Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 15, August, 1851Various
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 15, August, 1851
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
The next morning at daybreak Wilton and his two sons were mounted, and
ready to set out, intending to take Nero with them; but nothing could
induce him to leave his mistress: he resisted passively for some time,
until one of the young men attempted to pass a rope round his neck, to
drag him away: then his forbearance vanished; he sprung on his
tormentor, threw him down, and would have strangled him if Susan had not
been present. Finding it impossible to make Nero accompany them, they
left without him, but had not proceeded many miles before he and his
mistress were at their side. They begged Susan to return, told her of
the hardships she must endure, and of the inconvenience she would be to
them. It was of no avail; she had but one answer: "I am a hunter's
daughter, and a hunter's wife." She told them that knowing how useful
Nero would be to them in their search, she had secretly taken a horse
and followed them.
The party rode first to Tom Cooper's hut, and there having dismounted,
leading their horses through the forest, followed the trail, as only men
long accustomed to a savage life can do. At night they lay on the
ground, covered with their thick bear-skin cloaks: for Susan only they
heaped up a bed of dried leaves; but she refused to occupy it, saying it
was her duty to bear the same hardships they did. Ever since their
departure she had shown no sign of sorrow. Although slight and
delicately formed, she never appeared fatigued: her whole soul was
absorbed in one longing desire--to find her husband's body; for from the
first she had abandoned the hope of ever again seeing him in life. This
desire supported her through every thing. Early the next morning they
were again on the trail. About noon, as they were crossing a small
brook, the hound suddenly dashed away from them, and was lost in the
thicket. At first they fancied they might have crossed the track of a
deer or wolf; but a long mournful howl soon told the sad truth, for not
far from the brook lay the faithful dog on the dead body of his master,
which was pierced to the heart by an Indian arrow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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