A hunt— A deer taken—The hounds—Joe makes a horrid discovery—Sneak—The
exhumation.
“It beats all the dreams I ever heard,” said Joe, feeling his right
shoulder with his left hand..
“Why do you feel your shoulder, Joe?” asked Glenn, smiling, as he
recollected the many times his man had suffered by the rebound of his
musket, and diverted at the grave and thoughtful expression of his
features.
“It _was_ a dream, wasn’t it?” asked Joe, with simplicity, still
examining his shoulder.
“But you know there was no lead in the gun, and it could not rebound
with much violence,” said Glenn.
“I’ll soon see all about it,” exclaimed Joe, springing up and running
to his gun. After a careful examination he returned to his stool beside
the fire, and sat some minutes, with the musket lying across his knees,
and his chin in his hand, plunged in profound meditation on the
imaginary incidents which had just been related to him. Had the dream
been an ordinary one, and he not an actor in it, it might have passed
swiftly from his memory; but inasmuch as the conduct imputed to him was
so natural, and the expressions he was made to utter so characteristic,
he could not but regard it as a vision far more significant and
important than a mere freak of the brain during a moment of slumber.
“What are you studying about?” interrogated Glenn.
“I can’t understand it,” replied Joe, shaking his head.
“Neither can the most renowned philosopher,” said Glenn; “but you can
tell whether your musket has been discharged.”
“It hasn’t been fired,” said Joe. “But what distresses me is, that
there should be only a charge of powder in it, just as you stated, and
when I drew out the shot you were fast asleep. You must have heard me
say I intended to do it.”
“Not that I remember,” said Glenn.
“Then there must be a wizard about, sure enough,” said Joe, and he
crossed himself.
“Suppose we take our guns and walk out in the direction mentioned?”
said Glenn; “I feel the want of exercise after my sleep, and have some
curiosity to test the accuracy of my dream by comparing the things
described with the real objects on the island.”
“Not for the world!” cried Joe, lifting both hands imploringly; “but I
will gladly go anywhere else, just to see if the bushes are as
beautiful as you thought they were, and if the deer can’t run on the
snow-crust as well as the dogs.”
“Come on, then—I care not which course we go,” said Glenn, taking up
his gun, and leading the way out of the inclosure.
They pursued a westerly course until they reached nearly to the edge of
the prairie, when they paused in the midst of a cluster of hazel
bushes, to admire the beauty of the novel scene. The description had
been perfect. Even Glenn surveyed the emblazenry of magic “frost work,”
around him with some misgivings as to the fallacy of his vision. Joe
stared at his master with a curious and ludicrous expression.
“I am not dreaming now, Joe,” said he, with a smile.
“How do you know?” asked Joe.
“That’s well put,” said Glenn; “indeed, I am very sure that many of my
lively and spirited friends in Philadelphia and New York, could they
but see me, would swear that I have been dreaming every day for the
last three months. However, I have not now the same reverence for the
sylvan gods I was so much inclined to worship in my last sleep; and,
moreover, I am the first to see the deer this time. Yonder it stands.
It is not a buck, though; capture it as soon as you please.”
“Where is it?” exclaimed Joe, his superstition vanishing as he
anticipated some sport; and, gliding quickly to Glenn’s side, he
beheld, under the branches of a low scrubby oak tree, the head and ears
of a large doe. It was intently watching our pedestrians, and stood
motionless in the ambush, on which it vainly relied to obscure it from
the eyes of an enemy.
“You must not fire,” said Glenn, placing his hand on the shoulder of
Joe. Joe lowered his musket reluctantly, and turning his eyes to his
master, seemed inclined to relapse into the belief that all was not
right and natural in their proceedings.
“Now go to it,” said Glenn, gently taking the gun from Joe.
“I’d rather not,” said Joe.
“Why? A doe cannot hurt you—it has no horns.”
“I don’t fear it—I’m only afraid it will run away,” said Joe, eager to
secure the prize.
“Try it, at all events; if it should run very fast, I think I shall be
able to arrest its career with the gun,” said Glenn, who prepared to
fire, provided the deer was likely to escape the clutches of Joe.
“Here goes!” cried Joe, leaping through the small bushes towards the
covert. The deer moved not until Joe reached within a few feet of it,
when, making a mighty spring, it bounded over the head of its
assailant, and its sharp feet running through the icy surface of the
snow, penetrated so far down, from the force of its weight, that it was
unable to escape. It now lay quite still, with its large blue eyes
turned imploringly to its foe. Joe seized it by the hind feet, and
exultingly exclaimed that the prize was safely his own. The trembling
and unresisting animal appeared to be as perfectly submissive as a
sheep in the hands of the shearer.
“You have it, sure enough!” said Glenn, coming up and viewing the scene
with interest.
