CHAPTER II.
THE WOODRANGER AND THE DEER REEVE.
o sudden and strange was the leap to death of the hunted deer, that Norman McNiel stood for a moment stupefied by a sense of horror at the strange sight. The hound, a magnificent animal, as if sharing its master's feeling with an added shame for the part it had taken in the matter, crept to his side, and sank silently upon the rock at his feet.
" He escaped you, Archer," said the young master, patting the dog on its head, "and me, too, for that matter. But I cannot see that either was to blame. The poor creature met his fate bravely."
Then, to satisfy himself that the deer was really killed, he approached to the extremity of the cliff, and peered into the depths below. He discovered, at his first glance, the mutilated form of the creature. There could be no doubt of its death. The sound of footsteps at that instant arrested his attention. Looking from the shapeless body of the deer, he saw two men pushing their way through the dense growth skiting the bit of clearing at the foot of the ledge.
The foremost of the newcomers was an entire stranger to him, though he guessed that he belonged Tyng colonists, who had settled below the falls. He wore a suit of clothes made from the homespun cloth so common among the Massachusetts men, and his firearm was of the English pattern usually carried by them. He was not much, if any, over thirty years of age, with a countenance of its slight share of good looks by a stubble of reddish beard.
His companion, whom Norman remembered as having seen once or twice the previous season, was several years the senior of the other, and of altogether different appearance. He was clad in a wellworn suit of buckskin, the frills on the leggins badly frayed from long contact with the briars and brushwood of the forest. His feet were encased in a pair Indian moccasins, while he wore on his head a cap of fox skin, with the tail of the animal hanging down to the back of his neck. Though bronzed by long exposure to the summer sun and winter wind, scarred by wounds, and rendered shaggy by its untrimmed beard, his face bore that stamp of frank,honest simplicity which was sure to win for the the respect and confidence of those he met.
The silver streaks in the hair falling in profusion about his neck told that he was passing the prime of life. Still there was great strength in the long, muscular limbs, and, while he moved generally with a slow, shuffling gait, he was capable of astonishing swiftness of movement whenever it was called for.
He showed his natural instinct as a woodsman by the noiseless way in which he emerged from the forest, in marked contrast to the slouching steps of his companion. Stuck in his belt could be seen the handle of a serviceable knife, while he carried a heavy, long-barrelled rifle of a pattern unknown in this vicinity at that time. The weapon showed that it had seen long and hard service.
Norman was about to speak to him, when the other exclaimed, in the tone of one announcing an important discovery :
" Look there, Woodranger ! if you want to believe me. It's the critter that got the shot we heerd, and it's a deer as I told ye. A shot out o' season, too, mind ye, Woodranger. If I could clap my eyes on the fool he'd walk to Chelmsford with me
to-morrer, or I ain't deer reeve o' this grant o' Tyng Township, honourably and discreetly 'p'inted by the Gineral Court o' the Province o' Massachusetts."
"It seems to me, Gunwad," said his companion, speaking in a more deliberate tone, as he advanced to the deer's mutilated form, " that the creetur must have taken a powerful tumble over the rock hyur. I reckon a jump off'n Rock Rimmon would be nigh bout enough to stop the breath o' most any deer."
" What made the deer jump off'n the rock, Woodranger ? It was thet air dog at its heels! And ef there ain't a hunk o' lead in the critter big ernough to send the man thet fired it to Chelmsford I'll eat the carcass, hoofs, horns, and, hide."
With these words he bent over the still warm body of the deer, and began a diligent search for some sign of the wound supposed to have been made by the shot.
Woodranger dropped the butt of his rifle upon the ground, and stood leaning on its muzzle, while he Watched with curious interest the proceeding of his Companion.
Gunwad's search was not made in vain, for a minute later he held up between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, which was reeking with blood from its contact with the dead deer, the bullet he had hoped to find.
" What do you think of it now ?" he demanded, showing by his tone and manner that he was highly pleased with his discovery. " What do ye call thet ?"
" I suppose it would require no great knowledge o' warfare to pronounce it a bullet, — leastways a pellet o' lead fit for the weepon o' a red. It was never the bullet o' a white man's gun. But that does not enter into the question. That bullet was not the death o' this deer."
" You're talking at random now. Mebbe it didn't kill the deer, but ef the dog hadn't driven the critter over the rock, thet lead would hev fixed it for salting."
"I'm not so sure o' that, friend Gunwad. If you'll look a leetle cluser you'll see that the bullet didn't touch any vital. It sort o' slewed up'ards and side— "
"Much has thet got to do erbout it!" broke in Gunwad, beginning to show anger. " I shall begin to think ye air consarned in the matter. Fust ye say it wasn't the bullit o' a white man, and I should like to know what cause ye hev for saying thet."
