CHAPTER I.
THE DEER'S LEAP
s the distant baying of a hound broke like a discordant note upon the quiet of the summer afternoon, a youth sprang upright on the pinnacle of a cliff which reared its bald head above the surrounding forest, and listened for a repetition of the unexpected alarm.
The young listener presented a striking figure, the strong physique of limb and body brought into bold relief against the sky, and each feature clearly outlined, as he gazed into space. He was in his nineteenth year, above the medium height, but so symmetrical in form that he did not look out of proportion. His high cheek-bones, clear blue eyes, straight nose, well-curved chin, and firm-set mouth showed the characteristics of the Lowland sons of old Scotland. His name was Norman McNiel.
For nearly an hour he had lain there on the summit of Rock Rimmon, gazing in a dreamy way over the broad panorama of wilderness, while his mind carried him back across the stormy sea to his early home in Northern Ireland, which he had left a year before to come to this country with his young foster-sister Rilma and their aged grandfather, Robert MacDonald, last of the noted MacDonalds of Glencoe.
" It was Archer's bark ! " he exclaimed. " He must have followed me, and now has started a deer from its favourite haunt in Cedar Swamp. Hark! there he sounds his warning again, and never bugle of bold clansman rang clearer over the braes o' bonny Scotland. He is coming this way! Forsooth! A bonny hunter am I with not a grain of powder in my horn, and the last bullet sent on a fruitless errand after a wild bird. A pretty kettle of fish is this for a McNiel! "
Another cry from the hound at that moment, clearer, louder, nearer, held his entire attention, and sent the warm blood tingling through his veins. Far and wide over the valley rang the deep bass baying of the hound, the wooded hills on either side catching up the wild sound, and flinging it back and forth,until it seemed as if a dozen dogs were on the heels of some poor hunted victim.
The chase continued to draw swiftly nearer and nearer,' As if the race had become too earnest for it to keep up its running outcries, only an occasional short, sharp cry came from the hound. Soon this too ceased, and Norman was beginning to fear the chase was taking another course, when the sharp report of a firearm awoke the silence.
A howl from the hound quickly followed, while this was succeeded by a more pitiful cry, and the furious crashing of bodies plunging headlong through the thick undergrowth.
Immediately succeeding the renewed baying of the hound, Norman became aware of the sound of some one pushing his way rapidly through the growth off to his right, and at an acute angle to the course being taken by the deer. The next moment he was surprised to see a human figure burst into the opening at the lower end of the cliff, apparently making for the summit of Rock Rimmon. His surprise was heightened by a second discovery swiftly following the first. The newcomer was an Indian, carrying In his hand the gun with which he had shot at the deer.
Seeing Norman, instead of approaching any nearer the cliff, the red man abruptly changed his course, disappearing the next moment in the forest with the Indian's peculiar loping gait.
" Christo, the last of the Pennacooks ! " exclaimed Norman. " It was he who fired the shot. I — "
He was cut short in the midst of his speculation by the sudden appearance of the hunted deer on the opposite side of the clearing.
Though Rock Rimmon has a sheer descent of nearly a hundred feet on the south, its ascent is so gradual on the north as to make it an easy feat to reach its top. A growth of stunted pitch-pines grew to within fifty yards of Norman's standing place. The ledge was covered with moss in spots, while here and there a scrubby oak found a precarious living.
Although expecting to get a sight of the deer, as he imagined the fugitive to be, Norman was still considerably surprised to see the hunted creature bound out from the matted pines, and leap straight up the rocky pathway! Close upon its heels followed the hound, no longer keeping up its resonant baying.
The fugitive deer seemed to have a purpose in pursuing this narrow course, as it might have turned slightly to the right or left, and escaped its inevitable fate on the cliff. The large, lustrous eyes, glancing wildly around, saw nothing clearly. The blood was flowing freely from its panting sides, and it was evident its strength was nearly spent. To Norman, who had seen but a few of its kind, there was a human expression in the soft light of its great, mournful eye, and intuitively he shrank back, as he saw the doomed creature approaching.
In its fatal alarm the terrified animal had not seen him. In fact it seemed to see nothing in its pathway, — not even the precipice cutting off further retreat. As if preferring death by a mad leap over the chasm, it sped to the very brink without checking the speed of its flying feet ! Norman held his breath with a feeling of horror at the inevitable fate of the poor creature. The hound, as if realising the desperate strait to which it had driven its prey, stopped. Then, with a last mournful glance backward, and a sharp cry of pain and despair, the deer sprang out over the dizzy brink, its beautiful form sinking swiftly upon the stony earth at the foot of Rock Rimmon!
