the spirit of the border- 第25部分

hot；　angry　waves　on　a　storm…blackened　sea。



Upon　going　forward；　Wetzel　and　Joe　found　the　calf　lying　dead　in　the　grass。



〃You　might　hev　did　better'n　that；〃　remarked　the　hunter；　as　he　saw　where　the

bullet　had　struck。　〃You　went　a　little　too　fer　back；　but　mebbe　thet　was　'cause

the　calf　stepped　as　you　shot。〃







Chapter　XV。



So　the　days　passed　swiftly；　dreamily；　each　one　bringing　Joe　a　keener　delight。

In　a　single　month　he　was　as　good　a　woodsman　as　many　pioneers　who　had　passed

years　on　the　border；　for　he　had　the　advantage　of　a　teacher　whose　woodcraft　was

incomparable。　Besides；　he　was　naturally　quick　in　learning；　and　with　all　his

interest　centered　upon　forest　lore；　it　was　no　wonder　he　assimilated　much　of

Wetzel's　knowledge。　He　was　ever　willing　to　undertake　anything　whereby　he　might

learn。　Often　when　they　were　miles　away　in　the　dense　forest；　far　from　their

cave；　he　asked　Wetzel　to　let　him　try　to　lead　the　way　back　to　camp。　And　he

never　failed　once；　though　many　times　he　got　off　a　straight　course；　thereby

missing　the　easy　travelling。



Joe　did　wonderfully　well；　but　he　lacked；　as　nearly　all　white　men　do；　the

subtler；　intuitive　forest…instinct；　which　makes　the　Indian　as　much　at　home　in

the　woods　as　in　his　teepee。　Wetzel　had　this　developed　to　a　high　degree。　　It

was　born　in　him。　Years　of　training；　years　of　passionate；　unrelenting　search

for　Indians；　had　given　him　a　knowledge　of　the　wilds　that　was　incomprehensible

to　white　men；　and　appalling　to　his　red　foes。



Joe　saw　how　Wetzel　used　this　ability；　but　what　it　really　was　baffled　him。　He

realized　that　words　were　not　adequate　to　explain　fully　this　great　art。　Its

possession　required　a　marvelously　keen　vision；　an　eye　perfectly　familiar　with

every　creature；　tree；　rock；　shrub　and　thing　belonging　in　the　forest；　an　eye　so

quick　in　flight　as　to　detect　instantly　the　slightest　change　in　nature；　or

anything　unnatural　to　that　environment。　The　hearing　must　be　delicate；　like

that　of　a　deer；　and　the　finer　it　is；　the　keener　will　be　the　woodsman。　Lastly；

there　is　the　feeling　that　prompts　the　old　hunter　to　say：　〃No　game　to…day。〃　It

is　something　in　him　that　speaks　when；　as　he　sees　a　night…hawk　circling　low

near　the　ground；　he　says：　〃A　storm　to…morrow。〃　It　is　what　makes　an　Indian　at

home　in　any　wilderness。　The　clouds　may　hide　the　guiding　star；　the　northing　may

be　lost；　there　may　be　no　moss　on　the　trees；　or　difference　in　their　bark；　the

ridges　may　be　flat　or　lost　altogether；　and　there　may　be　no　water…courses；　yet

the　Indian　brave　always　goes　for　his　teepee；　straight　as　a　crow　flies。　　It　was

this　voice　which　rightly　bade　Wetzel；　when　he　was　baffled　by　an　Indian's　trail

fading　among　the　rocks；　to　cross；　or　circle；　or　advance　in　the　direction　taken

by　his　wily　foe。



Joe　had　practiced　trailing　deer　and　other　hoofed　game；　until　he　was　true　as　a

hound。　Then　he　began　to　perfect　himself　in　the　art　of　following　a　human　being

through　the　forest。　Except　a　few　old　Indian　trails；　which　the　rain　had　half

obliterated；　he　had　no　tracks　to　discover　save　Wetzel's；　and　these　were　as

hard　to　find　as　the　airy　course　of　a　grosbeak。　On　soft　ground　or　marshy　grass；

which　Wetzel　avoided　where　he　could；　he　left　a　faint　trail；　but　on　a　hard

