dropped. And missed the house! That is actually
what he did. He missed the house, and landed in the stern of the scow.
It was not much of a fall, yet it knocked him silly. He lay there
unconscious. If the house had been ninety-seven feet long he would have
made the trip. The fault was Cooper's, not his. The error lay in the
construction of the house. Cooper was no architect.

There still remained in the roost five Indians.

The boat has passed under and is now out of their reach. Let me explain
what the five did--you would not be able to reason it out for yourself.
No. 1 jumped for the boat, but fell in the water astern of it. Then No.
2 jumped for the boat, but fell in the water still farther astern of it.
Then No. 3 jumped for the boat, and fell a good way astern of it. Then
No. 4 jumped for the boat, and fell in the water away astern. Then
even No. 5 made a jump for the boat--for he was a Cooper Indian. In
the matter of intellect, the difference between a Cooper Indian and the
Indian that stands in front of the cigarshop is not spacious. The scow
episode is really a sublime burst of invention; but it does not
thrill, because the inaccuracy of the details throws a sort of air of
fictitiousness and general improbability over it. This comes of Cooper's
inadequacy as an observer.

The reader will find some examples of Cooper's high talent for
inaccurate observation in the account of the shooting-match in The
Pathfinder.

"A common wrought nail was driven lightly into the target, its
head having been first touched with paint."

The color of the paint is not stated--an important omission, but Cooper
deals freely in important omissions. No, after all, it was not an
important omission; for this nail-head is a hundred yards from the
marksmen, and could not be seen by them at that distance, no matter what
its color might be.

How far can the best eyes see a common house-fly? A hundred yards? It is
quite impossible. Very well; eyes that cannot see a house-fly that is a
hundred yards away cannot see an ordinary nailhead at that distance, for
the size of the two objects is the same. It takes a keen eye to see a
fly or a nailhead at fifty yards--one hundred and fifty feet. Can the
reader do it?

The nail was lightly driven, its head painted, and game called. Then the
Cooper miracles began. The bullet of the first marksman chipped an edge
off the nail-head; the next man's bullet drove the nail a little