The men used to complain about the step, a log had broken up when it had hit the stony ridge top so they cut a few steps in the obstacle and just clambered on over, being too much trouble to clear away.

Except the first step was a bit high. Topper cautioned the others not to follow on to close, as he liked to heave his double bit from his shoulder and snag the top of the log to help him scramble up. Farmer allowed how he started heaving his knees as he got close, to make certain he could get his foot on the step, and even the quiet shy Mooney Joe said he made sure his spikes dug in hard to keep him from having to lift his foot twice.

That all changed the morning that as the light came up at the felling site the men were all recalled at the run, dropping their tool to the ground and compelled to sprint for Camp by the desperation in the tone of Mrs. Weaver as she shrieked for her husband George. When the men gathered around to see what was the matter, it was Tuggy was missing. Gone from his crib, find him, quick!

Spreading out, the men commenced to searching the wooded area. By a few hours and full daylight later, Sam made it back by the step, and found Tuggy where his efforts following the men to work had failed, stymied by the step. He had slept right through the commotion of the men running right over him on the way to Camp, worn out from his morning adventure.

Sam had been a sailor on a whaling ship before he landed in the woods, and he much preferred felling the trees than harpooning whales, he didn’t find it agreeable skewering milk-lings to cause their families to stay to danger.

He didn’t even wake Tuggy as he walked him back to Camp. If Tuggy had made the step, he would have ended up in the creek at the bottom of the cut, sure as water is wet. The men never complained about the step again, but any new men were told it had a name- Tuggy’s step.

Little Miss was a happy girl, she didn’t know of anything lacking in her life. Maybe another little girl to play with, although she had Tuggy for a living doll. The Indian kids were sometimes a little mean, making fun for what she didn’t know that they thought all children should know, but even though they knew lots of words and things she didn’t know yet, still and all, you would have a hard time finding a happier child.

It isn’t certain that she was set to it, or just happened onto it, but there came Little Miss into the Camp with a very lovely bouquet of poison oak she had gathered with her digging/paring knife. It was near as large as the Little Miss herself. An old man, old enough that it was hard to determine his race admired her pretty leaves, and complimented her on her find, but allowed that she had brought on to herself some difficulties for awhile. “I’ll set you to right, but it’ll be awhile of misery anyway. Just you endure, and you’ll see.” the kindly old man promised.

He had her bring him the prettiest leaf, and took his sharp sharp little knife, and cut such a thin little sliver from it it was barely a ghost of a wisp. By this time Little Miss was feeling a little sorry for herself so she hardly noticed that he pinched the back of her arm, made a small shallow incision just big enough for his speck of pretty. He tied it shut with a bit of widened leather string, put a hummingbird feather on to make it official, and called for Mrs. Weaver.

Little Miss was not quite such a happy little girl for the next few weeks, but she did try. Anyway, she never suffered from poison oak again, her entire long life.

Tuggy was always bringing home critters. In fact, you couldn’t find one pocket on any of Tuggy’s attire so that Mrs. Weaver wouldn’t chance across any forgotten critter or three. Even limited to his chubby grasp, the critters would come.

One foggy morning when Mrs. Weaver was visiting some other lady-folk, well, they were female if not ladies, a few miles away down at the village, Tuggy came into camp with a kit- a Catamount kit!

He was showing his increasingly reluctant prize to Little Missy in their cabin, which luckily had an automatically closing door- Mrs. Weaver had complained about closing the door behind enough- because that is when Mrs. Catamount showed up, looking for her own little puggy. I don’t know what tender accords Tuggy had arranged with the kit, but with mama’s angry roars all compacts were broken, and the mother must have thought the cabin with two small children and one tiny kit the utmost den of iniquity.

She strove to recover her property, heedless of any damage to well constructed shake shingles, but the layered slabs of wood well resisted her blows, long enough for Little Miss to shove the kit out of the front door while Mrs. Catamount was on the back roof. That shortly cured the commotion.

Until Mrs. Weaver returned, that is. She wasn’t mollified when George pointed out that the cabin had functioned as purposed. If the Little Miss hadn’t been so sharp, or the Catamount had pulled from the bottom up instead of raking from the top down, it might not have.

“You should always have tobacco with you out here. Yes, you and I both know it’s a filthy habit not to be inflicted on the Civilized, but giving, or sharing tobacco is a mighty friendly gesture, which can be understood across otherwise limiting barriers.”