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

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“What is it going to be?” asked the old hunter, looking at the lad, with a scared look, as if he dreaded to reply.

“I have no more idea of its nature than have you, but I know it’s coming, for all that. And then too,” he added, with more animation, “by my trying so much to think of the past. I have succeeded at last.”

“What!” exclaimed the astonished hunter, moving away from the table, “what can you call to mind?”

“I remember when you found me. I was lying asleep upon some furs in an Indian lodge, when I opened my eyes, and saw a man dressed in a hunter’s dress, leaning over me. I remember that I was so frightened that I cried, and you took me up in your arms to quiet me, and you carried me away with you.”

“That’s it exactly,” replied the hunter; “and the qu’arest thing about that business was that when I come to that lodge, standing by itself, there wasn’t a red-skin to be seen anywhar near. I walked in, picked you up, and walked away ag’in, and never cotched so much as a glimpse of a copper-skin. I went back arter a month or so to see if I could l’arn any thing, and found the lodge burned to the ground.”