the scouts of the valley- 第48部分

He　withdrew　into　the　farthest　recess　of　his　covert；　wrapped　the　blanket　tightly　about　his　body；　and　lay　still　for　a　long　time。　　He　was　preparing　both　mind　and　body　for　the　supreme　effort。　　He　knew　that　everything　hung　now　on　the　surviving　remnants　of　his　skill　and　courage。　

Weakened　by　shock　and　several　days　of　fasting；　he　had　no　great　reserve　now　except　the　mental；　and　he　used　that　to　the　utmost。　　It　was　proof　of　his　youthful　greatness　that　it　stood　the　last　test。　　As　he　lay　there；　the　final　ounce　of　will　and　courage　came。　　Strength　which　was　of　the　mind　rather　than　of　the　body　flowed　back　into　his　veins；　he　felt　able　to　dare　and　to　do；　the　pale　aspect　of　the　world　went　away；　and　once　more　he　was　Henry　Ware；　alert；　skillful；　and　always　triumphant。

Then　he　rose　again；　folded　the　blanket；　and　fastened　it　on　his　shoulders。　　He　looked　at　the　snowshoes；　but　decided　that　his　left　ankle；　despite　its　great　improvement；　would　not　stand　the　strain。　　He　must　break　his　way　through　the　snow；　which　was　a　full　three　feet　in　depth。　　Fortunately　the　crust　had　softened　somewhat　in　the　last　two　or　three　days；　and　he　did　not　have　a　covering　of　ice　to　meet。

He　pushed　his　way　for　the　first　time　from　the　lair　under　the　cliff；　his　rifle　held　in　his　ready　hands；　in　order　that　he　might　miss　no　chance　at　game。　　To　an　ordinary　observer　there　would　have　been　no　such　chance　at　all。　　It　was　merely　a　grim　white　wilderness　that　might　have　been　without　anything　living　from　the　beginning。　　But　Henry；　the　forest　runner；　knew　better。　　Somewhere　in　the　snow　were　lairs　much　like　the　one　that　he　had　left；　and　in　these　lairs　were　wild　animals。　　To　any　such　wild　animal；　whether　panther　or　bear；　the　hunter　would　now　have　been　a　fearsome　object；　with　his　hollow　cheeks；　his　sunken　fiery　eyes；　and　his　thin　lips　opening　now　and　then；　and　disclosing　the　two　rows　of　strong　white　teeth。

Henry　advanced　about　a　rod；　and　then　he　stopped；　breathing　hard；　because　it　was　desperate　work　for　one　in　his　condition　to　break　his　way　through　snow　so　deep。　　But　his　ankle　stood　the　strain　well；　and　his　courage　increased　rather　than　diminished。　　He　was　no　longer　a　cripple　confined　to　one　spot。　　While　be　stood　resting；　he　noticed　a　clump　of　bushes　about　half　a　rod　to　his　left；　and　a　hopeful　idea　came　to　him。

He　broke　his　way　slowly　to　the　bushes；　and　then　he　searched　carefully　among　them。　　The　snow　was　not　nearly　so　thick　there；　and　under　the　thickest　clump；　where　the　shelter　was　best；　he　saw　a　small　round　opening。　　In　an　instant　all　his　old　vigorous　life；　all　the　abounding　hope　which　was　such　a　strong　characteristic　of　his　nature；　came　back　to　him。　　Already　he　had　triumphed　over　Indians；　Tories；　the　mighty　slope；　snow；　ice；　crippling；　and　starvation。

He　laid　the　rifle　on　the　snow　and　took　the　ramrod　in　his　right　hand。　　He　thrust　his　left　hand　into　the　hole；　and　when　the　rabbit　leaped　for　life　from　his　warm　nest　a　smart　blow　of　the　ramrod　stretched　him　dead　at　the　feet　of　the　hunter。　　Henry　picked　up　the　rabbit。　　It　was　large　and　yet　fat。　　Here　was　food　for　two　meals。　　In　the　race　between　the　ankle　and　starvation；　the　ankle　had　won。

