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 THE GREAT
 SIOUX TRAIL

 _A STORY OF MOUNTAIN AND PLAIN_

 BY

 JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

 AUTHOR OF
 "THE RULERS OF THE LAKES,"
 "THE SHADOW OF THE NORTH," ETC.


 [Illustration]


 ILLUSTRATED BY
 CHARLES L. WRENN




 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
 NEW YORK         LONDON
           1918




 Copyright, 1918, by
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

 Printed in the United States of America




 THE GREAT SIOUX TRAIL




 By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

 THE CIVIL WAR SERIES

 The Guns of Bull Run
 The Guns of Shiloh
 The Scouts of Stonewall
 The Sword of Antietam
 The Star of Gettysburg
 The Rock of Chickamaugua
 The Shades of the Wilderness
 The Tree of Appomattox


 THE WORLD WAR SERIES

 The Guns of Europe
 The Forest of Swords
 The Hosts of the Air


 THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES

 The Young Trailers
 The Forest Runners
 The Keepers of the Trail
 The Eyes of the Woods
 The Free Rangers
 The Riflemen of the Ohio
 The Scouts of the Valley
 The Border Watch


 THE TEXAN SERIES

 The Texan Star
 The Texan Scouts
 The Texan Triumph


 THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES

 The Hunters of the Hills
 The Shadow of the North
 The Rulers of the Lakes


 BOOKS NOT IN SERIES

 The Great Sioux Trail
 Apache Gold
 The Quest of the Four
 The Last of the Chiefs
 In Circling Camps
 A Soldier of Manhattan
 The Sun of Saratoga
 A Herald of the West
 The Wilderness Road
 My Captive

        ----------

 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK




[Illustration: A stroke of a great paw and the rifle was dashed from the
hands of the old chief. [PAGE 288.]]




FOREWORD


"The Great Sioux Trail" is the first of a group of romances concerned
with the opening of the Great West just after the Civil War, and having
a solid historical basis. They will be connected by the presence of
leading characters in all the volumes, but every one will be in itself a
complete story.




 CONTENTS

 CHAPTER                        PAGE

    I THE SIOUX WARNING            1

   II THE NARROW ESCAPE           25

  III THE LITTLE GIANT            53

   IV THE FLIGHT                  84

    V THE WHITE DOME             111

   VI THE OUTLAW                 134

  VII THE BEAVER HUNTER          157

 VIII THE MOUNTAIN RAM           177

   IX THE BUFFALO MARCH          199

    X THE WAR CLUB'S FALL        229

   XI THE YOUNG SLAVE            246

  XII THE CAPTIVE'S RISE         266

 XIII THE REWARD OF MERIT        290

  XIV THE DREADFUL NIGHT         315




 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


 A stroke of a great paw and the rifle was dashed
 from the hands of the old chief                    _Frontispiece_

                                                       FACING PAGE

 The rifle sprang to his shoulder, a jet of flame leaped
 from the muzzle                                            48

 The body of a warrior shot downward, striking on
 the ledges                                                190

 "If he ever looks upon a white face again it will be
 the face of one who is a friend of the Sioux"             256




THE GREAT SIOUX TRAIL




CHAPTER I

THE SIOUX WARNING


The scene cast a singular spell, uncanny and exciting, over young
Clarke. The sweep of plains on one side, and on the other the dim
outline of mountains behind which a blood-red sun was sinking, gave it a
setting at once majestic and full of menace. The horizon, as the
twilight spread over its whole surface, suggested the wilderness, the
unknown and many dangers.

The drama passing before his eyes deepened and intensified his feeling
that he was surrounded by the unusual. The fire burned low, the creeping
dusk reached the edge of the thin forest to the right, and soon, with
the dying of the flames, it would envelop the figures of both Sioux and
soldiers. Will's gaze had roved from one to another, but now it remained
fixed upon the chief, who was speaking with all the fire, passion and
eloquence so often characteristic of the great Indian leaders. He was
too far away to hear the words, as only the officers of the troop were
allowed at the conference, but he knew they were heavy with import, and
the pulses in his temples beat hard and fast.

"Who is the Indian chief?" he said to Boyd, the scout and hunter, who
stood by his side. "He seems to be a man."

"He is," replied Boyd with emphasis. "He's a man, and a great man, too.
That's Red Cloud, the war chief of the Ogalala Sioux, Mahpeyalute, they
call him in their language, one of the bravest warriors that ever lived,
and a thinker, as well. If he'd been born white he'd be governor of a
big state by this time, and later on he might become president of 'em
all."

"I've heard of him. He's one of our most dangerous enemies."

"So he is, Will. It's because he thinks we're going to spread over the
Sioux country--in which he's right--and not because he hates us as men.
I've known him in more peaceful times, and we've done each other good
turns, but under that black hair of his beats a brain that can look far
ahead and plan. He means to close to us the main trail through the Sioux
country, and the Sioux range running halfway across the continent, and
halfway from Canada to Mexico. Mountain and plain alike are theirs."

"I can't keep from having a certain sympathy with him, Jim. It's but
natural that they should want to keep the forests and the great buffalo
ranges."