surface；　for　all　the　traces　he　left；　he　might　as　well　not　have　gone　over　the

ground　at　all。



Joe's　persistence　stood　him　in　good　stead；　he　hung　on；　and　the　more　he　failed；

the　harder　he　tried。　Often　he　would　slip　out　of　the　cave　after　Wetzel　had

gone；　and　try　to　find　which　way　he　had　taken。　In　brief；　the　lad　became　a　fine

marksman；　a　good　hunter；　and　a　close；　persevering　student　of　the　wilderness。

He　loved　the　woods；　and　all　they　contained。　He　learned　the　habits　of　the　wild

creatures。　Each　deer；　each　squirrel；　each　grouse　that　he　killed；　taught　him

some　lesson。



He　was　always　up　with　the　lark　to　watch　the　sun　rise　red　and　grand　over　the

eastern　hills；　and　chase　away　the　white　mist　from　the　valleys。　Even　if　he　was

not　hunting；　or　roaming　the　woods；　if　it　was　necessary　for　him　to　lie　low　in

camp　awaiting　Wetzel's　return；　he　was　always　content。　Many　hours　he　idled　away

lying　on　his　back；　with　the　west　wind　blowing　softly　over　him；　his　eye　on　the

distant　hills；　where　the　cloud　shadows　swept　across　with　slow；　majestic

movement；　like　huge　ships　at　sea。



If　Wetzel　and　Joe　were　far　distant　from　the　cave；　as　was　often　the　case；　they

made　camp　in　the　open　woods；　and　it　was　here　that　Joe's　contentment　was

fullest。　Twilight　shades　stealing　down　over　the　camp…fire；　the　cheery　glow　of

red　embers；　the　crackling　of　dry　stocks；　the　sweet　smell　of　wood　smoke；　all

had　for　the　lad　a　subtle；　potent　charm。



The　hunter　would　broil　a　venison　steak；　or　a　partridge；　on　the　coals。　Then

they　would　light　their　pipes　and　smoke　while　twilight　deepened。　The　oppressive

stillness　of　the　early　evening　hour　always　brought　to　the　younger　man　a

sensation　of　awe。　At　first　he　attributed　this　to　the　fact　that　he　was　new　to

this　life；　however；　as　the　days　passed　and　the　emotion　remained；　nay；　grew

stronger；　he　concluded　it　was　imparted　by　this　close　communion　with　nature。

Deep　solemn；　tranquil；　the　gloaming　hour　brought　him　no　ordinary　fullness　of

joy　and　clearness　of　perception。



〃Do　you　ever　feel　this　stillness？〃　he　asked　Wetzel　one　evening；　as　they　sat

near　their　flickering　fire。



The　hunter　puffed　his　pipe；　and；　like　an　Indian；　seemed　to　let　the　question

take　deep　root。



〃I've　scalped　redskins　every　hour　in　the　day；　'ceptin'　twilight；〃　he　replied。



Joe　wondered　no　longer　whether　the　hunter　was　too　hardened　to　feel　this

beautiful　tranquillity。　That　hour　which　wooed　Wetzel　from　his　implacable

pursuit　was　indeed　a　bewitching　one



There　was　never　a　time；　when　Joe　lay　alone　in　camp　waiting　for　Wetzel；　that　he

did　not　hope　the　hunter　would　return　with　information　of　Indians。　The　man

never　talked　about　the　savages；　and　if　he　spoke　at　all　it　was　to　tell　of　some

incident　of　his　day's　travel。　One　evening　he　came　back　with　a　large　black　fox

that　he　had　killed。



〃What　beautiful；　glossy　fur！〃　said　Joe。　〃I　never　saw　a　black　fox　before。〃



〃I've　been　layin'　fer　this　fellar　some　time；〃　replied　Wetzel；　as　he　began　his

first　evening　task；　that　of　combing　his　hair。　〃Jest　back　here　in　a　clump　of

cottonwoods　there's　a　holler　log　full　of　leaves。　Happenin'　to　see　a　blacksnake

sneakin'　round；　I　thought　mebbe　he　was　up　to　somethin'；　so　I　investigated；　an'