He　did　not　give　way　to　any　unseemly　elation。　　He　even　felt　a　momentary　sorrow　that　a　life　must　perish　to　save　his　own；　because　all　these　wild　things　were　his　kindred　now。　　He　returned　by　the　path　that　he　had　broken；　kindled　his　fire　anew；　dexterously　skinned　and　cleaned　his　rabbit；　then　cooked　it　and　ate　half；　although　he　ate　slowly　and　with　intervals　between　each　piece。　　How　delicious　it　tasted；　and　how　his　physical　being　longed　to　leap　upon　it　and　devour　it；　but　the　power　of　the　mind　was　still　supreme。　　He　knew　what　was　good　for　himself；　and　he　did　it。　　Everything　was　done　in　order　and　with　sobriety。　　Then　he　put　the　rest　of　the　rabbit　carefully　in　his　food　pouch；　wrapped　the　blanket　about　his　body；　leaned　back；　and　stretched　his　feet　to　the　coals。

What　an　extraordinary　change　had　come　over　the　world　in　an　hour！　　He　had　not　noticed　before　the　great　beauty　of　the　lake；　the　lofty　cliffs　on　the　farther　shore；　and　the　forest　clothed　in　white　and　hanging　with　icicles。　

The　winter　sunshine　was　molten　silver；　pouring　down　in　a　flood。

It　was　not　will　now；　but　actuality；　that　made　him　feel　the　strength　returning　to　his　frame。　　He　knew　that　the　blood　in　his　veins　had　begun　to　sparkle；　and　that　his　vitality　was　rising　fast。　　He　could　have　gone　to　sleep　peacefully；　but　instead　he　went　forth　and　hunted　again。　　He　knew　that　where　the　rabbit　had　been；　others　were　likely　to　be　near；　and　before　he　returned　he　had　secured　two　more。　　Both　of　these　he　cleaned　and　cooked　at　once。　　When　this　was　done　night　had　come；　but　he　ate　again；　and　then；　securing　all　his　treasures　about　him；　fell　into　the　best　sleep　that　he　had　enjoyed　since　his　flight。

He　felt　very　strong　the　next　morning；　and　he　might　have　started　then；　but　he　was　prudent。　　There　was　still　a　chance　of　meeting　the　Iroquois；　and　the　ankle　might　not　stand　so　severe　a　test。　　He　would　rest　in　his　nest　for　another　day；　and　then　he　would　be　equal　to　anything。　　Few　could　lie　a　whole　day　in　one　place　with　but　little　to　do　and　with　nothing　passing　before　the　eyes；　but　it　was　a　part　of　Henry's　wilderness　training；　and　he　showed　all　the　patience　of　the　forester。　　He　knew；　too；　as　the　hours　went　by；　that　his　strength　was　rising　all　the　while。　　To…morrow　almost　the　last　soreness　would　be　gone　from　his　ankle　and　then　he　could　glide　swiftly　over　the　snow；　back　to　his　comrades。　　He　was　content。　　He　had；　in　fact；　a　sense　of　great　triumph　because　he　had　overcome　so　much；　and　here　was　new　food　in　this　example　for　future　efforts　of　the　mind；　for　future　victories　of　the　will　over　the　body。　　The　wintry　sun　came　to　the　zenith；　then　passed　slowly　down　the　curve；　but　all　the　time　the　boy　scarcely　stirred。　　Once　there　was　a　flight　of　small　birds　across　the　heavens；　and　he　watched　them　vaguely；　but　apparently　he　took　no　interest。　　Toward　night　he　stood　up　in　his　recess　and　flexed　and　tuned　his　muscles　for　a　long　time；　driving　out　any　stiffness　that　might　come　through　long　lack　of　motion。　　Then　he　ate　and　lay　down；　but　he　did　not　yet　sleep。

The　night　was　clear；　and　he　looked　away　toward　the　point　where　he　knew　〃The　Alcove〃　lay。　　A　good　moon　was　now　shining；　and　stars　by　the　score　were　springing　out。　　Suddenly　at　a　point　on　that　far　shore　a　spark　of　red　light　appeared　and　twinkled。　　Most　persons　would　have　taken　it　for　some　low　star；　but　Henry　knew　better。　　It　was　fire　put　there　by　human　hand　for　a　purpose；　doubtless　a　signal；　and　as　he　looked　a　second　spark　appeared　by　the　first；　then　a　third；　then　a　fourth。　　He　uttered　a　great　sigh　of　pleasure。　　It　was　his　four　friends　signaling　to　him　somewhere　in　the　vast　unknown　that　they　were　alive　and　well；　and　beckoning　him　to　come。　　The　lights　burned　for　fifteen　or　twenty　minutes；　and　then　all　went　out　together。　　Henry　turned　over　on　his　side　and　fell　sound　asleep。　　In　the　morning　he　put　on　his　snowshoes　and　started。




