American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
The distance between the spot where the deer had been killed, and the
chiente, was about three miles; which was the reason why the bee-hunter
had not brought home the entire animal the day he killed it; the
American woodsman often carrying his game great distances in preference
to leaving it any length of time in the forest. In the latter case there
is always danger from beasts of prey, which are drawn from afar by the
scent of blood. Le Bourdon thought it possible they might now encounter
wolves; though he had left the carcass of the deer so suspended as to
place it beyond the reach of most of the animals of the wilderness. Each
of the men, however, carried a rifle: and Hive was allowed to accompany
them, by an act of grace on the part of his master.
For the first half-hour, nothing occurred out of the usual course of
events. The bee-hunter had been conversing freely with his companion,
who, he rejoiced to find, manifested far more common sense, not to say
good sense, than he had previously shown; and from whom he was deriving
information touching the number of vessels, and the other movements on
the lakes, that he fancied might be of use to himself when he started
for Detroit. While thus engaged, and when distant only a hundred rods
from the place where he had left the venison, le Bourdon was suddenly
struck with the movements of the dog. Instead of doubling on his own
tracks, and scenting right and left, as was the animal's wont, he was
now advancing cautiously, with his head low, seemingly feeling his way
with his nose, as if there was a strong taint in the wind.
“Sartain as my name is Gershom,” exclaimed Waring, just after he and Ben
had come to a halt, in order to look around them--“yonder is an Injin!
The crittur' is seated at the foot of the large oak--hereaway, more
to the right of the dog, and Hive has struck his scent. The fellow is
asleep, with his rifle across his lap, and can't have much dread of
wolves or bears!”
“I see him,” answered le Bourdon, “and am as much surprised as grieved
to find him there. It is a little remarkable that I should have so many
visitors, just at this time, on my hunting-ground, when I never had
any at all before yesterday. It gives a body an uncomfortable feeling,
Waring, to live so much in a crowd! Well, well--I'm about to move, and
it will matter little twenty-four hours hence.”
“The chap's a Winnebago by his paint,” added Gershom--“but let's go up
and give him a call.”
The bee-hunter assented to this proposal, remarking, as they moved
forward, that he did not think the stranger of the tribe just named;
though he admitted that the use of paint was so general and loose among
these warriors, as to render it difficult to decide.
“The crittur' sleeps soundly!” exclaimed Gershom, stopping within ten
yards of the Indian, to take another look at him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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