Deerfoot in the Mountains by Edward Sylvester Ellis (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📕

the chapters a second and third time, dwelling on certain verses, as if to make sure he lost nothing of their wonderful significance and beauty. Finally, he closed the book and placed it back in its usual resting place.
The fire was sinking and he flung more wood on the blaze. Then moving beyond the circle of light, he gathered his blanket about his shoulders, and, finding his ankle free from pain, leaned back against the face of the rock and gave himself over to meditation upon the fascinating and yet awesome mysteries of the Word and of the Author of them all.
Everything favored the sweet, solemn reverie. He was utterly alone, so far as any of his kind was concerned. He could hear the soft impact of Whirlwind's hoof now and then as he shifted his position and continued nibbling the grass. The night wind sighed around the massive rock, fanning the blaze, and sometimes rising to a moan as it careered upward and swirled about the stupendous peaks towering near at hand. Far aloft he caught the faint honk of the wild geese hurrying southward from the Arctic winter that would soon lock the world in its rigid fetters. The dismal howl of a mountain wolf sounded far off in the solitude and seemed to linger tremblingly in the air. The silence was all the more impressive because of these disturbances which belonged to the time and place.
Leaning back against the rugged rock, in which a slight warmth was perceptible from the contact farther away with the blaze, Deerfoot's thoughts drifted to other places, scenes and persons. He recalled his rambles with Ned Preston, Jo Springer, Jim Turner and the quaint negro youth known as "Blossom," when all passed through many stirring experiences, as you learned long since in the "Boy Pioneer Series;" and of Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub in the "Log Cabin" stories. Fred Linden and Terry Clark were to come later.
Deerfoot had known many men who later gained a place in history. You will recall the high esteem in which he was held by General W. H. Harrison, Governor of Indiana Territory, and afterward President of the United States. It was he who declared, when a Senator in Washington, that he looked upon the young Shawanoe as the greatest Indian in many respects that ever lived, with natural abilities superior to those of the renowned Tecumseh, who, nevertheless, holds the most exalted position in the estimate of those that came after him.
Daniel Boone, the renowned pioneer, regarded the youth highly, while Simon Kenton, himself one of the best judges of men, was as unstinted in his praise as Governor Harrison. The acceptance of Christianity by this remarkable youth shut out forever the political fame and power that he would have assuredly won had he refused the true faith and been an Indian in his traits, tastes and ambitions. But the sweet, soul-satisfying happiness that was always his he would not have exchanged for the highest honors the world can give.
[Illustration: Deerfoot Lost in Reverie by the Camp Fire.]
The musings of Deerfoot took a daintier, softer, tenderer tint. His thoughts flew across the thousands of miles of forest, river, mountain and prairie to one whose image was never absent from his heart, and whom he hoped to see again and all in good time call _wife_. He talked to none of her, for the theme was too sacred to be shared with another, but next to his religion it was the sweetest, dearest consolation of his life.
"In the rainbow-tinted forest,
Where the sleepy waters flow,--
Roamed I with a dark-haired maiden,
In an autumn long ago;
And her dimpled hand was resting
Timidly within mine own,
And her voice to mine replying,
In a whispered undertone."


CHAPTER X.
IN THE BLACKFOOT COUNTRY.
One keen, sunny afternoon in autumn, a certain Indian youth executed a war dance among the foothills to the east of the Rocky Mountains. The only spectator of the fantastic performance was a superb black stallion, who, so far as can be judged, found a good deal of entertainment in the sight. It was long before the days of kodaks and their snapshots, which add so much to our enjoyment of everyday incidents.
Although Deerfoot did not waste any time, it took him a fortnight to thread his way through that immense range which ribs the western part of our continent. After using the last of the crimson berries that benefited his sprain so much, he spent several hours in hunting for the herb; but search high and low as much as he might, he not only failed to find it, but was never able to discover the fruit in any part of the West.
On the morning following his first encampment in the mountain pass he found himself strong enough, by using care, to walk upon the hurt ankle. He was too wise to push matters too fast, which fact, added to his perfect physical condition and the effect of the herb, carried him swiftly along the road to recovery. At the end of a week not a trace of lameness remained. He was cured.
His prudence restrained him until he emerged from the mountain proper into the foothills, when, knowing he was as strong as ever, he indulged in the exuberant outburst. Leaving his blanket upon the back of Whirlwind, but holding his rifle in one hand, Deerfoot leaped into the air, spun around first on one foot and then the other, sent his shapely legs flying seemingly in a dozen different directions at the same moment, swung his arms, bent his body, cavorted and made contortions that would have honored a professional acrobat. Not only that, but he punctuated the extravagant display by a series of whoops such as had nerved the Shawanoe warriors many a time to rush into battle.