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THE DEER'S LEAP
| A |
s the distant baying of a hound broke like a discordant note upon the quiet of the summer afternoon, a youth sprang upright on the pinnacle of a cliff which reared its bald head above the surrounding forest, and listened for a repetition of the unexpected alarm.
The young listener presented a striking figure, the strong physique of limb and body brought into bold relief against the sky, and each feature clearly outlined, as he gazed into space. He was in his nineteenth year, above the medium height, but so symmetrical in form that he did not look out of proportion. His high cheek-bones, clear blue eyes, straight nose, well-curved chin, and firm-set mouth showed the characteristics of the Lowland sons of old Scotland. His name was Norman McNiel.
For nearly an hour he had lain there on the summit of Rock Rimmon, gazing in a dreamy way over the broad panorama of wilderness, while his mind carried him back across the stormy sea to his early home in Northern Ireland, which he had left a year before to come to this country with his young foster-sister Rilma and their aged grandfather, Robert MacDonald, last of the noted MacDonalds of Glencoe.
" It was Archer's bark ! " he exclaimed. " He must have followed me, and now has started a deer from its favourite haunt in Cedar Swamp. Hark! there he sounds his warning again, and never bugle of bold clansman rang clearer over the braes o' bonny Scotland. He is coming this way! Forsooth! A bonny hunter am I with not a grain of powder in my horn, and the last bullet sent on a fruitless errand after a wild bird. A pretty kettle of fish is this for a McNiel! "
Another cry from the hound at that moment, clearer, louder, nearer, held his entire attention, and sent the warm blood tingling through his veins. Far and wide over the valley rang the deep bass baying of the hound, the wooded hills on either side catching up the wild sound, and flinging it back and forth,until it seemed as if a dozen dogs were on the heels of some poor hunted victim.
The chase continued to draw swiftly nearer and nearer,' As if the race had become too earnest for it to keep up its running outcries, only an occasional short, sharp cry came from the hound. Soon this too ceased, and Norman was beginning to fear the chase was taking another course, when the sharp report of a firearm awoke the silence.
A howl from the hound quickly followed, while this was succeeded by a more pitiful cry, and the furious crashing of bodies plunging headlong through the thick undergrowth.
Immediately succeeding the renewed baying of the hound, Norman became aware of the sound of some one pushing his way rapidly through the growth off to his right, and at an acute angle to the course being taken by the deer. The next moment he was surprised to see a human figure burst into the opening at the lower end of the cliff, apparently making for the summit of Rock Rimmon. His surprise was heightened by a second discovery swiftly following the first. The newcomer was an Indian, carrying In his hand the gun with which he had shot at the deer.
Seeing Norman, instead of approaching any nearer the cliff, the red man abruptly changed his course, disappearing the next moment in the forest with the Indian's peculiar loping gait.
" Christo, the last of the Pennacooks ! " exclaimed Norman. " It was he who fired the shot. I — "
He was cut short in the midst of his speculation by the sudden appearance of the hunted deer on the opposite side of the clearing.
Though Rock Rimmon has a sheer descent of nearly a hundred feet on the south, its ascent is so gradual on the north as to make it an easy feat to reach its top. A growth of stunted pitch-pines grew to within fifty yards of Norman's standing place. The ledge was covered with moss in spots, while here and there a scrubby oak found a precarious living.
Although expecting to get a sight of the deer, as he imagined the fugitive to be, Norman was still considerably surprised to see the hunted creature bound out from the matted pines, and leap straight up the rocky pathway! Close upon its heels followed the hound, no longer keeping up its resonant baying.
The fugitive deer seemed to have a purpose in pursuing this narrow course, as it might have turned slightly to the right or left, and escaped its inevitable fate on the cliff. The large, lustrous eyes, glancing wildly around, saw nothing clearly. The blood was flowing freely from its panting sides, and it was evident its strength was nearly spent. To Norman, who had seen but a few of its kind, there was a human expression in the soft light of its great, mournful eye, and intuitively he shrank back, as he saw the doomed creature approaching.
In its fatal alarm the terrified animal had not seen him. In fact it seemed to see nothing in its pathway, — not even the precipice cutting off further retreat. As if preferring death by a mad leap over the chasm, it sped to the very brink without checking the speed of its flying feet ! Norman held his breath with a feeling of horror at the inevitable fate of the poor creature. The hound, as if realising the desperate strait to which it had driven its prey, stopped. Then, with a last mournful glance backward, and a sharp cry of pain and despair, the deer sprang out over the dizzy brink, its beautiful form sinking swiftly upon the stony earth at the foot of Rock Rimmon!
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