found　a　nest　full　of　young　rabbits。　I　killed　the　snake；　an'　arter　that　took　an

interest　in　'em。　Every　time　I　passed　I'd　look　in　at　the　bunnies；　an'　each　time

I　seen　signs　that　some　tarnal　varmint　had　been　prowlin'　round。　One　day　I

missed　a　bunny；　an'　next　day　another；　so　on　until　only　one　was　left；　a　peart

white　and　gray　little　scamp。　Somethin'　was　stealin'　of　'em；　an'　it　made　me

mad。　So　yistidday　an'　to…day　I　watched；　an'　finally　I　plugged　this　black

thief。　Yes；　he's　got　a　glossy　coat；　but　he's　a　bad　un　fer　all　his　fine　looks。

These　black　foxes　are　bigger；　stronger　an'　cunniner　than　red　ones。　In　every

litter　you'll　find　a　dark　one；　the　black　sheep　of　the　family。　Because　he　grows

so　much　faster；　an'　steals　all　the　food　from　the　others；　the　mother　jest　takes

him　by　the　nape　of　the　neck　an'　chucks　him　out　in　the　world　to　shift　fer

hisself。　An'　it's　a　good　thing。〃



The　next　day　Wetzel　told　Joe　they　would　go　across　country　to　seek　new　game

fields。　Accordingly　the　two　set　out；　and　tramped　industriously　until　evening。

They　came　upon　a　country　no　less　beautiful　than　the　one　they　had　left；　though

the　picturesque　cliffs　and　rugged　hills　had　given　way　to　a　rolling　land；　the

luxuriance　of　which　was　explained　by　the　abundant　springs　and　streams。　Forests

and　fields　were　thickly　interspersed　with　bubbling　springs；　narrow　and　deep

streams；　and　here　and　there　a　small　lake　with　a　running　outlet。



Wetzel　had　said　little　concerning　this　region；　but　that　little　was　enough　to

rouse　all　Joe's　eagerness；　for　it　was　to　the　effect　that　they　were　now　in　a

country　much　traversed　by　Indians；　especially　runners　and　hunting　parties

travelling　from　north　to　south。　The　hunter　explained　that　through　the　center

of　this　tract　ran　a　buffalo　road；　that　the　buffalo　always　picked　out　the

straightest；　lowest　and　dryest　path　from　one　range　to　another；　and　the　Indians

followed　these　first　pathfinders。



Joe　and　Wetzel　made　camp　on　the　bank　of　a　stream　that　night；　and　as　the　lad

watched　the　hunter　build　a　hidden　camp…fire；　he　peered　furtively　around　half

expecting　to　see　dark　forms　scurrying　through　the　forest。　Wetzel　was　extremely

cautious。　He　stripped　pieces　of　bark　from　fallen　trees　and　built　a　little　hut

over　his　firewood。　He　rubbed　some　powder　on　a　piece　of　punk；　and　then　with

flint　and　steel　dropped　two　or　three　sparks　on　the　inflammable　substance。　Soon

he　had　a　blaze。　He　arranged　the　covering　so　that　not　a　ray　of　light　escaped。

When　the　flames　had　subsided；　and　the　wood　had　burned　down　to　a　glowing　bed　of

red；　he　threw　aside　the　bark；　and　broiled　the　strips　of　venison　they　had

brought　with　them。



They　rested　on　a　bed　of　boughs　which　they　had　cut　and　arranged　alongside　a

huge　log。　For　hours　Joe　lay　awake；　he　could　not　sleep。　He　listened　to　the

breeze　rustling　the　leaves；　and　shivered　at　the　thought　of　the　sighing　wind　he

had　once　heard　moan　through　the　forest。　Presently　he　turned　over。　　The　slight

noise　instantly　awakened　Wetzel　who　lifted　his　dark　face　while　he　listened

intently。　He　spoke　one　word：　〃Sleep；〃　and　lay　back　again　on　the　leaves。　Joe

forced　himself　to　be　quiet；　relaxed　all　his　muscles　and　soon　slumbered。



On　the　morrow　Wetzel　went　out　to　look　over　the　hunting　prospects。　About　noon

he　returned。　Joe　was　surprised　to　find　some　slight　change　in　the　hunter。　He

could　not　tell　what　it　was。



〃I　seen　Injun　sign；〃　said　Wetzel。　〃There's　no　tellin'　how　soon　we　may　run　agin

the　sneaks。　We　can't　hunt　here。　Like　as　not　there's　Hurons　and　Delawares

skulkin'　round。　I　think　I'd　better　tak