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
Tayoga was looking far ahead toward a point where the stream became much
narrower and both banks were densely wooded, as usual.
"If Tandakora really means to ambush us," he said, "he will be there,
because it offers the best opportunity, and it is a place that the heart
of a murderer would love. Suppose that Dagaeoga and I paddle, and that
the Great Bear rests with his rifle across his knees ready to fire at
the first flash. We know what a wonderful marksman the Great Bear is,
and it may be Tandakora who will fall."
"The plan, like most of yours, is good, Tayoga," said Willet. "The Lord
has given me some skill with the rifle, and I have improved it with
diligent practice. I think I can watch both sides of the stream pretty
well, and if the Ojibway fires I can fire back at the flash. We'll rely
upon our speed to make his bullet miss, and anyway we must take the
chance. You lads needn't exert yourselves until we come to the narrow
part of the stream. Then use the paddles for your lives."
Robert found it hard to be slow, but his will took command of his
muscles and he imitated the long easy strokes of Tayoga. As the current
helped much, their speed was considerable, nevertheless. The river
flowed, a silver torrent, in the clear light of the morning, a fish
leaping up now and then in the waters so seldom stirred by any strange
presence. The whole scene was saturated with the beauty and the majesty
of the wilderness, and to the eye that did not know it suggested only
peace. But Robert often lifted his gaze from the paddle and the river to
search the green thickets on either side. They were only casual glances,
Willet being at once their sentinel and guard.
The great hunter was never more keenly alert. His thick, powerful figure
was poised evenly in the canoe, and the long-barreled rifle lay in the
hollow of his arm, his hand on the lock and his finger on the trigger.
Eyes, trained by many years in the forest, searched continually among
the trees for a figure that did not belong there, and, at the same
time, he listened for the sound of any movement not natural to the
wilderness. He felt his full responsibility as the rifleman of the fleet
of one canoe, and he accepted it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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