CHAPTER　XIX

THE　SAFE　RETURN


The　surface　of　the　snow　had　frozen　again　in　the　night；　and　Henry　found　good　footing　for　his　shoes。　　For　a　while　he　leaned　most　on　the　right　ankle；　but；　as　his　left　developed　no　signs　of　soreness；　he　used　them　equally；　and　sped　forward；　his　spirits　rising　at　every　step。　　The　air　was　cold；　and　there　was　but　little　breeze；　but　his　own　motion　made　a　wind　that　whipped　his　face。　　The　hollows　were　mostly　gone　from　his　cheeks；　and　his　eyes　no　longer　had　the　fierce；　questing　look　of　the　famishing　wild　animal　in　search　of　prey。　　A　fine　red　color　was　suffused　through　the　brown　of　his　face。　　He　had　chosen　his　course　with　due　precaution。　　The　broad　surface；　smooth；　white；　and　glittering；　tempted；　but　he　put　the　temptation　away。　　He　did　not　wish　to　run　any　chance　whatever　of　another　Iroquois　pursuit；　and　he　kept　in　the　forest　that　ran　down　close　to　the　water's　edge。　　It　was　tougher　traveling　there；　but　he　persisted。

But　all　thought　of　weariness　and　trouble　was　lost　in　his　glorious　freedom。　　With　his　crippled　ankle　he　had　been　really　like　a　prisoner　in　his　cell；　with　a　ball　and　chain　to　his　foot。　　Now　he　flew　along；　while　the　cold　wind　whipped　his　blood；　and　felt　what　a　delight　it　was　merely　to　live。　　He　went　on　thus　for　hours；　skirting　down　toward　the　cliffs　that　contained　〃The　Alcove。〃　　He　rested　a　while　in　the　afternoon　and　ate　the　last　of　his　rabbit；　but　before　twilight　he　reached　the　creek；　and　stood　at　the　hidden　path　that　led　up　to　their　home。

Henry　sat　down　behind　thick　bushes　and　took　off　his　snowshoes。　　To　one　who　had　never　come　before；　the　whole　place　would　have　seemed　absolutely　desolate；　and　even　to　one　not　a　stranger　no　sign　of　life　would　have　been　visible　had　he　not　possessed　uncommonly　keen　eyes。　　But　Henry　had　such　eyes。　　He　saw　the　faintest　wisp　of　smoke　stealing　away　against　the　surface　of　the　cliff；　and　he　felt　confident　that　all　four　were　there。　　He　resolved　to　surprise　them。

Laying　the　shoes　aside；　he　crept　so　carefully　up　the　path　that　he　dislodged　no　snow　and　made　no　noise　of　any　kind。　　As　be　gradually　approached　〃The　Alcove〃　he　beard　the　murmur　of　voices；　and　presently；　as　he　turned　an　angle　in　the　path；　he　saw　a　beam　of　glorious　mellow　light　falling　on　the　snow。

But　the　murmur　of　the　voices　sent　a　great　thrill　of　delight　through　him。　　Low　and　indistinct　as　they　were；　they　had　a　familiar　sound。　　He　knew　all　those　tones。　　They　were　the　voices　of　his　faithful　comrades；　the　four　who　had　gone　with　him　through　so　many　perils　and　hardships；　the　little　band　who　with　himself　were　ready　to　die　at　any　time；　one　for　another。

He　crept　a　little　closer；　and　then　a　little　closer　still。　　Lying　almost　flat　on　the　steep　path；　and　drawing　himself　forward；　he　looked　into　〃The　Alcove。〃　A　fire　of　deep；　red　coals　glowed　in　one　corner；　and　disposed　about　it　were　the　four。　　Paul　lay　on　his　elbow　on　a　deerskin；　and　was　gazing　into　the　coals。　　Tom　Ross　was　working　on　a　pair　of　moccasins；　Long　Jim　was　making　some　kind　of　kitchen　implement；　and　Shif'less　Sol　was　talking。　　Henry　could　hear　the　words　distinctly；　and　they　were　about　himself。

〃Henry　will　turn　up　all　right；〃　he　was　saying。　　〃Hasn't　he　always　done　it　afore？　　Then　ef　he's　always　done　it　afore　he's　shorely　not　goin'　to　break　his　rule　now。　　I　tell　you；　boys；　thar　ain't　enough