“Lash me if I haven’t!” said Joe, much excited. “Have you got any sort
of a string about you?”
“No.”
“Please cut down a hickory withe, and peel the bark off for me, while I
hold its legs.”
Glenn drew out his hunting knife, but paused when in the act of
executing his man’s request, and turning, with a smile playing upon his
lip, said—
“Perhaps, Joe, this is but another dream; and if so, it is folly to
give ourselves any unnecessary trouble.”
“Lash me if it ain’t reality!” replied Joe, as the deer at length began
to struggle violently.
Extricating its feet from his grasp, the doe bestowed a well directed
kick on its foe’s head, which tumbled him over on his back. The animal
then sprang up, but aware there was no chance of escape by running,
faced about and plied its bony head so furiously against Joe’s breast
and sides that he was forced to scamper away with all possible
expedition.
“Has it bruised you, Joe? If so, this is certainly no dream,” remarked
Glenn.
“Oh, goodness! I’m battered almost to a jelly. I’ll take my oath
there’s no dreaming about this. Let me go after Ringwood and Jowler.”
“It would be too cruel to let the hounds tear the poor thing,” said
Glenn; “but after you have bound its feet together, you may bring out
one of the horses and a sled, and convey it home unhurt.”
“The horses can’t go in this deep snow,” said Joe.
“True, I forgot that. Take your musket and shoot it,” said Glenn,
turning away, not wishing to witness the death of the deer.
“I’d rather take him prisoner,” said Joe, lowering his musket after
taking a long aim. “I can drag it on the sled myself.”
“Then go for it,” said Glenn; “and you may bring the hounds along; I
will exercise them a little after that fox which keeps such a
chattering in the next grove. But first let us secure the deer.”
Joe charged upon the doe once more, and when it aimed another blow at
him, he threw himself under its body, and the animal falling over on
its side, the combined efforts of the men sufficed to bind its feet.
Joe then went to the house for the hounds and the sled, and Glenn leant
against the oak, awaiting his return. It was not long before the hounds
arrived, which was soon succeeded by the approach of Joe with the sled.
Ringwood and Jowler evinced palpable signs of delight on beholding the
bound captive, but their training was so perfect that they showed no
disposition to molest it without the orders of their master. One word
from Glenn, and the deer would have been instantly torn in pieces; but
it was exempt from danger as long as that word was withheld.
Joe soon came up, and in a very few minutes the doe was laid upon the
sled. When he was in the act of starting homewards with his novel
burden, the hounds, contrary to their usual practice, refused to
accompany Glenn to the thicket north of their position, where the fox
was still heard, and strangely seemed inclined to run in a contrary
direction. And what was equally remarkable, while snuffing the air
towards the south, they gave utterance to repeated fierce growls. Joe
was utterly astonished, and Glenn was fast losing the equanimity of his
temper.
“There’s something more than common down there; see how Ringwood
bristles up on the back,” said Joe.
“Run there with the hounds, and see what it is,” said Glenn.
“And I’ll take my musket, too,” said Joe, striding in the direction
indicated, with the hounds at his heels and his musket on his shoulder.
When he reached a narrow rivulet about one hundred paces distant, that
gradually widened and deepened until it formed the valley in which the
ferry-house was situated a half mile below, he paused and suffered the
hounds to lead the way. They ran a short distance up the ravine and
halted at the edge of a small thicket, and commenced barking very
fiercely as they scented the air under the bushes.
“I’ll bet it’s another bear,” said Joe, putting a fresh priming in the
pan of his musket, and proceeding after the hounds. “If it is a bear,
ought I to fool with him by myself?” said he, pausing at the edge of
the thicket. “I might get my other ear boxed,” he continued, “and it’s
not such a pleasant thing to be knocked down by the heavy fist of a big
black bear. If I don’t trouble him, he’ll be sure to let me alone. What
if I call the dogs off, and go back? But what tale can I manufacture to
tell Mr. Glenn? Pshaw! What should I fear, with such a musket as this
in my hand? I can’t help it. I really believe I _am_ a little touched
with cowardice! I’m sorry for it, but I can’t help it. It was born with
me, and it’s not my fault. Confound it! I _will_ screw up courage
enough to see what it is, anyhow.” Saying this, he strode forward
desperately, and urging the hounds onward, followed closely in the rear
in a stooping posture, under the hazel bushes.
In a very few moments Joe reached the head of the ravine, but to his
astonishment and no little satisfaction, he beheld nothing but a
shelving rock, from under which a spring of clear smoking water flowed,
and a large bank of snow which had drifted around it, but through which
the gurgling stream had forced its way. Yet the mystery was not solved.
Ringwood and Jowler continued to growl and yelp still more furiously,
running round the embankment of snow repeatedly, and ever and anon
snuffing its icy surface.
