The Hunters of the Hills | Page 7

their way, as they worked and played.
The wilderness spell was strong upon Tayoga, whose ancestors had
lived unknown ages in the forest. The wind from the north as it rustled
the leaves filled his strong lungs and made the great pulses leap. The
bow in his hand fitted into the palm like a knife in its sheath. He heard
the animals and the birds, and the sounds were those to which his
ancestors had listened a thousand years and more. Once again he was
proud of his heritage. He was Tayoga, a coming chief of the Clan of the
Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the League of the Hodenosaunee, and
he would not exchange places with any man of whom he had heard in

all the world.
The forest was the friend of Tayoga and he knew it. He could name the
trees, the elm and the maple, and the spruce and the cedar and all the
others. He knew the qualities of their wood and bark and the uses for
which every one was best fitted. He noticed particularly the great
maples, so precious to the Iroquois, from which they took sap and made
sugar, and which gave an occasion and name to one of their most
sacred festivals and dances. He also observed the trees from which the
best bows and arrows were made, and the red elms and butternut
hickories, the bark of which served the Iroquois for canoes.
When Tayoga passed through a forest it was not merely a journey, it
was also an inspection. He had been trained from his baby frame,
gaoseha, always to observe everything that met the human eye, and
now he not only examined the trees, but also the brooks and the little
ravines and the swell of the hills and the summits of the mountains that
towered high, many miles away. If ever he came back there he would
know the ground and all its marks.
His questing eye alighted presently upon the delicate traces of hoofs,
and, calling Robert's attention, the two examined them with the full
care demanded by their purpose.
"New," said Tayoga; "scarce an hour old."
"Less than that," said Robert. "The deer can't be far away."
"He is near, because there has been nothing to make him run. Here go
the traces in almost a half circle. He is feeding and taking his time."
"It's a good chase to follow. The wind is blowing toward us, and he can
take no alarm, unless he sees or hears us."
"It would be shame to an Onondaga if a deer heard him coming."
"You don't stand in any danger of being made ashamed, Tayoga. As
you're to be the hunter, lead and I'll follow."

The Onondaga slipped through the undergrowth, and Robert, a skillful
young woodsman also, came after with such care and lightness of foot
that neither made a twig or leaf rustle. Tayoga always followed the
traces. The deer had nibbled tender young shoots, but he had not
remained long in one place. The forest was such an abundant garden to
him that, fastidious as an epicure, he required the most delicate food to
please his palate.
Tayoga stopped suddenly in a few minutes and raised his hand. Robert,
following his gaze, saw a stag about a hundred yards away, a splendid
fellow with head upraised, not in alarm, but to nuzzle some tender
young leaves.
"I will go to the right," whispered the young warrior, "and will you, my
friend, remain here?"
Robert nodded, and Tayoga slid silently among the bushes to secure a
nearer and better position for aim. The Indian admired the stag which,
like himself, fitted into the forest. He would not have hunted him for
sport, nor at any other time would he have shot him, but food was
needed and Manitou had sent the deer for that purpose. He was not one
to oppose the will of Manitou.
The greatest bowman in the Northern wilderness crouched in the
thicket, and reaching his right hand over his left shoulder, withdrew an
arrow, which he promptly fitted to the string. It was a perfect arrow,
made by the young chief himself, and the two feathers were curved in
the right manner to secure the utmost degree of speed and accuracy. He
fitted it to the string and drew the bow far back, almost to the head of
the shaft. Now he was the hunter only and the spirit of hunting
ancestors for many generations was poured into him. His eye followed
the line of coming flight and he chose the exact spot on the sleek body
beneath which the great heart lay.
The stag, with his head upraised, still pulled at the tender top of a bush,
and the deceitful wind,