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,” he said, “a lot uv foolish wild turkeys hev gone to rest on the
limb of a tree not twenty yards from this grand manshun uv ourn. 'Pears
to me that wild turkeys wuz made fur hungry fellers like us to eat. Kin
we risk a shot or two at 'em, or is it too dangerous?”
“I think we can risk the shots,” said Henry, rising and taking his
rifle. “We're bound to risk something, and it's not likely that Indians
are anywhere near.”
They slipped from the cabin, leaving the other three still sound asleep,
and stepped noiselessly among the trees. The first pale gray bar that
heralded the dawn was just showing in the cast.
“Thar they are,” said Tom Ross, pointing at the dozen dark blots on the
high bough.
“We'll take good aim, and when I say 'fire!' we'll both pull trigger,”
said Henry.
He picked out a huge bird near the end of the line, but he noticed when
he drew the bead that a second turkey just behind the first was directly
in his line of fire. The fact aroused his ambition to kill both with
one bullet. It was not a mere desire to slaughter or to display
marksmanship, but they needed the extra turkey for food.
“Are you ready, Tom?” he asked. “Then fire.”
They pulled triggers, there were two sharp reports terribly loud to both
under the circumstances, and three of the biggest and fattest of the
turkeys fell heavily to the ground, while the rest flapped their wings,
and with frightened gobbles flew away.
Henry was about to rush forward, but Silent Tom held him back.
“Don't show yourself, Henry! Don't show yourself!” he cried in tense
tones.
“Why, what's the matter?” asked the boy in surprise.
“Don't you see that three turkeys fell, and we are only two to shoot?
An Injun is layin' 'roun' here some whar, an' he drawed a bead on one uv
them turkeys at the same time we did.”
Henry laughed and put away Tom's detaining hand.
“There's no Indian about,” he said. “I killed two turkeys with one shot,
and I'm mighty proud of it, too. I saw that they were directly in the
line of the bullet, and it went through both.”
Silent Tom heaved a mighty sigh of relief, drawn up from great depths.
“I'm tre-men-jeous-ly glad uv that, Henry,” he said. “Now when I saw
that third turkey come tumblin' down I wuz shore that one Injun or mebbe
more had got on this snug little place uv ourn in the swamp, an' that
we'd hev to go to fightin' ag'in. Thar come times, Henry, when my mind
just natchally rises up an' rebels ag'in fightin', 'specially when I
want to eat or sleep. Ain't thar anythin' else but fight, fight, fight,
'though I 'low a feller hez got to expect a lot uv it out here in the
woods?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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