the spirit of the border-第27节

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ten　watching　his　every　move。　Just　now　he　could　not　see　even　a　little　red

squirrel。　Everywhere　were　sturdy　hickory　and　oak　trees；　thickets　and

hazelnuts；　slender　ash　saplings；　and；　in　the　open　glades；　patches　of　sumach。

Rotting　trees　lay　on　the　ground；　while　ferns　nodded　long；　slender　heads　over

the　fallen　monarchs。　Joe　could　make　out　nothing　but　the　colors　of　the　woods；

the　gray　of　the　tree　trunks；　and；　in　the　openings　through　the　forest…green；

the　dead　purple　haze　of　forests　farther　on。　He　smiled；　and；　shaking　his　head

at　the　hunter；　by　his　action　admitted　failure。



〃Try　again。　Dead　ahead；〃　whispered　Wetzel。



Joe　bent　a　direct　gaze　on　the　clump　of　sassafras　one　hundred　feet　ahead。　　He

searched　the　open　places；　the　shadowseven　the　branches。　Then　he　turned　his

eyes　slowly　to　the　right。　Whatever　was　discernible　to　human　vision　he　studied

intently。　Suddenly　his　eye　became　fixed　on　a　small　object　protruding　from

behind　a　beech　tree。　It　was　pointed；　and　in　color　darker　than　the　gray　bark　of

the　beech。　It　had　been　a　very　easy　matter　to　pass　over　this　little　thing；　but

now　that　the　lad　saw　it；　he　knew　to　what　it　belonged。



〃That's　a　buck's　ear；〃　he　replied。



Hardly　had　he　finished　speaking　when　Wetzel　intentionally　snapped　a　twig。　

There　was　a　crash　and　commotion　in　the　thicket；　branches　moved　and　small

saplings　waved；　then　out　into　the　open　glade　bounded　a　large　buck　with　a

whistle　of　alarm。　Throwing　his　rifle　to　a　level；　Joe　was　trying　to　cover　the

bounding　deer；　when　the　hunter　struck　up　his　piece。



〃Lad；　don't　kill　fer　the　sake　of　killin；〃　he　said；　quietly。　〃We　have　plenty　of

venison。　We'll　go　arter　a　buffalo。　I　hev　a　hankerin'　fer　a　good　rump　steak。〃



Half　an　hour　later；　the　hunters　emerged　from　the　forest　into　a　wide　plain　of

waving　grass。　It　was　a　kind　of　oval　valley；　encircled　by　hills；　and　had　been

at　one　time；　perhaps；　covered　with　water。　Joe　saw　a　herd　of　large　animals

browsing；　like　cattle；　in　a　meadow。　His　heart　beat　high；　for　until　that　moment

the　only　buffalo　he　had　seen　were　the　few　which　stood　on　the　river　banks　as

the　raft　passed　down　the　Ohio。　He　would　surely　get　a　shot　at　one　of　these　huge

fellows。



Wetzel　bade　Joe　do　exactly　as　he　did；　whereupon　he　dropped　on　his　hands　and

knees　and　began　to　crawl　through　the　long　grass。　This　was　easy　for　the　hunter；

but　very　bard　for　the　lad　to　accomplish。　Still；　he　managed　to　keep　his　comrade

in　sight；　which　was　a　matter　for　congratulation；　because　the　man　crawled　as

fast　as　he　walked。　At　length；　after　what　to　Joe　seemed　a　very　long　time；　the

hunter　paused。



〃Are　we　near　enough？〃　whispered　Joe；　breathlessly。



〃Nope。　We're　just　circlin'　on　'em。　The　wind's　not　right；　an'　I'm　afeered

they'll　get　our　scent。〃



Wetzel　rose　carefully　and　peeped　over　the　top　of　the　grass；　then；　dropping　on

all　fours；　he　resumed　the　advance。



He　paused　again；　presently　and　waited　for　Joe　to　come　up。



〃See　here；　young　fellar；　remember；　never　hurry　unless　the　bizness　calls　fer

speed；　an'　then　act　like　lightnin'。〃



Thus　admonishing　the　eager　lad；　Wetzel　continued　to　crawl。　It　was　easy　for

him。　Joe　wondered　how　those　wide　shoulders　got　between　the　weeds　and　grasses

without　breaking；　or；　at　least；　shaking　them。　But　so　it　was。



〃Flat　now；〃　whispered　Wetzel；　putting　his　broad　hand　on　Joe's　back　and

pressing　him　down。　〃Now's　yer　time　fer　good　practice。　Trail　yer　rifle　over　yer

backif　yer　careful　it　won't　slide　offan'　reach　out　far　with　one　arm　an'

