CHAPTER XXIV

THE HUNTER OF THE LOOP

Several times had Ande and Dick visited the old hunter's cabin in the Loop, and there was a growing friendship between the old trapper and the young men. They told him quite a little of their travels, but never mentioned the mines of Brazil. Once the hunter mentioned that he had been a soldier under Brock and had been a hunter ever since. New hope sprang up within the breast of Ande. If this old hunter had been in the service of Brock and had travelled the American wilds for such a time he must surely have met his father. At length the question found utterance.

"You were in the service of Brock. Did you ever meet one of my name either in the army or afterwards. My father was in his service and possibly you may have met him."

"One of your name,--thy father? No, no, Mr. Ande, I know naught. None of that name has ever met me."

Ande, having received this reply, had not the temerity to push his inquiry further. He admired the old hunter for his kind disposition, and especially because he had seen service under Brock. He had frequently tried to get him to relate tales of battles and adventures, but the old man was of a taciturn nature, a quality born in him by his years of woodcraft. But his taciturnity did not hinder their intimacy or his friendship. He had given them rare treats in canoeing; night after night they had dropped down with the stream to the shelter of willows, and secure from observation had quietly awaited the coming of the deer to slake their thirst at the margin of the stream. On one occasion he had taken them with him through the Rough Water, shooting the rapids with consummate skill, and pointing out to them the marks of interest, such as Pilot Rock or Shawnee Rock, Driftwood, the Sluice and others.

It was the evening just before the full moon when they made their last trip, still-hunting for deer. They had dropped down with the current, and had just secluded their craft beneath the willows when harsh, guttural, sometimes musical voices were heard on shore, at some distance. The old hunter placed a warning hand on the shoulder of Ande, and with the whisper of "Hist!" they listened. Bidding the young men be silent, and on no account to move from their position, the old trapper slipped up o'er the bank and in an instant was gone from sight. The same voices continued for the space of many minutes without interruption, and then, as cautiously as he had withdrawn, the hunter returned. With finger on his lip to indicate silence he cautiously dipped the paddle, and they moved silently up stream, skirting the willows in their journey. When beyond hearing distance he spoke in audible tones.

"The Shawnese are in the land. They must have come up from the Ohio."

"But they are peaceful, no doubt?"

"Aye, they are peaceful; but I always mistrust them. The cruelties they heaped upon my father and the cruelties that I have witnessed at their hands have always made them hateful to me."

"How do you know that they are Shawnese?" asked Dick.

"How do I know, lad? I have had more dealings with the Indians and the Shawnese than any one around this section. I remember the time I met Tecumseh and his brother, the Prophet, in the Ohio region years ago, and their language is as familiar to me as my own. The silver mine that the pilot was a-telling ye of was even then current among them, but more as a legend than as an active fact."

"The silver mine?"

"Aye, the silver mine. Haven't I searched for it, and found it not. I searched for it until I was weary, and then I gave it up. Of what value is silver or gold to me now. My friends are all dead, and I, myself, have not so many years to live that I should delve after the curse of earth. Two years after I left the old Dart I swore, on the receipt of news of the death of my dear ones, never to return, unless,----" The old hunter was silent.

"Unless?"

"Not unless I accomplish my purpose here. I came not here as a hunter, lad, alone;--there were other purposes, vain probably now." There was an element of sadness in the hunter's tone. "And yet I should like to see the old home once more. It is very dear to me."

"'Ah, happy hills! Ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood strayed A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh, their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And redolent of joy and youth To breathe a second spring.'"

"Why, Hunter Tom, that's Gray's Ode to Eton College," said Ande with increased respect.

"Aye, sirs, ye are a bit surprised to hear an old backwoodsman and hunter quote that, but I have a right to it, for I was an Etonian, myself, in younger days."

The keel of the light canoe grated on the rocky shingle of the Loop shore. Hunter Tom had insisted on going straight to his cabin on his discovery of the Shawnese. The young men waited until early dawn and then started for Burgtown. On the way they met Hugh Lark astride of his gray mare.

"Hallo! hitting the trail as usual! Well, we'll have a different trail to-night. We meet at Hunter Tom's place at eight o'clock and set out from there. See ye to-night," and Hugh was off up the trail.

"Hunter Tom is a queer character," said Ande to Dick, as they continued their way. "He's a combination of the old hunter and the scholarly civilian. It's a wonder we never heard of his scholarly attainments before."

"From what I have heard, he doesn't mix up with the people around here. What a marvellous woodsman he is, and how silently he approached the Shawnese camp!"

The log houses of Burgtown hove in sight, and they dropped all conversation as they rode up through the double row of log homes and alighted at the tavern of Peter Burke.