Читать книгу Summerfield or, Life on a Farm - Day Kellogg Lee - Страница 13

Morning returned; the day rolled away; and the appointed evening found the hunting party at Mr. Waldron's, and the sweet metheglin went round in flowing bowls; and all were jovial and ready with talk, and wit, and glee. The table was spread with luxuries. The savory viands smoked from multiplied motherly platters; and there were Indian bread, potato and turnip sauce, cranberry and wild plum sauce, a stack of wild honey in the snow-white comb, and cakes and pumpkin pies.

The bear's meat was discussed with fairness and spirit, and pronounced right fat and fine; and the supper, washed down before and after with metheglin of Aunt Polly's happiest mix, was taken with good relish.

"You get nothing better'n this on the Hudson, I reckon," said Uncle Walter to Fabens. "Give me a new country after all for elbow-room, a sharp appetite and a good pick o' game. I guess the Major wouldn't loathe such a bite as this."

"Aunt Polly for a supper of bear's meat, I say," added Colwell.

"Aunt Polly for the fixins too," added Wilson.

"Such fixins don't come afore every gang o' hungry hunters," added Flaxman. "Is't sage, or savory sprinkled on this meat? This plum sauce don't cly my appetite a bit; nor these fried scutlets; and I love to gnash my shovel-teeth on a clean comb o' honey; and honey, they say, is healin'."

"If you eat any more honey, Flaxman," said Wilson, "Uncle Mose 'll have to take you up. He'll make more'n he would to take up a bee-hive. But did ever anybody else get up a lusciouser pumpkin-pie? Aunt Polly always makes 'em deep enough to swim in; and she don't spare the maple sugar at all, nor the ginger, nor the shortnin' in the crust. And she crimps the edges so curious."

"How do you like a batin' like this, Fabens?" asked Colwell. "What makes you so mum? aint home-sick, be you?"

"I like it well, I assure you. I didn't think bear's meat was so fine," answered Fabens. "I am not homesick; I was just thinking how she chased me, and how narrowly I escaped."

"It was much as ever," said Teezle, "much as ever that the critter didn't mutton you. She skipped like a painter, and whet up her teeth for a whalin' bite. But don't think on it now. Here, who'll tell a good story, and cheer up Fabens a little? Uncle Walt, tell one of your painter stories. That 'll wean him of his fright."

"O, yes, tell a painter story," said Colwell.

"Yes, that's the thing," added Wilson.

"Fabens's run was only a jolly game o' gool, compared with your pull and squeeze with a painter," added Mr. Waldron.

"The one on the tree, that watched me half a day, cat-fashion? or the one that dogged me through the Owasco woods? or the one that chased me home to the chips?" asked Uncle Walter.

"Any one will answer to wean Fabens of his fright," said Teezle.

"Well, I'll tell the first that comes up in my mind," said Uncle Walter, "and may be another one still will come. Another bowl of metheglin, and then for the story." He took the metheglin and began. "It was the second year after we come here, and a day in November: the day after I finished husking. Huldah reckoned a wild turkey wouldn't go with a bad relish, and so I shouldered the old gun in the morning, and letting Bose follow slyly along behind, I put away out into the woods. I killed three or four pigeons, and a squirrel, and snipe; but on and on, and round, I ranged, afore I could get a single crack at a turkey. But a flock flew up at last, and one proud old Tom taking a tall maple in sight, and swinging his red gorget as if to dare a shot, I fired, and plump he come to the ground, while the rest flew away.

"Well, after all, this aint bad doings, thought I, and shouldered my game on my gun, and set my sails for home. I got a little puzzled about the pint o' compass; still I thought I was right, and putting ahead pretty good shin; when all at once Bose howled out, and the leaves rattled, and the ground rumbled, and up a shagbark walnut leapt a yellow painter like a cat, making the bark all fly again, and dashing her way to the tiptop limb o' the tree. Thinks I, my fellow, you wouldn't be very small game, and your yellow jacket wouldn't be bad for a winter wescot; so I took a close, quick aim and fired. Down tumbled the painter, with a hole through her liver 'n lights, and no time to breathe her last. It was a she painter, and I stripped off her hide in a hurry, slung it on my shoulder, and budged on again, as I reckoned, towards home.

"It was getting well on to night, and as it grew darkish in the woods, and the pint o' compass still pestered me, and I didn't know but my old head had got backside to, I confess I begun to feel a little skittish, and throwed away all my game but the turkey and painter skin, to lighten my load, and took a spryer step through the staddles. It wasn't the best o' walking, for logs were thick, and the grape-vines tript me some; and I had to nod and squirl for the staddles and limbs. I went, I should reckon, about three miles from where I shot and skinned the painter, and the last half-mile was clearer of logs and underwood; and let in a flash of sunshine now and then, and I thought I was coming to an opening.

