ake
him all his time to get to Beaver Creek by the tenth."

"But I'll mount him on my best buffalo-runner and guide him myself by a
short cut," said the hunter, "so that he shall still be in good time for
the circumference, and--"

"The conference, Reuben; don't misuse the English language. But it's of
no use, I tell you. He won't stop another day, so you must have it
settled right off to-day, for it shall never be said that a MacFearsome
was married without the benefit of the clergy."

"Well, I'll do it--slick off;" said the hunter, shouldering his rifle,
and striding away in the direction of a coppice into which he had
observed Loo disappear, with the air of a man who meant to pursue and
kill a dangerous creature.

We will not do Reuben Dale the injustice to lift the curtain at this
critical point in his history. Suffice it to say that he went into that
coppice pale and came out red--so red that his handsome sunburned
countenance seemed on the point of catching fire. There was a pleased
expression on it, however, which was eminently suggestive.

He went straight to a wigwam which stood near the fort, lifted the skin
door, entered, and sat down beside the fire opposite to a hunter not
unlike himself. The man was as tall and strong, though not quite so
good-looking. He was at the time smoking one of those tomahawks which
some Indians have made with pipe bowls in their heads, the handles
serving for stems, so that, when not employed in splitting skulls, they
may be used for damaging stomachs--i.e. for smoking tobacco!

"I've done it, Jacob Strang," said Reuben, with a grave nod, as he
slowly filled his pipe.

These two hunters were knit together with somewhat of the love that
David bore to Jonathan. Jacob gazed at his friend for some time in mute
admiration.

"Honour bright?" he asked at length.

"Honour bright," replied Reuben.

"Well now," said Jacob to the cloud that issued from his lips, "I
couldn't ha' done that to save my scalp. I've tried it, off an' on for
the last six year, and alers stuck at the p'int--or raither just before
it, for I never got quite the length o' the p'int. But I've bin very
near it, Reuben, more than once, uncommon near. One time I got so close
to the edge o' the precipice that another inch would have sent me right
over. `My dear Liz,' says I; but I stuck there, an' the sweet little
thing runned away, larfin', an' so I'm a bachelor still. But I'm right
glad, Reuben, t