Black Hills (S.D. and Wyo.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- United States -- Fiction
They turned sharp to the left, through the thicket, where the birds
were already hushing their songs, and the early dew was quite dried
away. The Kid pushed ahead with almost feverish rapidity. Here and
there in the brush Peter scurried, head down, hind legs well drawn
together beneath his flanks. He snuffled eagerly into the holes and
forms, doing his dramatic best to create some game, if necessary.
Every once in awhile his bristly head, all alert, peered, cock-eared,
over a bush, searching the hunter's face for directions, and then
plunging away suddenly as his own judgment advised. It was most
scienceless and unsportsman-like. The Kid peered eagerly to right and
left, holding the muzzle of the little rifle conscientiously at an
angle of forty-five degrees, as he had been taught, and vainly striving
to avoid dry twigs, although Peter was making enough noise for a circus
parade. The girl followed a step or so in the rear. It was
breath-taking, this excitement. Every stir of the bushes needed
examination, every flutter of wings was a possibility, every plunge of
Peter might send a covey whirring into the pine tops, or rouse a
squirrel to angry expostulation. As they went on up the side hills,
still without result, but therefore with expectation the more
sharpened, and as Molly's cheeks became redder and redder under her
brown skin and her eyes brighter and brighter, and as she bit her under
lip more and more, and as the straight level line of her brows grew
straighter and straighter with the concentration of her thoughts, it is
to be doubted if the most enthusiastic lover of scenery could have torn
his eyes from the pretty picture even for the sake of the magnificent
sweep of country below. So at least thought Cheyenne Harry, on his way
across the ridge to his claim.
He surveyed the eager three with some slight amusement.
"Hullo!" he called suddenly.
The boy and girl started.
"Hullo!" answered Molly after a moment, when her intent hunting
expression had quite fled before her cheerful look of recognition.
"That you?"
The Kid too paused, but evidently under protest, and with the idea of
moving on again at the earliest polite moment.
"How's hunting?" inquired Harry facetiously. "Killed all the game down
below there?"
"All we've seen," replied Molly promptly; "and the hunting's very
good." She put ever so slight a stress on the word "hunting." "We're
going over the ridge now. Want to come along and help carry the game?"
Harry looked speculatively at the Kid, who was standing first on one
bare foot, then on the other. "Naw, guess not," he replied. The Kid
brightened at once. "I'm going over to the Gold King for a while.
You'd better come along with me."
"Haven't had any breakfast," objected Molly.
"Oh, that's nothing. Neither have I. I'm just out to look around.
Come ahead."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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