All this time Whirlwind stood calmly watching the performance. It is reasonable to believe he was interested, and had he possessed the power of laughter he would have thrown back his head and "cracked his sides" at the sight. What a pity that George and Victor Shelton could not have peeped out from some concealment. They would have remembered the picture all their lives.
Only by this grotesque exercise could the young Shawanoe find vent for his overflowing spirits. There is nothing in all the world that can take the place of physical vigor and health--a truth which unnumbered thousands do not realize until too late. Temperance, right living, obedience to the laws of hygiene, and a clear conscience, never fail to bring their reward and to give to this life a foretaste of the blessed one to come.
Deerfoot had chosen an open space, walled in by rocks, boulders and stunted undergrowth for his physical outburst. When the performance had gone on for some time, he danced up to the side of Whirlwind and planted one of his feet against his ribs so sharply that the stallion was forced back for a step. Instantly he wheeled, partly reared and struck at his insulter, but he was so afraid of hitting him that the blow was awkward and missed the Shawanoe by a goodly distance. As he dropped on his feet, Deerfoot darted under his belly and repeated the blow from the other side. The white teeth of the steed snapped within a few inches of the shoulder of the youth, who slapped the nose before it could be withdrawn.
Whirlwind wheeled to face his master, who landed lightly on his back and pounded his sides with his heels. The contest recalled that other struggle between the two, months before on the prairie, when it was a battle royal indeed. But the great difference lay in the fact that the present one was good-natured on both sides, and it is easy to believe that the stallion wished the youth to prove himself once again his master. An intelligent animal loves to obey him who has proved his superiority.
There is no telling all that was done by the Shawanoe. He sharply pinched the glossy hide. He griped the nostrils of the steed as if to shut off his breath, but was too considerate to continue this long, since the horse seems unable to breathe through his mouth. He placed his hand and forearm over the eyes of Whirlwind as if he meant to play blind-man's buff with him. He yanked the forelock and reproached him as being of no account.
The stallion did his part in the way of defense and retaliation, but he was continually handicapped by his dread of hurting his master. And yet it would seem that, recalling that other conflict, he ought to have had no such apprehension, for he had done his best on that occasion to kill the Indian youth, who was not harmed at all, and overcame the creature that possessed ten times his strength.
Whirlwind showed signs of fatigue before Deerfoot did. A comparatively clear path stretched in front. Dropping from the back of the horse, the Shawanoe challenged him to a race. Bounding off at his highest bent, the youth dashed across the country with the speed of the wind. He ran as he did when on the second half of his race with Ralph Genther.
Ah, Whirlwind had him now! No danger of hurting his audacious master, except so far as his feelings were concerned, and the stallion did not spare them. Despite the favorable ground, more than one boulder or bunch of matted undergrowth had to be leaped, and the two went over them like a couple of flying birds. But the steed steadily drew away from the fleet Shawanoe, who at the end of two or three hundred yards, finding himself hopelessly to the rear, gave up.
"Deerfoot is only a child when he races with Whirlwind; have mercy on him."
Hearing his call, the steed ceased his running, wheeled about and waited for his master to come up. Deerfoot patted him affectionately and vaulted upon his back, happy as he could be over the triumph of his matchless animal that was as well pleased as he.
The journey through the Rocky Mountains was accompanied by many interesting experiences which cannot be dwelt upon. It need hardly be said that so peerless a hunter as the young Shawanoe never lacked for food. That region is still a royal one for game, and it was such to a more marked degree a century ago. Antelope, deer, bison and the famous Rocky Mountain sheep were often seen, and when Deerfoot felt the need of the food it was simple sport to obtain it.
One day, while walking in front of Whirlwind, he came upon an enormous grizzly bear that seemed disposed to dispute their way. The stallion trembled with fear, but his master soothed him and prepared for a desperate fight. Deerfoot never killed an animal in wantonness, and, though he did not doubt that he could overcome this colossal terror, he preferred to make a detour of the broad pass and leave him undisputed monarch of the solitude.
But, if the youth showed mercy to animals, he was not so considerate of reptiles--especially when they crawled the earth. He detested a serpent with unspeakable disgust, and believed he was doing good work in reducing, as opportunity presented, the noxious pests. His experience with the rattlesnake which caused his wrenched ankle did not lessen this hatred of the species. When, therefore, a warning rattle told him one afternoon that he had disturbed another of the venomous things beside the path, his enmity flared up.