Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
At noon the clouds broke, and an hour later the sunshine was streaming
down from a cloudless heaven, beneath which the forest lay clear before
us, naught stirring save shy sylvan creatures to whom it mattered not if
red man or white held the land.
Side by side Diccon and I hurried on, not speaking, keeping eye and ear
open, proposing with all our will to reach the goal we had set, and
to reach it in time, let what might oppose. It was but another forced
march; many had we made in our time, through dangers manifold, and had
lived to tell the tale.
There was no leisure in which to play the Indian and cover up our
footprints as we made them, but when we came to a brook we stepped into
the cold, swift-flowing water, and kept it company for a while.
The brook flowed between willows, thickly set, already green, and
overarching a yard or more of water. Presently it bent sharply, and we
turned with it. Ten yards in front of us the growth of willows ceased
abruptly, the low, steep banks shelved downwards to a grassy level,
and the stream widened into a clear and placid pool, as blue as the sky
above. Crouched upon the grass or standing in the shallow water were
some fifteen or twenty deer. We had come upon them without noise; the
wind blew from them to us, and the willows hid us from their sight.
There was no alarm, and we stood a moment watching them before we should
throw a stone or branch into their midst and scare them from our path.
Suddenly, as we looked, the leader threw up his head, made a spring, and
was off like a dart, across the stream and into the depths of the forest
beyond. The herd followed. A moment, and there were only the trodden
grass and the troubled waters; no other sign that aught living had
passed that way.
“Now what was that for?” muttered Diccon. “I'm thinking we had best not
take to the open just yet.”
For answer I parted the willows, and forced myself into the covert,
pressing as closely as possible against the bank, and motioning him to
do the same. He obeyed, and the thick-clustering gold-green twigs swung
into place again, shutting us in with the black water and the leafy,
crumbling bank. From that green dimness we could look out upon the pool
and the grass, with small fear that we ourselves would be seen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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