not having the remotest idea of what they were talking about, he entertained no opinion in regard to it whatever.

”Well, wotiver others may hold,” remarked Bounce emphatically, ”I'm strong agin' settlin' down nowhar'.”

”So am I, out an' out,” said Waller.

”Dat be plain to the naked eye,” observed Gibault, coming up at the moment. ”Surement you have settle down here for ever. Do you s'pose, mes garcons, dat de canoe will carry _hisself_ over de portage? Voila!

vat is dat?”

Gibault pointed to the footprint of the grisly bear, as he spoke.

”It's a bar,” remarked Bounce quietly.

”Caleb,” added Waller, giving the name frequently applied to the grisly bear by western hunters. ”I calc'late it's nothin' new to see Caleb's fut in the mud.”

”Mais, it be new to see hims fut so big, you oogly Yankee,” cried Gibault, putting Waller's cap over his eyes, and running into the bush to avoid the consequences.

At that moment a deer emerged from the bushes, about fifty yards from the spot on which the trappers rested, and, plunging into the river, made for the opposite bank.

”There's our supper,” said Bounce, quietly lifting his rifle in a leisurely way, and taking aim without rising from the spot on which he sat or removing the pipe from his lips.

The sharp crack was followed by a convulsive heave on the part of the deer, which fell over on its side and floated downstream.

Big Waller gave utterance to a roar of satisfaction, and, flinging his pipe from him, bounded down the bank towards a point of rock, where he knew, from the set of the current, the deer would be certain to be stranded. Gibault, forgetting his recent piece of impertinence, darted towards the same place, and both men reached it at the same instant.

Big Waller immediately lifted his little friend in his huge arms, and tossed him into the centre of a thick soft bush, out of which he scrambled in time to see his comrade catch the deer by the horns, as it floated past, and drag it on sh.o.r.e.

”Hoh! I vill pay you off von time,” cried Gibault, laughing, and shaking his fist at Waller. Then, seizing the last bale of goods that had not been carried across the portage, he ran away with it nimbly up the bank of the stream.

Big Waller placed the deer on his shoulders with some difficulty, and followed in the same direction.

On reaching the other end of the portage, they found the canoe reloaded and in the water, and their comrades evincing symptoms of impatience.

”Come on, lads, come on,” cried March, who seemed to be the most impatient of them all. ”We've seen Caleb! He's up the river, on this side. Get in! He's sich a banger, oh!”

Before the sentence was well finished, all the men were in their places except Black Gibault, who remained on the bank to shove off the canoe.

”Now, lad, get in,” said Redhand, whose usually quiet eye appeared to gleam at the near prospect of a combat with the fierce and much-dreaded monster of the Far West.

”All right, mes garcons,” replied Gibault; ”hand me mine gun; I vill valk on the bank, an' see vich vay hims go--so, adieu!”

With a powerful push, he sent the light craft into the stream, and, turning on his heel, entered the woods.

<script>