The Rulers of the Lakes: A Story of George and ChamplainAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Rulers of the Lakes: A Story of George and Champlain
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Fiction
He walked up a deep defile which gradually grew shallower, and then
ascended rapidly. Finally he came out on a crest, crowned with splendid
trees, and he drew a great breath of pleasure as he looked upon a vast
green wilderness, deepened in color by the long and recent rains, and
upon the far western horizon a dim but splendid band of silver which he
knew was Andiatarocte. A lover of beauty, and with the soul of a poet,
he could have stood, gazing a long time, but there was a sterner task
forward than the contemplation of nature in the wild.
He must sink the poet in the hunter, and he began to look for tracks of
game, which he felt sure would be plentiful in the forest, since men had
long been hunting one another instead of the deer. He had an abundance
of will of his own, but he felt also, despite a certain incredulity of
the reason, that the concentrated will of his distant comrade was
driving him on.
He walked about a mile, remaining well under cover, having a double
object, to keep himself hidden from foes and also to find traces of
game. His confidence that he would find it, and very quickly, was not
abated, and, at the end of a mile, he saw a broad footprint on the turf
that made him utter a low exclamation of delight. It was larger than
that of a cow, and more pointed. He knew at once that it had been made
by a moose, the great animal which was then still to be found in the
forests of Northern New York.
The tracks led northward and he studied them with care. The wind had
risen and was blowing toward him, which was favorable for his pursuit,
as the sound of his own footsteps rustling the grass or breaking a
little stick would not be likely to reach the ear of the moose. He was
convinced, too, that the tracks were not much more than two hours old,
and since the big animal was likely to be rambling along, nibbling at
the twigs, the chance was in favor of the hunter overtaking him very
soon.
It was easy to follow the trail, the hoof prints were so large, and he
soon saw, too, the broken ends of twigs that had been nibbled by the
moose, and also exposed places on the trunks of trees where the bark had
been peeled off by the animal's teeth. He was sure that the game could
not be much more than a mile ahead, and his soul was filled with the
ardor of the chase. He was confident that he was pursuing a big bull, as
the fact was indicated by the size of the prints, the length of the
stride, and the height at which the moose had browsed on the twigs.
There were other facts he had learned among the Iroquois, indicating to
him it was a bull. While the tracks were pointed, they were less pointed
than those the cow generally makes, and the twigs that had been nibbled
were those of the fir, while the cow usually prefers the birch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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