Читать книгу Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters онлайн

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He heard the dip of the paddle, as the canoe made its way through the swift current, and a moment later the Blackfoot’s head came to view, as he propelled the canoe swiftly forward. Entirely unsuspicious of danger, he ran the prow of the boat hard against the shore and almost at the same instant leaped out.

As Little Rifle was thus afforded a full view of the red-skin, he was sure that he had never seen a more repulsive creature on two legs. A dirty blanket lay in the bottom of the canoe, and the hair, instead of being gathered in the ornamented tuft or topknot, hung entirely loose and straggling about his shoulders. The face itself was daubed and plastered with differently colored clay, mixed with grease and some other compound that made the copper-skin the very acme of filth and ugliness. The countenance by nature was as hideous as possible, being seamed with small-pox, while the nose was of enormous size, flattened out to an immense width, by the process which has given this tribe their distinctive name among the hunters and trappers of the West.