er, flushing and
losing his color as before; "but I will make the effort, if I die."

"What a thing is mortal man!" repeated Pathfinder, falling back to allow
his friend room to take his arm; "he overlooks his own gifts, and craves
those of another!"

The potato was thrown, Jasper fired, and the shout that followed
preceded the announcement of the fact that he had driven his bullet
through its centre, or so nearly so as to merit that award.

"Here is a competitor worthy of you, Pathfinder," cried Major Duncan
with delight, as the former took his station; "and we may look to some
fine shooting in the double trial."

"What a thing is mortal man!" repeated the hunter, scarcely seeming to
notice what was passing around him, so much were his thoughts absorbed
in his own reflections. "Toss!"

The potato was tossed, the rifle cracked,--it was remarked just as
the little black ball seemed stationary in the air, for the
marksman evidently took unusual heed to his aim,--and then a look of
disappointment and wonder succeeded among those who caught the falling
target.

"Two holes in one?" called out the Major.

"The skin, the skin!" was the answer; "only the skin!"

"How's this, Pathfinder? Is Jasper Eau-douce to carry off the honors of
the day?"

"The calash is his," returned the other, shaking his head and walking
quietly away from the stand. "What a creature is mortal man! never
satisfied with his own gifts, but for ever craving that which Providence
denies!"

As Pathfinder had not buried his bullet in the potato, but had cut
through the skin, the prize was immediately adjudged to Jasper. The
calash was in the hands of the latter when the Quartermaster approached,
and with a polite air of cordiality he wished his successful rival joy
of his victory.

"But now you've got the calash, lad, it's of no use to you," he added;
"it will never make a sail, nor even an ensign. I'm thinking, Eau-douce,
you'd no' be sorry to see its value in good siller of the king?"

"Money cannot buy it, Lieutenant," returned Jasper, whose eye lighted
with all the fire of success and joy. "I would rather have won this
calash than have obtained fifty new suits of sails for the _Scud!_"

"Hoot, hoot, lad! you are going mad like all the rest of them. I'd even
venture to offer half a guinea for the trifle rather than it should
lie kicking about in the cabin of your cutter, and in the end become an
ornament for the head of a squaw."

Althoug