"It was never run by any mould," replied Wood-ranger, calmly, as he took the bullet in his hand; " it was hammered out."
"Say!" exclaimed Gunwad, suddenly changing the drift of the conversation, "Ye're a sharp one, Woodranger. They say ye're the best guide and Injun trailer in the two provinces. Help me fasten this bizness on that Injun at the Falls, and I'll gin ye the best pair o' beaver skins ye ever sot eyes on for years."
" You mean Christo," said the other.
"I reckon he's the only red left in these parts, and 'arly riddance to him ! Jess show thet is an Injun bullit, and I've settled his 'count, sure's one and one make two."
" That savours too much o' wanton killing, Gunwad. I ain't no special grudge ag'in this Christo, though it may be I have leetle fellowship for the face. There be honest men, for all I can say, among the dusky-skins, and Christo may be one o' 'em. At any rate till I ketch him in red devilryment I'm not going to condemn him. Ah, Gunwad, I 'low I live by the chase, and if I do say it, who has no designment to boast o' the simple knack o' drawing bead on wildcat or painter, bear or stag, Old Danger never barks at the same creetur but once; but he never spits fire in the face o' any creetur that can't do more good by dying than living."
"Look here, Woodranger!" exclaimed Gunwad, impatiently, "I can see through yer logic. Ye air ag'in this law o' protecting deer."
" I'm ag'in the law that's ag'in man. 'Tain't natur to fill the woods with game, and then blaze the trees with notices not to tech a creetur. Mind you, I'm ag'in wanton killing, and him don't live as can say I ever drew bead on a deer out o' pure malice. I have noticed that it's the same chaps as makes these laws as are the ones to resort to wanton destruction. To kill jess for the fun o' killing is wanton. It is the great law o' natur for one kind to war on another, the strong on the weak, from the biggest brute to the smallest worm, and man wars on 'em all. If he must do so, let there be as much fairness as is consistent with human natur. No, I'm not a liker o' the law that professes to defend the helpless, but does it so the wanton slayer can get his glut o' slaughter in a fall's hunt. I — "
The Woodranger might have continued his rude philosophy much longer had not a movement of the hound on the cliff attracted their attention, and both men glanced upward to see, with surprise, Norman McNiel looking quietly down upon them.
" Hilloa! " exclaimed Gunwad, divining the situation at once, "here is the deer slayer, or I'm a fool. Stand where ye air, youngster! " raising his gun to his shoulder, as he spoke.
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THE WOODRANGER AND THE DEER REEVE.
| S |
o sudden and strange was the leap to death of the hunted deer, that Norman McNiel stood for a moment stupefied by a sense of horror at the strange sight. The hound, a magnificent animal, as if sharing its master's feeling with an added shame for the part it had taken in the matter, crept to his side, and sank silently upon the rock at his feet.
" He escaped you, Archer," said the young master, patting the dog on its head, "and me, too, for that matter. But I cannot see that either was to blame. The poor creature met his fate bravely."
Then, to satisfy himself that the deer was really killed, he approached to the extremity of the cliff, and peered into the depths below. He discovered, at his first glance, the mutilated form of the creature. There could be no doubt of its death. The sound of footsteps at that instant arrested his attention. Looking from the shapeless body of the deer, he saw two men pushing their way through the dense growth skiting the bit of clearing at the foot of the ledge.
The foremost of the newcomers was an entire stranger to him, though he guessed that he belonged Tyng colonists, who had settled below the falls. He wore a suit of clothes made from the homespun cloth so common among the Massachusetts men, and his firearm was of the English pattern usually carried by them. He was not much, if any, over thirty years of age, with a countenance of its slight share of good looks by a stubble of reddish beard.
His companion, whom Norman remembered as having seen once or twice the previous season, was several years the senior of the other, and of altogether different appearance. He was clad in a wellworn suit of buckskin, the frills on the leggins badly frayed from long contact with the briars and brushwood of the forest. His feet were encased in a pair Indian moccasins, while he wore on his head a cap of fox skin, with the tail of the animal hanging down to the back of his neck. Though bronzed by long exposure to the summer sun and winter wind, scarred by wounds, and rendered shaggy by its untrimmed beard, his face bore that stamp of frank,honest simplicity which was sure to win for the the respect and confidence of those he met.
The silver streaks in the hair falling in profusion about his neck told that he was passing the prime of life. Still there was great strength in the long, muscular limbs, and, while he moved generally with a slow, shuffling gait, he was capable of astonishing swiftness of movement whenever it was called for.
He showed his natural instinct as a woodsman by the noiseless way in which he emerged from the forest, in marked contrast to the slouching steps of his companion. Stuck in his belt could be seen the handle of a serviceable knife, while he carried a heavy, long-barrelled rifle of a pattern unknown in this vicinity at that time. The weapon showed that it had seen long and hard service.
