ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga. Foster Walter Bertram
Читать онлайн.Название With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga
Год выпуска 0
isbn
Автор произведения Foster Walter Bertram
Издательство Public Domain
“Tut, tut, what do you care? There’s no need in your making an enemy of that fellow, Nuck. Let him be.”
“But think how he used me the other night when I was trying to find out about that man in the woods! I don’t like him.”
“Well, we can’t like everybody in this world,” said Bolderwood, philosophically. “We gotter take folks as we find ’em–that’s my motter. You let the Injin stay. He’s come to help and to have the fun arterward; you sent ’round the invitation pretty promisc’us like, an’ I calkerlate you can’t ask him to leave ’thout makin’ yerself mighty onpop’lar. Take my advice an’ let him stay.”
So, much against his will, Enoch did so. But he and the Indian lad avoided each other and nothing Crow Wing did could gain any word of approbation from his young host. However, Crow Wing and Bolderwood were in time to help do the heaviest of the work and soon the last stump was out of the soil and piled upon a flaming pyre. The several bonfires could not spread to the underbrush, so the boys were able to leave them for the time and rush away to the creek for a swim before dinner. After they had washed off the smut and smoke, they engaged in races and in diving matches until the horn blew to recall them to the house. In all aquatic sports Lot Breckenridge was the master, for even Crow Wing could not perform the tricks that he could, nor could the Indian swim so far nor so fast.
Mistress Harding had arranged two long tables outside the cabin, making them of planks and “horses,” and spreading her unbleached sheets over them for table-cloths. The girls had picked flowers and decorated the tables very prettily. There were all kinds and conditions of dishes for use–earthen, tin, pewter, and even wooden bowls carved out of “whorls.” And as for spoons and knives and forks–well, they were very scarce indeed. But every boy carried a pocket or hunting knife, and some had even been thoughtful enough to bring a knife and fork from home. Nevertheless, despite the lack of articles which we now consider the commonest of possessions, the table manners of these pioneer boys and girls were very good. They were on their best behavior while visiting, and the presence of the girls had a good influence on the boys.
The dinner was not to be the great meal of the day, for the boys did not wish to eat too much before the activities of the afternoon. Mistress Harding and the big girls had promised several dainties for supper, among which was a berry pudding, the girls having picked the berries that morning while their brothers were clearing the stumpage. The day before Enoch had shot a quantity of wood-pigeons, too, and there was to be a huge pigeon pie baked in the Dutch oven. There could be no stuffed lamb on this occasion, however; sheep were too hard to raise and the pioneers tasted mutton but seldom, for the fleece was too valuable for them to kill the animal which supplied it. But Bolderwood had brought in a fawn which he had hung until it was of the right flavor, and this was dressed and roasted like a young kid. When the boys heard of these good things it almost took their appetites away at the dinner table, for they did not wish to eat more than was absolutely necessary before the holiday supper.
They were quickly back in the new lot, raked the fires together, flung the last root and chip on the blaze, and then repaired to the level meadow by the riverside where the games were to take place. The meadow had been mown some days before (they always got two mowings a season off the rich creek bottoms) and the new grass had sprung up just enough to be soft and velvety to the feet. Off came the shoes and stockings of those boys who had been trammeled by such articles of attire–all except Crow Wing. He still wore his moccasins. The foot-races were to come first, and Bolderwood and Lot carefully measured the distance along the bank where the land was almost level, setting stakes at either end of the course. It was not a long run and everybody lined up for the first trial and they charged down upon the further stake like a gang of wild colts. Crow Wing, Enoch, Lot, and Robbie Baker were easily ahead of the others, and they with two more who had shown promise, were lined up for a second trial. This was really to be the contest and the six prepared to do their best, while the onlookers, girls and all, cheered their favorites.
Bolderwood lined up the half dozen youths very carefully. The white boys had thrown aside their outer shirts so as to give the freer play to their muscles. Crow Wing wore but one upper garment anyway, and he made no change in his dress excepting to pull his belt a little tighter. When the ranger had them placed to his satisfaction and all had signified that they were ready, he started them off with a shout. This time the race was to be down to the further post and back again, each contestant being obliged to go around the post before turning back, and a watch was set there that no one should make a mistake in this. There was a swift patter of feet on the sod for a minute and then Crow Wing and Enoch forged ahead. They rounded the stake almost together and came down the home stretch far in the lead of the other contestants. First the white boy was ahead, then the Indian, and finally when the race ended they were elbow to elbow and one not an inch in advance of the other!
The spectators cheered lustily, but the race must be run over by these two to learn who really was the winner. Bolderwood allowed them a few minutes between the trials; but the Indian did not seem to need the rest. He still breathed easily, while Enoch lay panting on the sod. The white boy finally went to the line with the assurance in his own heart that he should be beaten; but he was too plucky to give up the fight without trying again. This race was even more hardly contested than the others had been and although it was apparent that Crow Wing ran more easily than did Enoch, the latter worked so hard that it was doubtful for a time whether the Indian could win after all. Enoch ran until his knees almost gave under him and his breath came in great gasps from his chest. Had he been a less healthy and active boy he might have permanently injured himself from the overstrain of the contest. As it was, Crow Wing managed to cross the line first and was pronounced champion.
Enoch had just strength enough to shake the winner’s hand before he fell upon the grass, and there he lay exhausted while the other boys held a “potato race” and jumped hurdles. It provoked young Harding terribly to see how seemingly fresh Crow Wing still was, while he was nearly dead with fatigue. He began to take interest in the proceedings, however, when his brother Bryce won the potato race after a close contest with Robbie Baker; and rejoiced when Lot beat Crow Wing in jumping. “That red rascal ain’t goin’ to beat everybody here,” thought Enoch, and he got up and ceased sulking.
The wrestling match was the last of the day’s sports. Bolderwood paired the boys off to the best of his judgment for the first bout; but the winners drew lots to see who they should wrestle with the second time. Lot had Crow Wing for an antagonist on this occasion, and Enoch was paired with Smith Hubbard, a hulking great fellow, bigger and taller than any other boy in the crowd. But he was also slower and more awkward than most, having won his first throw by sheer weight rather than skill. Enoch threw him fairly at the second trial, while the Indian lad quite as easily worsted young Breckenridge.
The winners drew again and Enoch had quite a tug with another contestant; but Crow Wing put his antagonist on the ground three times in succession, and with apparent ease. It was plain that the match was to end with another contest between the Indian and Enoch Harding and the interest waxed high. Enoch was determined to keep his head and control his temper this time. Crow Wing was nominally his guest and he played fair; there was no reason why he should not bear off all the honors if he could do so. But the white boy determined to give the red the fight of his life for the honor of champion wrestler.
Enoch had long been considered the best wrestler among the boys of his age. Although Lot was older and taller than him, he threw the bigger boy easily. Crow Wing had quite as easily worsted young Breckenridge; but when the Indian and Enoch finally faced each other in the ring the latter gritted his teeth and determined to put forth every ounce of strength, and use every legitimate trick he knew, to beat his antagonist.
He had recovered his wind now and felt fresh and strong. He measured the lithe form of Crow Wing before the word was given and saw that, although the Indian was doubtless stronger than he in the legs and through the loins, where much of the strain comes in a wrestling match, his own arms and shoulders were much better. Crow Wing ran a great deal, or walked. He was on the trail almost continually, and thus his leg muscles were splendidly developed. Whereas the white