“The surest way of settling this rivalry will be to make another trial,” observed Lundie, “and that will be of the potato.  You’re Scotch, Mr. Muir, and might fare better were it a cake or a thistle; but frontier law has declared for the American fruit, and the potato it shall be.”

As Major Duncan manifested some impatience of manner, Muir had too much tact to delay the sports any longer with his discursive remarks, but judiciously prepared himself for the next appeal.  To say the truth, the Quartermaster had little or no faith in his own success in the trial of skill that was to follow, nor would he have been so free in presenting himself as a competitor at all had he anticipated it would have been made; but Major Duncan, who was somewhat of a humorist in his own quiet Scotch way, had secretly ordered it to be introduced expressly to mortify him; for, a laird himself, Lundie did not relish the notion that one who might claim to be a gentleman should bring discredit on his caste by forming an unequal alliance.  As soon as everything was prepared, Muir was summoned to the stand, and the potato was held in readiness to be thrown.  As the sort of feat we are about to offer to the reader, however, may be new to him, a word in explanation will render the matter more clear.  A potato of large size was selected, and given to one who stood at the distance of twenty yards from the stand.  At the word “heave!” which was given by the marksman, the vegetable was thrown with a gentle toss into the air, and it was the business of the adventurer to cause a ball to pass through it before it reached the ground.

The Quartermaster, in a hundred experiments, had once succeeded in accomplishing this difficult feat; but he now essayed to perform it again, with a sort of blind hope that was fated to be disappointed.  The potato was thrown in the usual manner, the rifle was discharged, but the flying target was untouched.

“To the right-about, and fall out, Quartermaster,” said Lundie, smiling at the success of the artifice.  “The honor of the silken calash will lie between Jasper Eau-douce and Pathfinder.”

“And how is the trial to end, Major?” inquired the latter.  “Are we to have the two-potato trial, or is it to be settled by centre and skin?”

“By centre and skin, if there is any perceptible difference; otherwise the double shot must follow.”

“This is an awful moment to me, Pathfinder,” observed Jasper, as he moved towards the stand, his face actually losing its color in intensity of feeling.

Pathfinder gazed earnestly at the young man; and then, begging Major Duncan to have patience for a moment, he led his friend out of the hearing of all near him before he spoke.

“You seem to take this matter to heart, Jasper?” the hunter remarked, keeping his eyes fastened on those of the youth.

“I must own, Pathfinder, that my feelings were never before so much bound up in success.”