The Hunters of the HillsAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Hunters of the Hills
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Fiction
"Home, Tayoga! Home!" said the hunter, joyfully. "I've nothing against
cities in general, but I breathed some pretty foul air in Quebec, and
it's sweet and clean here. There comes a time when you are glad no house
crosses your view and you are with the world as it was made in the
beginning. Don't these trees look splendid! Did you ever see a finer lot
of tender young leaves? And the night sky you see up there has been
washed and scrubbed until it's nothing but clean blue!"
"Why, you're only a boy, Dave, the youngest of us three," laughed
Robert. "Here you are singing songs about leaves and trees just as if
you were not the most terrible swordsman in the world."
A shadow crossed Willet's face, but it was quick in passing.
"Let's not talk about Boucher, Robert," he said. "I don't regret what I
did, knowing that it saved the lives of others, but I won't recall it
any oftener than I can help. You're right when you term me a boy, and I
believe you're right, too, when you say I'm the youngest of the three.
I'm so glad to be here that just now I'm not more'n fifteen years old. I
could run, jump, laugh and sing. And I think the woods are a deal safer
and friendlier than Quebec. There's nobody, at least not here, lying
around seeking a chance to stick a rapier in your back."
He unbuckled his sword and laid it upon the grass. Robert put his beside
it.
"I don't think we'll need to use 'em again for a long time," said the
hunter, "but they're mighty fine as decorations, and sometimes a
decoration is worth while. It impresses. Now, Tayoga, you kindle the
fire, and Robert, you find a spring. It's pleasant to feel that you're
again on land that belongs to nobody, and can do as you please."
Robert found a spring less than a hundred yards away, and Tayoga soon
kindled a fire near it with his flint and steel, on which the hunter
warmed their food. Each had a small tin cup from which he drank clear
water as they ate, and Robert, elastic of temperament, rejoiced with the
hunter.
"You are right, Dave," he said. "These are splendid trees, and every
leaf on 'em is splendid, too, and the little spring I found is just
about as fine a spring as the forest holds. I slept in a good bed at the
Inn of the Eagle, but when I scrape up the dead leaves here, roll myself
in my blanket and lie on 'em I think I'll sleep better than I did
between four walls. What did you think of the Marquis Duquesne, Dave?"
"A man of parts, Robert. He has more military authority than any of our
Governors have, and if war comes he'll be a dangerous opponent."
"And it will come, Dave?"
"Looks like a certainty. You see, Robert, the King of France and the
King of England sitting on their golden thrones, only three or four
hundred miles apart, but three or four thousand miles from us, have a
dyspeptic fit, make faces at each other, and here in the woods we must
fall to fighting. Even Tayoga's people--and the King of France and the
King of England are nothing to them--must be drawn into it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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