The Scouts of the ValleyAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
General
The Scouts of the Valley
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
Chemung River Valley (N.Y. and Pa.) -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Wyoming Valley (Pa.) -- Fiction
Henry stopped once to catch a last glimpse of the fires and the feasting
Indians under the bark shelters. He saw a warrior raise a bone, grasping
it in both hands, and bite deep into the tender flesh that clothed it.
The sight inflamed him into an anger almost uncontrollable. He clenched
his fist and shook it at the warrior, who little suspected the proximity
of a hatred so intense. Then he bent his head down and rushed away among
the wet bushes which in rebuke at his lack of caution raked him across
the face.
Henry walked despondently back toward the islet in the swamp. The aspect
of air and sky had not changed. The heavens still dripped icy water,
and there was no ray of cheerfulness anywhere. The game remained well
hidden.
It was a long journey back, and as he felt that he was growing weak he
made no haste. He came to dense clumps of bushes, and plowing his way
through them, he saw a dark opening under some trees thrown down by an
old hurricane. Having some vague idea that it might be the lair of a
wild animal, he thrust the muzzle of his rifle into the darkness. It
touched a soft substance. There was a growl, and a black form shot out
almost into his face. Henry sprang aside, and in an instant all his
powers and faculties returned. He had stirred up a black bear, and
before the animal, frightened as much as he was enraged, could run far
the boy, careless how many Indians might hear, threw up his rifle and
fired.
His aim was good. The bear, shot through the head, fell, and was dead.
Henry, transformed, ran up to him. Bear life had been given up to
sustain man's. Here was food for many days, and he rejoiced with a great
joy. He did not now envy those warriors back there.
The bear, although small, was very fat. Evidently he had fed well on
acorns and wild honey, and he would yield up steaks which, to one with
Henry's appetite, would be beyond compare. He calculated that it was
more than a mile to the swamp, and, after a few preliminaries, he flung
the body of the bear over his shoulder. Through some power of the mind
over the body his full strength had returned to him miraculously, and
when he reached the stepping stones he crossed from one to another
lightly and firmly, despite the weight that he carried.
He came to the little bark hut which he now considered his own. The
night had fallen again, but some coals still glowed under the ashes, and
there was plenty of dry wood. He did everything decently and in order.
He took the pelt from the bear, carved the body properly, and then, just
as the Indians had done, he broiled strips over the coals. He ate them
one after another, slowly, and tasting all the savor, and, intense as
was the mere physical pleasure, it was mingled with a deep thankfulness.
Not only was the life nourished anew in him, but he would now regain the
strength to seek his comrades.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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