reason, and much abridge the boundaries of
knowledge."

"So much the better--so much the better; for I have always found that a
conceited man never knows content. All things prove it. Why have we
not the wings of the pigeon, the eyes of the eagle, and the legs of
the moose, if it had been intended that man should be equal to all his
wishes?"

"There are certain physical defects, venerable trapper, in which I am
always ready to admit great and happy alterations might be suggested.
For example, in my own order of Phalangacru--"

"Cruel enough would be the order, that should come from miserable
hands like thine! A touch from such a finger would destroy the mocking
deformity of a monkey! Go, go; human folly is not needed to fill up the
great design of God. There is no stature, no beauty, no proportions,
nor any colours in which man himself can well be fashioned, that is not
already done to his hands."

"That is touching another great and much disputed question," exclaimed
the Doctor, who seized upon every distinct idea that the ardent and
somewhat dogmatic old man left exposed to his mental grasp, with the
vain hope of inducing a logical discussion, in which he might bring his
battery of syllogisms to annihilate the unscientific defences of his
antagonist.

It is, however, unnecessary to our narrative to relate the erratic
discourse that ensued. The old man eluded the annihilating blows of his
adversary, as the light armed soldier is wont to escape the efforts of
the more regular warrior, even while he annoys him most, and an hour
passed away without bringing any of the numerous subjects, on which they
touched, to a satisfactory conclusion. The arguments acted, however, on
the nervous system of the Doctor, like so many soothing soporifics, and
by the time his aged companion was disposed to lay his head on his pack,
Obed, refreshed by his recent mental joust, was in a condition to seek
his natural rest, without enduring the torments of the incubus, in the
shapes of Teton warriors and bloody tomahawks.

CHAPTER XXIII

--Save you, sir.
--Shakspeare.

The sleep of the fugitives lasted for several hours. The trapper was the
first to shake off its influence, as he had been the last to court its
refreshment. Rising, just as the grey light of day began to brighten
that portion of the studded vault which rested on the eastern margin of
the