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Betty Zane-Part10_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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squirrels, he had not thought anything of it at the time. Now it had a

peculiarsignificance. He turned abruptly" target="_blank" title="ad.突然地；粗鲁地">abruptly from the trail he had been following



and plunged down the steep hill. Crossing the creek he took to the cover of

the willows, which grew profusely along the banks, and striking a sort of



bridle path he started on a run. He ran easily, as though accustomed to that

mode of travel, and his long strides covered a couple of miles in short order.



Coming to the rugged bluff, which marked the end of the ridge, he stopped and

walked slowly along the edge of the water. He struck the trail of the Indians



where it crossed the creek, just where he expected. There were several

moccasin tracks in the wet sand and, in some of the depressions made by the



heels the rounded edges of the imprints were still smooth and intact. The

little pools of muddy water, which still lay in these hollows, were other



indications to his keen eyes that the Indians had passed this point early that

morning.



The trail led up the hill and far into the woods. Never in doubt the hunter

kept on his course; like a shadow he passed from tree to tree and from bush to



bush; silently, cautiously" target="_blank" title="ad.小心地；谨慎地">cautiously, but rapidly he followed the tracks of the Indians.

When he had penetrated the dark backwoods of the Black Forest tangled



underbrush, windfalls and gullies crossed his path and rendered fast trailing

impossible. Before these almost impassible barriers he stopped and peered on



all sides, studying the lay of the land, the deadfalls, the gorges, and ail

the time keeping in mind the probable route of the redskins. Then he turned



aside to avoid the roughest travelling. Sometimes these detours were only a

few hundred feet long; often they were miles; but nearly always he struck the



trail again. This almost superhuman knowledge of the Indian's ways of

traversing the forest, which probably no man could have possessed without



giving his life to the hunting of Indians, was the one feature of Wetzel's

woodcraft which placed him so far above other hunters, and made him so dreaded



by the savages.

Descending a knoll he entered a glade where the trees grew farther apart and



the underbrush was only knee high. The black soil showed that the tract of

land had been burned over. On the banks of a babbling brook which wound its



way through this open space, the hunter found tracks which brought an.

exclamation from him. Clearly defined in the soft earth was the impress of a



white man's moccasin. The footprints of an Indian toe inward. Those of a white

man are just the opposite. A little farther on Wetzel came to a slight



crushing of the moss, where he concluded some heavy body had fallen. As he had

seen the tracks of a buck and doe all the way down the brook he thought it



probable one of them had been shot by the white hunter. He found a pool of

blood surrounded by moccasin prints; and from that spot the trail led straight



toward the west, showing that for some reason the Indians had changed their

direction.



This new move puzzled the hunter, and he leaned against the trunk of a tree,

while he revolved in his mind the reasons for this abrupt departure--for such



he believed it. The trail he had followed for miles was the devious trail of

hunting Indians, stealing slowly and stealthily along watching for their prey,



whether it be man or beast. The trail toward the west was straight as the crow

flies; the moccasin prints that indented the soil were wide apart, and to an



inexperienced eye looked like the track of one Indian. To Wetzel this

indicated that the Indians had all stepped in the tracks of a leader.



As was usually his way, Wetzel decided quickly. He had calculated that there

were eight Indians in all, not counting the chief whom he had shot. This party



of Indians had either killed or captured the white man who had been hunting.

Wetzel believed that a part of the Indians would push on with all possible



speed, leaving some of their number to ambush the trail or double back on it

to see if they were pursued.



An hour of patient waiting, in which he never moved from his position, proved

the wisdom of his judgment. Suddenly, away at the other end of the grove, he



caught a flash of brown, of a living, moving something, like the flitting of a

bird behind a tree. Was it a bird or a squirrel? Then again he saw it, almost



lost in the shade of the forest. Several minutes passed, in which Wetzel never

moved and hardly breathed. The shadow had disappeared behind a tree. He fixed



his keen eyes on that tree and presently a dark object glided from it and

darted stealthily forward to another tree. One, two, three dark forms followed



the first one. They were Indian warriors, and they moved so quickly that only

the eyes of a woodsman like Wetzel could have discerned their movements at



that distance.

Probably most hunters would have taken to their heels while there was yet



time. The thought did not occur to Wetzel. He slowly raised the hammer of his

rifle. As the Indians came into plain view he saw they did not suspect his



presence, but were returning on the trail in their customarycautious manner.




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