CHAPTER EIGHT.
HUNTING, AND OTHER MATTERS, ON SILVER LAKE.
Sunrise is a gladsome event almost at all times; we say "almost,"because there are times when sunrise is _not_ particularly gladsome. Inthe arctic regions of Norway, for instance, we have seen it rise onlytwenty minutes after it set, and the rising and setting were so muchmingled, that no very strong feelings of any kind were awakened.Moreover, we were somewhat depressed at the time, in consequence ofhaving failed to reach those latitudes where the sun does not set at allfor several weeks in summer, but shines night and day. To the sick,sunrise brings little comfort; too often it is watched for withweariness, and beheld, at last, with a feeling of depression at thethought that another day of pain has begun. But to the healthy, andespecially to the young, sunrise is undoubtedly, on most occasions, agladsome event.
At least Nelly Gore thought so when she awoke and beheld, from the floorof the hut where she lay, a flood of yellow glory gushing through avalley, turning Silver Lake into gold, tipping the trees with fire, andblazing full in Roy's face, which was at that moment turned up to thesky with the mouth open, and the nose snoring.
"Oh, _how_ beautiful!" screamed Nelly, in the exuberance of her delight.
"Hallo! murder! come on, ye black varmints," shouted Roy, as he sprangup and seized the axe which lay at his side. "Oh, it's only _you_, whata yell you do give, Nelly! why, one would think you were a born Injun;what is't all about, lass? Ye-a-ow! how sleepy I am--too late to haveanother nap, I suppose, eh?"
"Oh yes, lazy thing! get up and come out quick!" cried the other, as shesprang up and ran out of the hut to enjoy the full blaze of thesunshine, and the fresh morning air.
That morning Nelly could do little but ramble about in a wild sort offashion, trying to imagine that she was queen of the world around her!She sobered down, however, towards noon, and went diligently about thework which Roy had given her to do. She had the internal arrangementsof the hut to complete and improve, some pairs of mocassins to mend, andseveral arrows to feather, besides other matters.
Meanwhile Roy went out to hunt.
Determined not to use his fast-diminishing ammunition, except on largegame, and anxious to become more expert with the bow, he set to work thefirst thing that day, and made a new bow. Armed with this and a dozenarrows, he sallied forth.
Some of his arrows were pointed with ivory, some with iron, and some hadno points at all, but blunt heavy heads instead. These latter were, andstill are, used by Indians in shooting game that is tame and easilykilled. Grouse of various kinds, for instance, if hit with full forcefrom a short range by a blunt-headed arrow, will be effectually stunned,especially if hit on the head.
At first Roy walked along the shores of the lake, but was not verysuccessful, because the ducks and geese were hid among reeds, and rosesuddenly with a distracting _whirr_, usually flying off over the water.To have let fly at these would have cost him an arrow every shot, so,after losing one, he wisely restrained himself.
After a time, he turned into the woods, resolving to try his fortunewhere his arrows were not so likely to be lost. He had not gone far,when a tree-grouse sprang into the air and settled on a neighbouringpine.
Roy became excited, for he was anxious not to return to the hutempty-handed a second time. He fitted a sharp-headed arrow to thestring, and advanced towards the bird cautiously. His anxiety to makelittle noise was so great, that he tripped over a root and fell with ahideous crash into the middle of a dead bush, the branches of whichsnapped like a discharge of little crackers. Poor Roy got up disgusted,but on looking up found that the grouse was still sitting there, filledapparently with more curiosity than alarm. Seeing this he advanced towithin a few yards of the bird, and, substituting a blunt arrow for thesharp one, discharged it with vigour. It hit the grouse on the lefteye, and brought it to the ground like a stone.
"Good, that's `number one,'" muttered the lad as he fastened the bird tohis belt; "hope `number two' is not far off."
"Number two" was nearer than he imagined, for four other birds of thesame kind rose a few yards ahead of him, with all the noise and flurrythat is characteristic of the species.
They settled on a tree not far off, and looked about them.
"Sit there, my fine fellows, till I come up," muttered Roy. (The ladhad a habit of speaking to himself while out hunting.)
They obeyed the order, and sat until he was close to them. Again wasthe blunt arrow fitted to the string; once more it sped true to itsmark, and "number two" fell fluttering to the ground.
Now, the grouse of North America is sometimes a very stupid creature.It literally sits still to be shot, if the hunter is only careful tofire first at the lowest bird of the group. If he were to fire at thetopmost one, its fluttering down amongst the others would start themoff.
Roy was aware of this fact, and had aimed at the bird that sat lowest onthe tree. Another arrow was discharged, and "number three" laysprawling on the ground. The blunt arrows being exhausted, he now trieda sharp one, but missed. The birds stretched their necks, turned theirheads on one side, and looked at the lad, as though to say, "It won'tdo,--try again!"
Another shaft was more successful. It pierced the heart of "numberfour," and brought it down like a lump of lead. "Number five" seemed alittle perplexed by this time, and made a motion as though it were aboutto fly off, but an arrow caught it in the throat, and cut short itsintentions and its career. Thus did Roy bag, or rather belt, five birdsconsecutively. [See note one.]
Our hero was not one of those civilised sportsmen who slaughter as muchgame as they can. He merely wanted to provide food for a day or two.He therefore turned his steps homeward--if we may be allowed theexpression--being anxious to assist his sister in making the hutcomfortable.
As he walked along, his active mind ran riot in many eccentric channels.Those who take any interest in the study of mind, know that it is notonly the mind of a romantic boy that does this, but that the mind of mangenerally is, when left to itself, the veriest acrobat, the mostunaccountable harlequin, that ever leaped across the stage of fancy.
Roy's mind was now in the clouds, now on the earth. Anon it was away inthe far-off wilderness, or scampering through the settlements, andpresently it was deep down in Silver Lake playing with the fish. Royhimself muttered a word or so, now and then, as he walked along, whichgave indication of the whereabouts of his mind at the time.
"Capital fun," said he, "only it won't do to stay too long. Poormother, how she'll be wearin' for us! Hallo! ducks, you're noisy coons,wonder why you get up with such a bang. Bang! that reminds me of thegun. No more banging of you, old chap, if my hand keeps in so well withthe bow. Eh! duck, what's wrong?"
This latter question was addressed to a small duck which seemed in ananxious state of mind, to judge from its motions. Presently a head, asif of a fish, broke the surface of the lake, and the duck disappeared!
"Oh the villain," exclaimed Roy, "a fish has bolted him!"
After this the lad walked on in silence, looking at the ground, andevidently pondering deeply.
"Nelly," said he, entering the hut and throwing the grouse at her feet,"here is dinner, supper, and breakfast for you, and please get the firstready as fast as you can, for I'm famishing."
"Oh, how nice! how did you get them?"
"I'll tell you presently, but my head's full of a notion about catchingducks just now."
"Catching ducks, Roy, what is the notion?"
"Never mind, Nelly, I han't scratched it out o' my brain yet, but I'lltell 'ee after dinner, and we'll try the plan to-morrow mornin'."
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Note 1. The author has himself, in the backwoods, taken four birds insuccession off a tree in this fashion with a fowling-piece.
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