“Whip me if I can figure out this,” said Joe; “what in the world do the
dogs keep sticking their noses in that snow for? There can’t be a bear
in it, surely. I’ve a notion to shoot into it. No I won’t. I’ll do
this, though,” and drawing out his long knife he thrust it up to the
handle in the place which seemed the most to attract the hounds.
“Freeze me if it hasn’t gone into something besides the snow!”
exclaimed he, conscious that the steel had penetrated some firm
substance below the frozen snow-crust. “What the deuce is it?” he
continued, pulling out the knife and examining it. “Ha! blood, by
jingo!” he cried, springing up; “but it can’t be a living bear, or it
would have moved; and if it had moved, the stab would have killed it. I
_won’t_ be afraid!” said he, again plunging his knife into it, “It
don’t move yet—it must be dead—why, it’s frozen. Pshaw! any thing would
freeze here, in less than an hour. I’ll soon see what it is.” Saying
this, he knelt down on the embankment, and commenced digging the snow
away with all his might. The dogs crouched down beside him, growling
and whining alternately, and otherwise exhibiting symptoms of
restlessness and distress.
“Be still, poor Ringwood, I’m coming to him; I see something dark, but
there’s no hair on it. Ugh! hallo! Oh goodness! St. Peter! Ugh! ugh!
ugh!” cried he, springing up, his face as pale as the snow, his hair
standing upright, his chin fallen, and his eyes almost straining out of
their sockets. Without taking his gun, or putting on his hat, he ran
through the bushes like a frightened antelope, leaping over ditches
like a fox-chaser, tearing through opposing grape vines, and not
pausing until his course was suddenly arrested by Glenn, who seized him
by the skirt of the coat, and hurled him on his back beside the sled on
which the deer was bound.
“What is the matter?” demanded Glenn.
Joe panted painfully, and was unable to answer.
“What ails you, I say?” repeated Glenn in a loud voice.
“Peter”—panted Joe.
“Do you mean the pony?”
“St. Peter!” ejaculated Joe.
“Well, what of St. Peter?”
“Oh, let me be off!” cried he, endeavouring to scramble to his feet.
But he was most effectually prevented. For no sooner had he turned over
on his hands and knees, than Glenn leaped astride of him.
“Now, if you _will_ go, you shall carry me on your back, and I will
pelt the secret out of you with my heels, as we travel!”
“Just let me get in the house and fasten the door, and I will tell you
every word,” said Joe imploringly.
“Tell me now, or you shall remain in the snow all day long!” said
Glenn, with a hand grasping each side of Joe’s neck.
“Oh, what shall I do? I can’t speak!” yelled Joe, trying outright, the
large tear-drops falling from his nose and chin.
“You have not lost your voice, I should say, at all events,” implied
Glenn, somewhat touched with pity at his man’s unequivocal distress,
though he could scarce restrain his laughter when he viewed his
grotesque posture. “What has become of your musket and hat?” he added.
“I left them both there,” said Joe, gradually becoming composed under
the weight of his master.
“Where?” asked Glenn.
“At the cave-spring.”
“Well, what made you leave them there?”
“Just get off my back and I’ll tell you. I’m getting over it now; I’m
going to be mad instead of frightened,” said Joe, with real composure.
“Get up, then; but I won’t trust you yet. You must still suffer me to
hold your collar,” said Glenn.
“If you go to the cave-spring you will see a sight!”
“What kind of a sight?”
“Such a sight as I never dreamed of before!”
“Then it has been nothing but a dream _this time_, after all your
foolery?”
“No, I’ll be shot if there was any dreaming about it,” replied Joe; and
he related every thing up to the horrid discovery which caused him to
retreat so precipitately, and then paused, as if dreading to revert to
the subject.
“What did you find there? Was it any thing that could injure you?”
“No,” said Joe, shaking his head solemnly.
“Why did you run, then?” demanded Glenn, impatiently.
“The truth is, I don’t know myself, now I reflect about it. But I’d
rather not tell what I saw just yet. I was pretty considerably alarmed,
wasn’t I?”
“Ridiculous! I will not be trifled with in this manner Tell me
instantly what you saw!” said Glenn, his vexation and anger overcoming
his usual indulgent nature.
“I’ll tell you now—it was a—Didn’t you see them bushes move?” asked
Joe, staring wildly at a clump of sumach bushes a few paces distant.
“What was it you saw at the cave-spring!” shouted Glenn, his face
turning red.
“I—I”—responded Joe, his eyes still fixed on the bushes. “It was
a—Ugh!”—cried he, starting, as he beheld the little thicket open, and a
tall man rise up, holding in his hand a bunch of dead muskrats.
“Dod speak on—I want to hear what it was—I’ve been laying here all this
time waiting to know what great thing it was that skeered you so much.
