The Keepers of the Trail: A Story of the Great WoodsAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
General
The Keepers of the Trail: A Story of the Great Woods
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
Wilderness areas -- Fiction
The soil of the valley was so fertile that the grass was already high
enough to hide them, when they lay down near the edge of the creek.
There they ate their venison and listened to the musical tinkle of the
rushing water, while the sun rose higher, and turned the luminous silver
of the valley into luminous gold. They heard light footfalls of the deer
moving, and the birds sang on, but there was no human sound in the
valley. Their great adventure, the Indian camp, and the manifold dangers
seemed to float away for the time. If it was not the Garden of Eden it
was another garden of the same kind, and it looked very beautiful to
these two who had spent most of the night running for their lives. They
were happy, as they ate venison and the last crumbs of their bread.
"If the others wuz here," said Shif'less Sol, "nothin' would be lackin'.
I'm in love with the wilderness more an' more every year, Henry. One
reason is 'cause I'm always comin' on somethin' new. I ain't no
tied-down man. Here I've dropped into the Garden o' Eden that's been
lost fur thousands o' years, an' tomorrow I may be findin' some other
wonder. I rec'lect my feelin' the first time I saw the Ohio, an' I've
looked too upon the big river that the warriors call the Father o'
Waters. I'm always findin' some new river or creek or lake. Nothin's
old, or all trod up or worn out. Some day I'm goin' way out on them
plains that you've seed, Henry, where the buff'ler are passin' millions
strong. I tell you I love to go with the wind, an' at night, when I
ain't quite asleep, to hear it blowin' an' blowin', an' tellin' me that
the things I've found already may be fine, but thar's finer yet farther
on. I hear Paul talkin' 'bout the Old World, but thar can't be anythin'
in it half ez fine ez all these woods in the fall, jest blazin' with red
an' yellow, an' gold an' brown, an' the air sparklin' enough to make an
old man young."
The face of the shiftless one glowed as he spoke. Every word he said
came straight from his heart and Henry shared in his fervor. The wild
men who slew and scalped could not spoil his world. He had finished his
venison, and, drinking cold water at the edge of the creek, he came back
and lay down again in the long grass.
"Perhaps we'd better stay here the most of the day," said Henry. "The
valley seems to be out of the Indian line of march. The buffaloes are
over there grazing peacefully, and I can see does at the edge of the
woods. If warriors were near they wouldn't be so peaceful."
"And there are the wild turkeys gobblin' in the trees," said Shif'less
Sol. "I like wild turkey mighty well, but even ef thar wuz no fear o'
alarm I wouldn't shoot any one in my Garden o' Eden."
"Nor I either, Sol. I'm beginning to like this valley as well as you do.
Your claim to it stands good, but when we're on our hunting expeditions
up this way again the five of us will come here and camp."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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