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Page 19
The following morning, the path of our traveller struck through a
broad reach of the melancholy, weird desolation, called a burnt
district. He rode out, suddenly, from the dewy greenness and
balm-breathing atmosphere of the unblighted forest, into sunshine that
poured down in torrents from the sky, falling on charred, shining
shafts and stumps of trees, and a brilliant carpet of fireweed.
It is nearly impossible to give one who has not seen something of the
kind, an adequate impression of the peculiar appearance of such a
region. The strange, grotesque-looking stems, of every imaginable
shape, left standing like a company of black dwarfs and giants
scattered over the land, some of them surmounted with ebony crowns;
some, with heads covered like olden warriors, with jetty helmets;
some with brawny, long arms stretched over the pathway as if to seize
the passer by, and all with feet planted, seemingly in deep and
flaming fire. How quickly nature goes about repairing her desolations!
So great in this case is her haste to cover up the black, unseemly
surface of the earth, that, from the strange resemblance of the weed
with which she clothes it to the fiery elements, it would seem as if
she had not yet been able to thrust the raging glow out of her fancy,
and so its type has crept again over the blighted spot.
John rode on over the glowing ground, the black monsters grimacing and
scowling at him as he passed. What a nice eerie place this would be
thought he for witches, wizards, and all Satan's gentry, of every
shape and hue, to hold their high revels in. And he actually began to
shout the witches song--
"Black spirits and white,
Red spirits and gray".
At which adjuration, C�sar, doubtless knowing who were called upon,
pricked up his ears and started on a full run, probably not wishing to
find himself in such company just at that time.
An establishment similar to the one that had sheltered him the night
previous, proffered its entertainment at the close of our adventurer's
second day. The third day in the wilderness was signalized by an
incident, which excited such triumphant emotions as to cause it to be
long remembered. About an hour subsequent to his noon halt, as he and
C�sar were proceeding along at a moderate pace, he heard a rustling,
crackling noise on the right side of the path and suddenly a deer,
frightened and panting, flew across the road, turned for a moment an
almost human, despairing look toward him, plunged into the tangled
under-growth on the left and was gone from sight. John drew his reins
instantly, bringing his horse to a dead stand, loosened his rifle from
his shoulder and after examining it closely, remained quiet. His
patience was not taxed by long waiting. Within the space of two
minutes, there was another sharp crunching and crackling of dry
boughs, when a wolf, large, gray, and fierce, sprang into the path
from the same opening, following on the trail of the deer. He had
nearly crossed the narrow road in hot pursuit and was about springing
into the thicket beyond, when an accidental turn of his head brought
our hero suddenly to his attention. He stopped, as if struck by a
spell of enchantment.
Whiz! the ball flew. The very instant it struck, the bloodthirsty
monster fell dead. When John reached the spot, there was scarcely the
quiver of a limb, so well had the work of death been accomplished. Yet
the wolfish face grinned still a savage, horrible defiance.
"Here, C�sar", he exclaimed, in a boastful tone, "do you know that
this old fellow lying here, won't get the drink out of the veins of
that dainty creature he was so thirsty for? No! nor ever cheat any
sweet little Red Riding Hood into thinking him her grandmother? This
is the last of him. Didn't I do the neat thing, C�sar?"
C�sar threw his head on one side, with an air of admiration and gave a
low whinny, that betokened a state of intense satisfaction at the
whole transaction.
It may appear frivolous to those who have read with unwavering
credulity the olden tales of the prowess and achievements of knights
errant in the days of chivalry, that one should stop to relate such a
commonplace incident as the shooting of a wolf, and above all, that
the hero of this narrative, should betray, even to his horse, such a
decided emotion of self admiration for having performed the feat. Such
a trifle would not indeed be worth mentioning in company with the
marvellous deeds and mysterious sorceries of the old romaunt, but this
being a true story, the hero young, and this the first game of the
kind he has yet brought down, it must be excused.
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