I never laughed so in all my life as I did when he got a-straddle of
you. I was coming up to the sled, when I saw you streaking it through
the vines and briers, and then I squatted down awhile to see what would
turn up next.”
“Ha! ha! ha! is it you, Sneak? I thought you was an Indian! Come on,
I’ll tell now. _It was a man’s moccasin_!” said Joe, in a low,
mysterious tone.
“And you ran in that manner from an old moccasin!” said Glenn,
reproachfully.
“But there was a _foot_ in it!” continued Joe.
“A _he_ man’s foot?” inquired Sneak, quickly turning to Joe.
“How could I tell whether it was a he man’s foot, or a female woman’s,
as you call them?” replied Joe.
“Are you sure it was a human being’s foot?” demanded Glenn.
“Well, I never saw any other animal but a man wear a buckskin
moccasin!” replied Joe.
“An Irishman can’t tell any thing right, nohow you can fix it,” said
Sneak.
“They can’t tell how you make wooden nutmegs,” retorted Joe.
“Come,” said Glenn, “we will go and examine for ourselves.”
The party set off in a brisk walk, and soon reached the scene of Joe’s
alarm. Sure enough, there was the moccasin, and a man’s foot in it!
“It’s somebody, after all,” said Sneak, giving the frozen foot a kick.
“Ain’t you ashamed to do that?” said Joe, knitting his brows.
“He’s nothing more than a stone, now. Why didn’t he holler when you
stuck your knife into him?” replied Sneak.
“Dig him up, that we may see who he is,” said Glenn.
“I’d rather not touch him,” said Joe.
“You’re a fool!” said Sneak. “Stand off, and let me at him—I’ll soon
see who he is.” Sneak threw down his maskrats, and with his spear and
knife soon extricated the body, which he handled as unceremoniously as
he would have done a log of wood. “Dod rot your skin!” he exclaimed,
when he brushed the snow from the man’s face. He then threw down the
body with great violence.
“Oh don’t!” cried Joe, while the cold chills ran up his back.
“Who is it?” asked Glenn.
“It’s that copper-snake, traitor, skunk, water-dog, lizard-hawk, horned
frog—”
“Who do you mean?” interrupted Glenn.
“_Posin_, the maliverous rascal who collogued with the Injins to murder
us all! I’m glad he got his dose—and if he was alive now, I’d make him
swaller at least two foot of my spear,” said Sneak.
“’Twas me—I killed him—look at the buck-shot holes in his back!”
exclaimed Joe, now recovering from his excitement and affright.
“Yes, and you’re a nice chap, ain’t you, to run like flugins from a
dead man that you killed yourself!” said Sneak.
“How did I know that I killed him?” retorted Joe.
“Any fool might know he was dead,” replied Sneak.
“I’ll pay you for this, some of these times,” said Joe.
“How shall we bury him?” asked Glenn.
“That can be done real easy,” said Sneak, taking hold of the dead man’s
leg and dragging him along on the snow like a sled.
“What are you going to do with him?” demanded Glenn.
“I’m a going to cut a hole in the ice on the river, and push him
under,” said Sneak.
“You shall do no such thing!” said Glenn, firmly; “he must be buried in
the earth.”
“Just as you say,” said Sneak, submissively, throwing down the leg.
“Run home and bring the spades, Joe,” said Glenn, “and call for the
ferrymen to assist us.”
“And I’ll take the sled along and leave it in the yard,” said Joe,
starting in the direction of the deer and calling the hounds after him.
“Let the hounds remain,” said Glenn. “I am resolved to have my
fox-hunt.” Joe soon disappeared.
“If you want to hunt, you can go on; Roughgrove and me will bury this
robber,” said Sneak.
“Be it so,” said Glenn; “but remember that you are not to put him in
the river, nor must you commit any indecent outrage upon his person.
Let his body return to the earth—his soul is already in the hands of
Him who created it.”
“That’s as true as gospel,” said Sneak; “and I would rather be froze in
this snow than to have his hot berth in the t’other world. I don’t feel
a bit mad at him now—he’s paying for his black dagiverous conduct hard
enough by this time, I’ll be bound. I say, Mr. Glenn, it’ll be rather
late when we get through with this job—will there be any vacant room at
your fireside to-night?”
“Certainly, and something to eat—you will be welcome, provided you
don’t quarrel too much with Joe,” replied Glenn.
“Oh, Joe and me understand each other—the more we quarrel the more we
love one another. We’ll never fight—do you mind that—for he’s a coward
for one thing, and I won’t corner him too close, because he’s
broad-shouldered enough to _lick me_, if he was to take it into his
head to fight.”
Glenn called the hounds after him and set out in quest of the fox, and
Sneak turned to the dead body and mused in silence.