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

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Ay, that were well, if the Indians would only forget all about them!

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Little Rifle struck off homeward, like one who feels that he has little time at his disposal. After walking full a mile, he struck another stream smaller than the first and which was a tributary to the one he had just left. The banks were made up principally of rocks and gravel, over which it was very easy to pass, without leaving any trail behind. The lad made his way over these, with the care of a veteran hunter and at length stepped down between two rocks, that towered fully twenty feet from the ground. Between them was a passage of about a rod in width, which gradually narrowed as he advanced, until he was checked by what seemed an insuperable obstruction; but this in reality was the cabin, the “home,” toward which he had been journeying.

It was made with very little regard to “style;” the rocks themselves afforded the rear, and two sides. The roof was constructed by laying saplings and branches across the top and covering them with leaves and twigs to such a depth that they afforded an impervious protection against the inclemency of the weather. The interior was divided into two apartments, the partition being formed, mainly like the front, of buffalo and bear-skins, firmly fastened to poles.