dig　yer　fingers　in　deep。　Then　pull　yerself　forrard。〃



Wetzel　slipped　through　the　grass　like　a　huge　buckskin　snake。　His　long；　lithe

body　wormed　its　way　among　the　reeds。　But　for　Joe；　even　with　the　advantage　of

having　the　hunter's　trail　to　follow；　it　was　difficult　work。　　The　dry　reeds

broke　under　him；　and　the　stalks　of　saw…gass　shook。　He　worked　persistently　at

it；　learning　all　the　while；　and　improving　with　every　rod。　　He　was　surprised　to

hear　a　swish；　followed　by　a　dull　blow　on　the　ground。　　Raising　his　head；　he

looked　forward。　He　saw　the　hunter　wipe　his　tomahawk　on　the　grass。



〃Snake；〃　whispered　Wetzel。



Joe　saw　a　huge　blacksnake　squirming　in　the　grass。　Its　head　had　been　severed。

He　caught　glimpses　of　other　snakes　gliding　away；　and　glossy　round　moles

darting　into　their　holes。　A　gray　rabbit　started　off　with　a　leap。



〃We're　near　enough；〃　whispered　Wetzel；　stopping　behind　a　bush。　He　rose　and

surveyed　the　plain；　then　motioned　Joe　to　look。



Joe　raised　himself　on　his　knees。　As　his　gaze　reached　the　level　of　the　grassy

plain　his　heart　leaped。　Not　fifty　yards　away　was　a　great；　shaggy；　black

buffalo。　He　was　the　king　of　the　herd；　but　ill　at　ease；　for　he　pawed　the　grass

and　shook　his　huge　bead。　Near　him　were　several　cows　and　a　half…grown　calf。

Beyond　was　the　main　herd；　extending　as　far　as　Joe　could　seea　great　sea　of

black　humps！　The　lad　breathed　hard　as　he　took　in　the　grand　sight。



〃Pick　out　the　little　fellarthe　reddish…brown　onean'　plug　him　behind　the

shoulder。　Shoot　close　now；　fer　if　we　miss；　mebbe　I　can't　hit　one；　because　I'm

not　used　to　shootin'　at　sich　small　marks。〃



Wetzel's　rare　smile　lighted　up　his　dark　face。　Probably　he　could　have　shot　a

fly　off　the　horn　of　the　bull；　if　one　of　the　big　flies　or　bees；　plainly　visible

as　they　swirled　around　the　huge　head；　had　alighted　there。



Joe　slowly　raised　his　rifle。　He　had　covered　the　calf；　and　was　about　to　pull

the　trigger；　when；　with　a　sagacity　far　beyond　his　experience　as　hunter；　he

whispered　to　Wetzel：



〃If　I　fire　they　may　run　toward　us。〃



〃Nope；　they'll　run　away；〃　answered　Wetzel；　thinking　the　lad　was　as　keen　as　an

Indian。



Joe　quickly　covered　the　calf　again；　and　pulled　the　trigger。　Bellowing　loud　the

big　bull　dashed　off。　The　herd　swung　around　toward　the　west；　and　soon　were

galloping　off　with　a　lumbering　roar。　The　shaggy　humps　bobbed　up　and　down　like

hot；　angry　waves　on　a　storm…blackened　sea。



Upon　going　forward；　Wetzel　and　Joe　found　the　calf　lying　dead　in　the　grass。



〃You　might　hev　did　better'n　that；〃　remarked　the　hunter；　as　he　saw　where　the

bullet　had　struck。　〃You　went　a　little　too　fer　back；　but　mebbe　thet　was　'cause

the　calf　stepped　as　you　shot。〃







Chapter　XV。



So　the　days　passed　swiftly；　dreamily；　each　one　bringing　Joe　a　keener　delight。

