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
There was no yapping and snarling from the wolves such as was usual, and
such as Robert had often heard, but they had become a phantom pack,
silent and ghost-like, creeping among the bushes, sinister and
threatening beyond all reckoning. Robert began to feel that, in very
truth, it was a phantom pack, and he wondered if his arrows, even if
they struck full and true, would slay. Nature, in her chance moments,
touches one among the millions with genius, and she had so tipped him
with living fire. His vivid and powerful imagination often made him see
things others could not see and caused him to clothe objects in colors
invisible to common eyes.
Now the wolves, with their demon leader, were moving in silence among
the bushes, and he felt that in truth he would soon be fighting with
what Tayoga called evil spirits. For the moment, not the demon leader
alone, but every wolf represented the soul of a wicked warrior, and they
would approach with all the cunning that the warriors had known and
practiced in their lives.
"Do you see the great beast now, Tayoga?" he whispered.
"No, he is behind a rock, but there is another slinking forward, drawing
himself without noise over the ground. He must have been in life a
savage from the far region, west of the Great Lakes, perhaps an eater of
his own kind, as the wolf eats his."
"I see him, Tayoga, just there on the right where the darkness lies like
a shroud. I see his jaws slavering too. He comes forward as a stalker,
and I've no doubt the soul of a most utter savage is hidden in his body.
He shall meet my arrow."
"Wait a little, Dagaeoga, until you can be sure of your shot. There is
another creeping forward on the left in the same manner, and you'll want
to send a second arrow quickly at him."
"I never saw a wolf-pack attack in this way before. They come like a
band of warriors with scouts and skirmishers, and I can see that they
have a force massed in the center for the main rush."
"In a few more seconds you can take the wolf on the right. Bury your
arrow in his throat. It is as I said, Dagaeoga. Now that the moment has
come your hand is steady, your nerves are firm, and even in the dusk I
can see that your eyes are bright."
It was true. Robert's imagination had painted the danger in the most
vivid colors, but now, that it was here, the beat of his pulse was as
regular as the ticking of a clock. Yet the unreal and sinister
atmosphere that clothed him about was not dispelled in the least, and he
could not rid himself of the feeling that in fighting them he was
fighting dead and gone warriors.
Nearer and nearer came the great wolf on his right, dragging his body
over the ground for all the world like a creeping Indian. Robert's eyes,
become uncommonly keen in the dusk, saw the long fangs, the slavering
jaws and the red eyes, and he also saw the spot in the pulsing throat
where he intended that the sharp point of his arrow should strike.
"Now!" whispered Tayoga.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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