Norman was about to speak to him, when the other exclaimed, in the tone of one announcing an important discovery :
" Look there, Woodranger ! if you want to believe me. It's the critter that got the shot we heerd, and it's a deer as I told ye. A shot out o' season, too, mind ye, Woodranger. If I could clap my eyes on the fool he'd walk to Chelmsford with me
to-morrer, or I ain't deer reeve o' this grant o' Tyng Township, honourably and discreetly 'p'inted by the Gineral Court o' the Province o' Massachusetts."
"It seems to me, Gunwad," said his companion, speaking in a more deliberate tone, as he advanced to the deer's mutilated form, " that the creetur must have taken a powerful tumble over the rock hyur. I reckon a jump off'n Rock Rimmon would be nigh bout enough to stop the breath o' most any deer."
" What made the deer jump off'n the rock, Woodranger ? It was thet air dog at its heels! And ef there ain't a hunk o' lead in the critter big ernough to send the man thet fired it to Chelmsford I'll eat the carcass, hoofs, horns, and, hide."
With these words he bent over the still warm body of the deer, and began a diligent search for some sign of the wound supposed to have been made by the shot.
Woodranger dropped the butt of his rifle upon the ground, and stood leaning on its muzzle, while he Watched with curious interest the proceeding of his Companion.
Gunwad's search was not made in vain, for a minute later he held up between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, which was reeking with blood from its contact with the dead deer, the bullet he had hoped to find.
" What do you think of it now ?" he demanded, showing by his tone and manner that he was highly pleased with his discovery. " What do ye call thet ?"
" I suppose it would require no great knowledge o' warfare to pronounce it a bullet, — leastways a pellet o' lead fit for the weepon o' a red. It was never the bullet o' a white man's gun. But that does not enter into the question. That bullet was not the death o' this deer."
" You're talking at random now. Mebbe it didn't kill the deer, but ef the dog hadn't driven the critter over the rock, thet lead would hev fixed it for salting."
"I'm not so sure o' that, friend Gunwad. If you'll look a leetle cluser you'll see that the bullet didn't touch any vital. It sort o' slewed up'ards and side— "
"Much has thet got to do erbout it!" broke in Gunwad, beginning to show anger. " I shall begin to think ye air consarned in the matter. Fust ye say it wasn't the bullit o' a white man, and I should like to know what cause ye hev for saying thet."
"It was never run by any mould," replied Wood-ranger, calmly, as he took the bullet in his hand; " it was hammered out."
"Say!" exclaimed Gunwad, suddenly changing the drift of the conversation, "Ye're a sharp one, Woodranger. They say ye're the best guide and Injun trailer in the two provinces. Help me fasten this bizness on that Injun at the Falls, and I'll gin ye the best pair o' beaver skins ye ever sot eyes on for years."
" You mean Christo," said the other.
"I reckon he's the only red left in these parts, and 'arly riddance to him ! Jess show thet is an Injun bullit, and I've settled his 'count, sure's one and one make two."
" That savours too much o' wanton killing, Gunwad. I ain't no special grudge ag'in this Christo, though it may be I have leetle fellowship for the face. There be honest men, for all I can say, among the dusky-skins, and Christo may be one o' 'em. At any rate till I ketch him in red devilryment I'm not going to condemn him. Ah, Gunwad, I 'low I live by the chase, and if I do say it, who has no designment to boast o' the simple knack o' drawing bead on wildcat or painter, bear or stag, Old Danger never barks at the same creetur but once; but he never spits fire in the face o' any creetur that can't do more good by dying than living."
"Look here, Woodranger!" exclaimed Gunwad, impatiently, "I can see through yer logic. Ye air ag'in this law o' protecting deer."
" I'm ag'in the law that's ag'in man. 'Tain't natur to fill the woods with game, and then blaze the trees with notices not to tech a creetur. Mind you, I'm ag'in wanton killing, and him don't live as can say I ever drew bead on a deer out o' pure malice. I have noticed that it's the same chaps as makes these laws as are the ones to resort to wanton destruction. To kill jess for the fun o' killing is wanton. It is the great law o' natur for one kind to war on another, the strong on the weak, from the biggest brute to the smallest worm, and man wars on 'em all. If he must do so, let there be as much fairness as is consistent with human natur. No, I'm not a liker o' the law that professes to defend the helpless, but does it so the wanton slayer can get his glut o' slaughter in a fall's hunt. I — "
The Woodranger might have continued his rude philosophy much longer had not a movement of the hound on the cliff attracted their attention, and both men glanced upward to see, with surprise, Norman McNiel looking quietly down upon them.
" Hilloa! " exclaimed Gunwad, divining the situation at once, "here is the deer slayer, or I'm a fool. Stand where ye air, youngster! " raising his gun to his shoulder, as he spoke.
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