Part 21 (1/2)
The hunters were soon at the palisade door and admitted; they had no game with them. Emma jeered them for coming back empty handed.
”No, no, my little cousin,” replied Alfred, ”we heard the report of a rifle, and we threw down our game, that we might sooner come to your a.s.sistance if you required it. What was the matter?”
”Only that I have killed a wolf, and am not allowed to bring in my trophy,” replied Emma. ”Come, Alfred, I may go with you and Martin.”
They went to the spot, and found the wolf was dead, and poor Trim dead also by his side. They took in the body of the little dog, and left the wolf till the morning, when Martin said he would skin it for Miss Emma.
”And I'll make a footstool of it,” said Emma; ”that shall be my revenge for the fright I had from the other wolf. Come, Oscar, good dog; you and I will go wolf-hunting. Dear me, who would have thought that I should have ever killed a wolf--poor little Trim!”
Martin said it would be useless to return for the venison, as the wolves had no doubt eaten it already; so they locked the palisade gate, and went into the house.
Emma's adventure was the topic of the evening, and Emma herself was much pleased at having accomplished such a feat.
”Well,” said Martin, ”I never knew but one woman who faced a wolf except Miss Emma.”
”And who was that, Martin?” said Mrs. Campbell.
[Ill.u.s.tration: FACING A WOLF.]
”It was a wife of one of our farmers, ma'am; she was at the outhouse doing something, when she perceived a wolf enter the cottage-door, where there was n.o.body except the baby in the cradle. She ran back and found the wolf just lifting the infant out of the cradle by its clothes. The animal looked at her with his eyes flas.h.i.+ng; but having its mouth full, it did not choose to drop the baby, and spring at her; all it wanted was to get clear off with its prey. The woman had presence of mind enough to take down her husband's rifle and point it to the wolf, but she was so fearful of hurting the child, that she did not put the muzzle to its head, but to its shoulder. She fired just as the wolf was making off, and the animal fell, and could not get on its feet again, and it then dropped the child out of its mouth to attack the mother. The woman caught the child up, but the wolf gave her a severe bite on the arm, and broke the bone near the wrist. A wolf has a wonderful strong jaw, ma'am.
However, the baby was saved, and neighbors came and dispatched the animal.”
”What a fearful position for a mother to be in!” exclaimed Mrs.
Campbell.
”Where did that happen?”
”On the White Mountains, ma'am,” replied Martin. ”Malachi Bone told me the story; he was born there.”
”Then he is an American.”
”Well, ma'am, he is an American because he was born in this country, but it was English when he was born, so he calls himself an Englishman.”
”I understand,” replied Mrs. Campbell, ”he was born before the colonies obtained their independence.”
”Yes, ma'am, long before; there's no saying how old he is. When I was quite a child, I recollect he was then reckoned an old man; indeed, the name the Indians gave to him proves it. He then was called the 'Gray Badger.'”
”But is he so very old, do you really think, Martin?”
”I think he has seen more than sixty snows, ma'am; but not many more; the fact is, his hair was gray before he was twenty years old; he told me so himself, and that's one reason why the Indians are so fearful of him. They have it from their fathers that the Gray Badger was a great hunter, as Malachi was more than forty years ago; so they imagine as his hair was gray then, he must have been a very old man at that time back, and so to them he appears to live forever, and they consider him as charmed, and to use their phrase, 'great _medicine_.' I've heard some Indians declare that Malachi had seen one hundred and fifty winters, and they really believe it. I never contradicted them, as you may imagine.”
”Does he live comfortably?”
”Yes, ma'am, he does; his squaw knows what he wants, and does what she is bid. She is very fond of the old man, and looks upon him, as he really is to her, as a father. His lodge is always full of meat, and he has plenty of skins. He don't drink spirits, and if he has tobacco for smoking and powder and ball, what else can he want?”
”Happy are they whose wants are so few,” observed Mr. Campbell. ”A man in whatever position in life, if he is content, is certain to be happy.
How true are the words of the poet:--