"All at once I heard a halloo, and hauled up, and listened. I heard it again more distinct, and it sounded sharper 'n a halloo, and yet I reckoned somebody was calling. I bellowed back an answer, and an answer flew back like a woman calling. It was closer by than at first, and it trembled, and swelled in the screeching echo. I reckoned surely I warn't fur from home, and it was Huldah after me, calling. Away I shouted again; and back flew an answer full scream, and now it was a good 'eal nearer. It couldn't be Huldah. It sounded a little like her voice, but it screamed sharper than she ever did in a call or a scold. Louder, and sharper, and nearer come another singe-er of a scream, and I knew in a trice what it was. It was a painter; and the mate of the one I had killed!

"I thought of my gun, but I hadn't re-loaded. I felt for aminition, and there was only one single charge left! Scream—yell, come the sound oftener and nearer, and there I was, as you may say, a-most destitute of all means of battle. I turned cold all over, and my hair stood up like a hedgehog's. But not a second was to be lost; for the scream shook the staddles, and rung and rolled. So I loaded my gun with the last little charge, and legged it like Jehu, as Aunt Polly says, for several rods; then throwed down my game and jumped as fur as I could any way spring out sideways from my track; and a few jumps took me about six rods from my painter skin and turkey; and there I waited on my last legs, with my gun cocked, and butcher-knife slung, and Bose at my feet for a battle.

"The sun was just sliding down west o' my aim; so I had the advantage of all the light there was, and a big sugar-maple for a cover and rest. It was all done in a jiffy, while yell-ety-yell, scream-ety-scream come the sound, and the wild old woods rung again, and shuddered and shook with the echo! A thousand thoughts darted through my head as if lightning had chased 'em. I thought of poor Huldah; how she would feel, and what she would do, and what would become of her, away off here in the wilderness, if I was killed. I thought of her, and wanted to see her, and bid her good-bye at least; and would a give money for that little comfort.

"But scream-ety-scream come the sound, and my flesh crawled all over as if in a nightmare, and I sweat like rain. Now the scream was continual, and I heard every bound the fury made! Now it stopped. It was back only half a mile, where I throwed down my squirrel and birds! Two minutes more would bring him afore me;—yes, one—for on he bounded and yelled more dreadful than ever; and Bose cuddled closer to my feet, and brustled up his hair all over; showed me his sharp teeth were in, and give a look that said, 'Keep your gun ready, and I'll nab him as quick as you fire.'

"Them last yells fairly crazed me from top to toe, with courage; and now he jumped in full sight—over logs and through bushes, with head down, snuffing close on my track! Leap-ety-leap, he bounced to the skin and turkey; and O, such fiery eyes as then glared and blazed! and such yells as he give! Then up started the hair on his ridgy back, and thrash, thrash, to and fro, like a mad cat's, throbbed his tail! and he snuffed for my track again. I raised my old gun, and partly getting the scent, he turned his head upwards, and his eyes flashed fire in my face! But afore he could spring on me, I plumped a charge into his face and eyes, and dropped him, as Aunt Polly did the tory. Then Bose made a lunge on the critter; but he warn't dead yet, and in they grappled for life or death! Then dog's hair and painter's hair flew like flax in the brake, I tell you. And then there was growling and craunching, I reckon. I see Bose was going to be worsted, and I closed in to give him a lift. My sleeves were scratched off in a jiffy, and the skin striddled from my arms. And such flashes of fire from them blazing eyes, and such a growl as I got for my pains! I jumped back behind a tree; the painter jumped after me, and just missed my legs, tearing away my old leather breeches from the knees, where I patched 'em with a stocking the day afore. Then Bose sprung on the painter, and I closed in again; and just as the beast made for a bigger bite of me, as luck would have it, I stuck my old butcher-knife through his heart, and he fell down dead on my feet.

"When that was done, and I was safe, I felt pale, you may depend! I set down, and poor Bose laid his bloody head in my lap, and licked my hands, and whined for joy; and I was so thankful to the old fellow, I kissed him, I did, and cried like a baby.

"But it was getting dark, and more painters might come, or a pack of howling wolves be on me; so taking only my turkey and gun, I drawed a bee line homeward. I went about a mile, and heard wolves howl a good ways off; but now I knew I was pretty near home, and my fears left me; while soon my log shanty hove in sight, and Huldah met me on the edge of the clearing, and said, 'I begun to be concerned about you. What! only one turkey? Well, that is better'n none. The chores are all done, and supper is waiting.'"

"That was a narrow escape, indeed," said Fabens.

"That makes your bear-chase a clever game o' tag," said Wilson.

"That's a good ending for a hunting-feast," said Mr. Waldron; and the company drew back from the table, and thanking Aunt Polly for her fine supper, they all went away to their homes.