The Southerner - Jr. Thomas Dixon

Скачать книгу

never a thought of surrender. God lived and her faith was in Him. The same stars were shining above that sparkled in old Virginia and Kentucky. Something within sang for joy at the sight of her Boy—strong of limb and dauntless of soul. He was God's answer to her cry, and always she went the even tenor of her way singing softly that he might hear.

      His father set him to the task of clearing the first acre of ground for the crop next spring. It seemed a joke to send a child with an axe into that huge forest and tell him to clear the way for civilization. And yet he went with firm, eager steps.

      He chose the biggest tree in sight for his first task—a giant oak three feet in diameter, its straight trunk rising a hundred feet without a limb or knot to mar its perfect beauty.

      The Boy leaped on the fallen monarch of the woods with a new sense of power. Far above gleamed a tiny space in the sky. His hand had made it. He was a force to be reckoned with now. He was doing things that counted in a man's world.

      Day after day his axe rang in the woods until a big white patch of sky showed with gleaming piles of clouds. And shimmering sunbeams were warming the earth for the seed of the coming spring. His tall thin body ached with mortal weariness, but the spirit within was too proud to whine or complain. He had taken a man's place. His mother needed him and he'd play the part.

      The winter was the hardest and busiest he had ever known. He shot his first wild turkey from the door of their log camp the second week after arrival. Proud of his marksmanship he talked of it for a week, and yet he didn't make a good hunter. He allowed his father to go alone oftener than he would accompany him. There was a queer little voice somewhere within that protested against the killing. He wouldn't acknowledge it to himself but half the joy of his shot at his turkey was destroyed by the sight of the blood-stained broken wing when he picked it up.

      The mother watched this trait with deepening pride. His practice at writing and reading was sheer joy now. Her interest was so keen he always tried his best that he might see her smile.

      It was time to begin the spring planting before the heavy logs were rolled and burned and the smaller ones made ready for the cabin. The corn couldn't wait. The cabin must remain unfinished until the crop was laid by.

      It had been a long, lonely winter for the mother. But with the coming of spring, the wooded world was clothed in beauty so fresh and marvellous, she forgot the loneliness in new hopes and joys.

      Settlers were moving in now. Every week Tom brought the news of another neighbor. Her aunt came in midsummer bringing Dennis and his dogs with fun and companionship for the Boy.

      The new cabin was not quite finished, but they moved in and gave their kin their old camp for a home, all ready without the stroke of an axe.

      Dennis was wild over the hunting and proposed to the Boy a deer hunt all by themselves.

      "Let's just me and you go, Boy, an' show Tom what we can do with a rifle without him. You can take the first shot with old 'Speakeasy' an' then I'll try her. The deer'll be ez thick ez bees around that Salt Lick now."

      The Boy consented. Boney went with him for company. As a self-respecting coon dog he scorned to hunt any animal that couldn't fight with an even chance for his life. As for a deer—he'd as lief chase a calf!

      Dennis placed the Boy at a choice stand behind a steep hill in which the deer would be sure to plunge in their final rush to escape the dogs when close pressed in the valley.

      "Now the minute you see him jump that ridge let him have it!" Dennis said. "He'll come straight down the hill right inter your face."

      The Boy took his place and began to feel the savage excitement of his older companion. He threw the gun in place and drew a bead on an imaginary bounding deer.

      "All right. I'll crack him!" he promised.

      "Now, for the Lord's sake, don't you miss 'im!" Dennis warned. "I don't want Tom ter have the laugh on us."

      The Boy promised, and Dennis called his dogs and hurried into the bottoms toward the Salt Lick. In half an hour the dogs opened on a hot trail that grew fainter and fainter in the distance until they could scarcely be heard. They stopped altogether for a moment and then took up the cry gradually growing clearer and clearer. The deer had run the limit of his first impulse and taken the back track, returning directly over the same trail.

      Nearer and nearer the pack drew, the trail growing hotter and hotter with each leap of the hounds.

      The Boy was trembling with excitement. He cocked his gun and stood ready. Boney lay on a pile of leaves ten feet away quietly dozing. Louder and louder rang the cry of the hounds. They seemed to be right back of the hill now. The deer should leap over its crest at any moment. His gun was half lifted and his eyes flaming with excitement when a beautiful half grown fawn sprang over the hill and stood for a moment staring with wide startled eyes straight into his.

      The savage yelp of the hounds close behind rang clear, sharp and piercing as they reared the summit. The panting, trembling fawn glanced despairingly behind, looked again into the Boy's eyes, and as the first dog leaped the hill crest made his choice. Staggering and panting with terror, he dropped on his knees by the Boy's side, the bloodshot eyes begging piteously for help.

      The Boy dropped his gun and gathered the trembling thing in his arms. In a moment the hounds were on him leaping and tearing at the fawn. He kicked them right and left and yelled with all his might:

      "Down, I tell you! Down or I'll kill you!"

      The hounds continued to leap and snap in spite of his kicks and cries until Boney saw the struggle, and stepped between his master and his tormenters. One low growl and not another hound came near.

      When Dennis arrived panting for breath he couldn't believe his eyes. The Boy was holding the exhausted fawn in his lap with a glazed look in his eyes.

      "Well, of all the dam-fool things I ever see sence God made me, this takes the cake!" he cried in disgust. "Why didn't ye shoot him?"

      "Because he ran to me for help—how could I shoot him?"

      Dennis sat down and roared:

      "Well, of all the deer huntin', this beats me!"

      The Boy rose, still holding the fawn in his arms.

      "You can take the gun and go on. Boney and me'll go back home——"

      "You ain't goin' ter carry that thing clean home, are you?"

      "Yes, I am," was the quiet answer. "And I'll kill any dog that tries to hurt him."

      Dennis was still laughing when he disappeared, Boney walking slowly at his heels.

      He showed the fawn to his mother and told Sarah she could have him for a pet. The mother watched him with shining eyes while he built a pen and then lifted the still trembling wild thing inside.

      Next morning the pen was down and the captive gone. The Boy didn't seem much surprised or appear to care. When he was alone with his mother she whispered:

      "Didn't you go out there last night and let it loose when the dogs were asleep?"

      He was still a moment and then nodded his head.

      His mother clasped him to her heart.

      "O my Boy! My own—I love you!"

       Table of Contents

      The second winter in the wilderness was not so hard. The heavy work of clearing the timber for the corn fields was done and the new cabin and its furniture had been finished except the door, for which there was little use.

      The new neighbors had brought cheer to the mother's heart.

      An early spring broke the winter of 1818 and clothed the wilderness world in robes of matchless beauty.

      The

Скачать книгу