In　a　single　month　he　was　as　good　a　woodsman　as　many　pioneers　who　had　passed

years　on　the　border；　for　he　had　the　advantage　of　a　teacher　whose　woodcraft　was

incomparable。　Besides；　he　was　naturally　quick　in　learning；　and　with　all　his

interest　centered　upon　forest　lore；　it　was　no　wonder　he　assimilated　much　of

Wetzel's　knowledge。　He　was　ever　willing　to　undertake　anything　whereby　he　might

learn。　Often　when　they　were　miles　away　in　the　dense　forest；　far　from　their

cave；　he　asked　Wetzel　to　let　him　try　to　lead　the　way　back　to　camp。　And　he

never　failed　once；　though　many　times　he　got　off　a　straight　course；　thereby

missing　the　easy　travelling。



Joe　did　wonderfully　well；　but　he　lacked；　as　nearly　all　white　men　do；　the

subtler；　intuitive　forest…instinct；　which　makes　the　Indian　as　much　at　home　in

the　woods　as　in　his　teepee。　Wetzel　had　this　developed　to　a　high　degree。　　It

was　born　in　him。　Years　of　training；　years　of　passionate；　unrelenting　search

for　Indians；　had　given　him　a　knowledge　of　the　wilds　that　was　incomprehensible

to　white　men；　and　appalling　to　his　red　foes。



Joe　saw　how　Wetzel　used　this　ability；　but　what　it　really　was　baffled　him。　He

realized　that　words　were　not　adequate　to　explain　fully　this　great　art。　Its

possession　required　a　marvelously　keen　vision；　an　eye　perfectly　familiar　with

every　creature；　tree；　rock；　shrub　and　thing　belonging　in　the　forest；　an　eye　so

quick　in　flight　as　to　detect　instantly　the　slightest　change　in　nature；　or

anything　unnatural　to　that　environment。　The　hearing　must　be　delicate；　like

that　of　a　deer；　and　the　finer　it　is；　the　keener　will　be　the　woodsman。　Lastly；

there　is　the　feeling　that　prompts　the　old　hunter　to　say：　〃No　game　to…day。〃　It

is　something　in　him　that　speaks　when；　as　he　sees　a　night…hawk　circling　low

near　the　ground；　he　says：　〃A　storm　to…morrow。〃　It　is　what　makes　an　Indian　at

home　in　any　wilderness。　The　clouds　may　hide　the　guiding　star；　the　northing　may

be　lost；　there　may　be　no　moss　on　the　trees；　or　difference　in　their　bark；　the

ridges　may　be　flat　or　lost　altogether；　and　there　may　be　no　water…courses；　yet

the　Indian　brave　always　goes　for　his　teepee；　straight　as　a　crow　flies。　　It　was

this　voice　which　rightly　bade　Wetzel；　when　he　was　baffled　by　an　Indian's　trail

fading　among　the　rocks；　to　cross；　or　circle；　or　advance　in　the　direction　taken

by　his　wily　foe。



Joe　had　practiced　trailing　deer　and　other　hoofed　game；　until　he　was　true　as　a

hound。　Then　he　began　to　perfect　himself　in　the　art　of　following　a　human　being

through　the　forest。　Except　a　few　old　Indian　trails；　which　the　rain　had　half

obliterated；　he　had　no　tracks　to　discover　save　Wetzel's；　and　these　were　as

hard　to　find　as　the　airy　course　of　a　grosbeak