The Demon Trapper of Umbagog: A Thrilling Tale of the Maine ForestsThompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
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The Demon Trapper of Umbagog: A Thrilling Tale of the Maine Forests
Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Maine -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction
So saying, she stepped lightly into the canoe and took her seat. She
was immediately followed by the chief, who, quickly handling his oar,
sent the light craft, with a single stroke, some rods into the lake,
when, partially turning its bow towards the spot where Claud was
standing on the shore, he said:
“Should the young man ever stray from his companions in the hunt, or
find himself weary, or wet, or cold, or in want of food, when out on
the borders of the Molechunk-a-munk, let him feel, and doubt not, that
he will be welcome to the lodge of Wenongonet.”
“And, if Mr. Elwood should be in the vicinity of our lake this fall,
and _not_ happen to be in a so very sad condition, he might, perhaps,
find a good welcome on calling,--so, especially, if he come before the
time of the first snows,” added Fluella, playfully at first but with a
slight suffusion of the cheek as she proceeded to the close.
“I thank the chief,” responded Claud with a respectful bow. “And I
thank you, my fair friend,” he continued, turning more familiarly to
Fluella. “I hope to come, some time. But why do you speak of the first
snows?”
“O, the birds take wing for a warmer country about that time, and
perhaps some who have not wings may be off with them,” replied Fluella,
in the same tone of playfulness and emotion.
A stately bow from the father, and another with a sweetly eloquent
smile from the daughter, completed, on their part, the ceremonies
of the adieu; when the canoe was headed round, and, by the easy and
powerful paddle-strokes of the still vigorous old man, sent bounding
over the waters of the glassy lake.
Slowly and thoughtfully Claud turned and took his way homeward. “Who
could have expected,” he soliloquized, “to witness such an exhibition
of intellect and exalted tone of feeling in one of that despised race,
as that proud old man displayed, in his eloquently-told story? And that
daughter! Well, what is she to me? My faith is given to another. But
why feel this strange interest? Yet, after all, it is probably nothing
but what any one would naturally feel in the surprise occasioned on
beholding such qualities in such a place and person. No, no, it can be
nothing more; and I will whistle it to the winds.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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