He puffed away fiercely for a little while, and then he resumed.

"It would not be a bad thing for a fellow like me to become a chief
among the Red Skins--if they would have me. With them my lack of pence
would be no bar to success. I can swim and shoot and ride: although I
cannot paint a picture, I daresay that I could paint myself; and I know
several fellows whose scalps I should have much pleasure in taking. As
for the so-called amenities of civilized life, what are they worth to
one who, like me, has no longer the means of enjoying them? After all,
it is a question whether freedom and the prairie would not be preferable
to Pall-Mall and a limited income of, say--twelve hundred a year--the
sort of income that is just enough to make one the slave of society, but
is not sufficient to pay for gilding its fetters. A station, by Jove!
and with it the possibility of getting a drop of cognac."

As soon as the train came to a stand, Captain Ducie vacated his seat and
went in search of the refreshment-room. On coming back five minutes
later, he was considerably disgusted to find that he was no longer to
have his compartment to himself. The seat opposite to that on which he
had been sitting was already occupied by a gentleman who was wrapped up
to the nose in rugs and furs.

"Any objection to smoking?" asked the Captain presently as the train
began to move. He was pricking the end of a fresh cigar as he asked the
question. The words might be civil, but the tone was offensive; it
seemed to convey--"I don't care whether you object or not: I intend to
enjoy my weed all the same."

The stranger, however, seemed in nowise offended. He smirked and
quavered two yellow-gloved fingers out of his furs. "Oh, no, certainly