derate recklessness was one of his chief
characteristics, so that his comrades were rather afraid of him on the
war-trail or in the hunt, where caution and frequently _soundless_
motion were essential to success or safety. But when Henri had
a comrade at his side to check him he was safe enough, being
humble-minded and obedient. Men used to say he must have been born
under a lucky star, for, notwithstanding his natural inaptitude for
all sorts of backwoods life, he managed to scramble through everything
with safety, often with success, and sometimes with credit.

To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day's journey. Joe Blunt
used to say he was "all jints together, from the top of his head to
the sole of his moccasin." He threw his immense form into the most
inconceivable contortions, and slowly wound his way, sometimes on
hands and knees, sometimes flat, through bush and brake, as if there
was not a bone in his body, and without the slightest noise. This sort
of work was so much against his plunging nature that he took long to
learn it; but when, through hard practice and the loss of many a
fine deer, he came at length to break himself in to it, he gradually
progressed to perfection, and ultimately became the best stalker in
the valley. This, and this alone, enabled him to procure game, for,
being short-sighted, he could hit nothing beyond fifty yards, except a
buffalo or a barn-door.

Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though totally unhinged,
could no more be bent, when the muscles were strung, than an iron
post. No one wrestled with Henri unless he wished to have his back
broken. Few could equal and none could beat him at running or leaping
except Dick Varley. When Henri ran a race even Joe Blunt laughed
outright, for arms and legs went like independent flails. When he
leaped, he hurled himself into space with a degree of violence that
seemed to insure a somersault; yet he always came down with a crash on
his feet. Plunging was Henri's forte. He generally lounged about the
settlement when unoccupied, with his hands behind his back, apparently
in a reverie, and when called on to act, he seemed to fancy he must
have lost time, and could only make up for it by _plunging_. This
habit got him into many awkward scrapes, but his herculean power
as often got him out of them. He was a French-Canadian, and a
particularly bad speaker of the English language.

We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of