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The Spirit of the Border-Part4_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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wildfowl, the flitting of woodland songsters, and now and then the whistle and



bellow of the horned watchers in the forest.

The intense blue of the vault above began to pale, and low down in the west a



few fleecy clouds, gorgeously golden for a fleetinginstant, then

crimson-crowned for another, shaded and darkened as the setting sun sank



behind the hills. Presently the red rays disappeared, a pink glow suffused the

heavens, and at last, as gray twilight stole down over the hill-tops, the



crescent moon peeped above the woodedfringe of the western bluffs.

"Hard an' fast she is," sang out Jeff Lynn, as he fastened the rope to a tree



at the head of a small island. "All off now, and' we'll hev' supper. Thar's a

fine spring under yon curly birch, an' I fetched along a leg of deer-meat.



Hungry, little 'un?"

He had worked hard all day steering the rafts, yet Nell had seen him smiling



at her many times during the journey, and he had found time before the early

start to arrange for her a comfortable seat. There was now a solicitude in the



frontiersman's voice that touched her.

"I am famished," she replied, with her bright smile. "I am afraid I could eat



a whole deer."

They all climbed the sandy slope, and found themselves on the summit of an



oval island, with a pretty glade in the middle surrounded by birches. Bill,

the second raftsman, a stolid, silent man, at once swung his axe upon a log of



driftwood. Mr. Wells and Jim walked to and fro under the birches, and Kate and

Nell sat on the grass watching with great interest the old helmsman as he came



u from the river, his brown hands and face shining from the scrubbing he had

given them. Soon he had a fire cheerfully blazing, and after laying out the



few utensils, he addressed himself to Joe:

"I'll tell ye right here, lad, good venison kin be spoiled by bad cuttin' and



cookin'. You're slicin' it too thick. See--thar! Now salt good, an' keep outen

the flame; on the red coals is best."



With a sharpened stick Jeff held the thin slices over the fire for a few

moments. Then he laid them aside on some clean white-oak chips Bill's axe had



provided. The simple meal of meat, bread, and afterward a drink of the cold

spring water, was keenly relished by the hungry voyagers. When it had been



eaten, Jeff threw a log on the fire and remarked:

"Seein' as how we won't be in redskin territory fer awhile yit, we kin hev a



fire. I'll allow ye'll all be chilly and damp from river-mist afore long, so

toast yerselves good."



"How far have we come to-day?" inquired Mr. Wells, his mind always intent on

reaching the scene of his cherished undertaking.



"'Bout thirty-odd mile, I reckon. Not much on a trip, thet's sartin, but we'll

pick up termorrer. We've some quicker water, an' the rafts hev to go



separate."

"How quiet!" exclaimed Kate, suddenly breaking the silence that followed the



frontiersman's answer.

"Beautiful!" impetuously said Nell, looking up at Joe. A quick flash from his



gray eyes answered her; he did not speak; indeed he had said little to her

since the start, but his glance showed her how glad he was that she felt the



sweetness and content of this wild land.

"I was never in a wilderness before," broke in the earnest voice of the young



minister. "I feel an almost overpowering sense of loneliness. I want to get

near to you all; I feel lost. Yet it is grand, sublime!"



"Here is the promised land--the fruitful life--Nature as it was created by

God," replied the old minister, impressively.



"Tell us a story," said Nell to the old frontiersman, as he once more joined

the circle round the fire.



"So, little 'un, ye want a story?" queried Jeff, taking up a live coal and

placing it in the bowl of his pipe. He took off his coon-skin cap and



carefully laid it aside. His weather-beaten face beamed in answer to the

girl's request. He drew a long and audible pull at his black pipe, and send



forth slowly a cloud of white smoke. Deliberately poking the fire with a

stick, as if stirring into life dead embers of the past, he sucked again at



his pipe, and emitted a great puff of smoke that completely enveloped the

grizzled head. From out that white cloud came his drawling voice.



"Ye've seen thet big curly birch over that--thet 'un as bends kind of

sorrowful like. Wal, it used to stand straight an' proud. I've knowed thet



tree all the years I've navigated this river, an' it seems natural like to me

thet it now droops dyin', fer it shades the grave of as young, an' sweet, an'



purty a lass as yerself, Miss Nell. Rivermen called this island George's

Island, 'cause Washington onct camped here; but of late years the name's got



changed, an' the men say suthin' like this: 'We'll try an' make Milly's birch

afore sundown,' jest as Bill and me hev done to-day. Some years agone I was



comin' up from Fort Henry, an' had on board my slow old scow a lass named




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