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
The tracks now seemed to Robert to grow much fresher. Tayoga, with his
infallible eye and his wonderful gifts, both inherited and improved,
would have known just how fresh they were, but Robert was compelled to
confine his surmise to the region of the comparative. Nevertheless, he
knew that he was gaining upon the moose and that was enough. But as it
was evident by his frequent browsing that the animal was going slowly,
he controlled his eagerness sufficiently to exercise great wariness on
his own part. It might be that while he was hunting he could also become
the hunted. It was not at all impossible that the warriors of Tandakora
would fall upon his own track and follow.
He looked back apprehensively, and once he returned and retraced his
steps for a little distance, but he could discern no evidence of an
enemy and he resumed his pursuit of the moose, going faster now, and
seeing twigs which apparently had been broken off only a few minutes
before. Then, as he topped a little rise, he saw the animal itself,
browsing lazily on the succulent bushes. It was a large moose, but to
Robert, although an experienced hunter, it loomed up at the moment like
an elephant. He had staked so much upon securing the game, and the issue
was so important that his heart beat hard with excitement.
The wind was still in his favor, and, creeping as near as he dared, he
fitted an arrow to Tayoga's bow and pulled the string. The arrow struck
well in behind the shoulder and the moose leaped high. Another arrow
sang from the bow and found its heart, after which it ran a few steps
and fell. Robert's laborious task began, to remove at least a part of
the skin, and then great portions of the meat, as much as he could
carry, wrapped in the folds of the skin, portions from which he intended
to make steaks.
He secured at least fifty pounds, and then he looked with regret at the
great body. He was not one to slay animals for sport's sake, and he
wished that the rangers and Mohawks might have the hundreds of pounds
of good moose meat, but he knew it was not destined for them. As he drew
away with his own burden his heirs to the rest were already showing
signs of their presence. From the thick bushes about came the rustling
of light feet, and now and then an eager and impatient snarl. Red eyes
showed, and as he turned away the wolves of the hills made a wild rush
for the fallen monarch. Robert, for some distance, heard them yapping
and snarling over the feast, and, despite his own success in securing
what he needed so badly, he felt remorse because he had been compelled
to give so fine an animal over to the wolves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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