"I share their feelings, too, though white I am, and to the white people
I belong. I hate to think of the continent ploughed into fields
everywhere, and with a house always in sight. Anyhow, it won't happen in
my time, because in the west here there are so many mountains and the
Sioux and Cheyennes are so warlike that the plough will have a hard time
getting in."

"And the country is so vast, too. But watch Red Cloud. He points to the
west! Now he drops his hand, doubles his fist and stretches his arm
across the way. What does it mean, Jim?"

"It's a gesture telling Captain Kenyon that the road is barred to
soldiers, settlers, hunters, all of us. Far to the south we may still
follow the gold trails to California, but here at the edge of this
mighty wilderness we must turn back. The nations of the Dakota, whom we
call the Sioux, have said so."

Mahpeyalute lowered his arm, which he had thrust as a barrier across the
way, but his fist remained clenched, and raising it he shook it again.
The sun had sunk over the dim mountains in the north and the burning red
there was fading. All the thin forest was clothed now in dusk, and the
figure of the chief himself grew dimmer. Yet the twilight enlarged him
and lent to him new aspects of power and menace. As he made his gesture
of defiance, young Clarke, despite his courage, felt the blood grow
chill in his veins. It seemed at the moment in this dark wilderness that
the great Indian leader had the power to make good his threats and close
the way forever to the white race.

The other Indians, ten in number, stood with their arms folded, and they
neither stirred nor spoke. But they listened with supreme attention to
every word of their redoubtable champion, the great Mahpeyalute. Will
knew that the Sioux were subdivided into nations or tribes, and he
surmised that the silent ones were their leaders, although he knew well
enough that Red Cloud was an Ogalala, and that the Ogalalas were merely
one of the Tetons who, federated with the others, made up the mighty
Sioux nation. But the chief, by the force of courage and intellect, had
raised himself from a minor place to the very headship.

Red Cloud was about fifty years old, and, while at times he wore the
white man's apparel, at least in part, he was now clothed wholly in
Indian attire. A blanket of dark red was looped about his shoulders, and
he carried it with as much grace as a Roman patrician ever wore the
toga. His leggings and moccasins of fine tanned deerskin were decorated
beautifully with beads, and a magnificent war bonnet of feathers,
 brilliantly, surmounted his thick, black hair.

He was truly a leader of wild and barbaric splendor in surroundings that
fitted him. But it was not his tall, powerful figure nor his dress that
held Will's gaze. It was his strong face, fierce, proud and menacing,
like the sculptured relief of some old Assyrian king, and in very truth,
with high cheek bones and broad brow, he might have been the
reincarnation of some old Asiatic conqueror.

The young officer seemed nervous and doubtful. He switched the tops of
his riding boots with a small whip, and then looked into the fierce eyes
of the chief, as if to see that he really meant what he said. Kenyon was
fresh from the battlefields of the great civil war, where he had been
mentioned specially in orders more than once for courage and
intelligence, but here he felt himself in the presence of an alarming
puzzle. His mission was to be both diplomat and warrior. He was not sure
where the duties of diplomat ceased and those of warrior began.

Meanwhile his protagonist, the Indian chief, had no doubt at all about
his own intentions and was stating them with a clearness that could not
be mistaken. Captain Kenyon continued to switch his boot uneasily and to
take a nervous step back and forth, his figure outlined against the
fire. Young Clarke felt a certain sympathy for him, placed without
experience in a situation so delicate and so full of peril.

The Ogalala stopped talking and looked straight at the officer, standing
erect and waiting, as if he expected a quick answer, and only the kind
of answer, too, that he wished. Meanwhile there was silence, save for an
occasional crackle of burning wood.

Both young Clarke and the hunter, Boyd, felt with all the intensity of
conviction that it was a moment charged with fate. The white people had
come from the Atlantic to the great plains, but the mighty Sioux nation
now barred the way to the whole Northwest, it was not a barrier to be
passed easily. Will, as he said, understood, too, the feelings of
Mahpeyalute. Had he been an Ogalala like the chief he would have felt
as the Ogalala felt. Yet, whatever happened, he and Boyd meant to go on,
because they had a mission that was calling them all the time.

The Captain at last said a few words, and Red Cloud, who had been
motionless while he waited, took from under his blanket a pipe with a
long curved stem. Will was surprised. He knew something of Indian
custom, but he had not thought that the fierce Ogalala chief would
propose to smoke a pipe of peace at a time like the present. Nor was any
such thought in the mind of Red Cloud. Instead, he suddenly struck the
stem of the pipe across the trunk of a sapling, breaking it in two, and
as the bowl fell upon the ground he put his foot upon it, shattering it.
Then, raising his hand in a salute to Captain Kenyon, he turned upon his
heel and walked away, all the other Indians following him without a
word. At the edge of the thin forest they mounted their ponies and rode
out of sight in the darkness.

Captain Kenyon stood by the fire, gazing thoughtfully into the dying
coals, while the troopers, directed by the sergeants, were spreading the
blankets for the night. Toward the north, where the foothills showed
dimly, a wolf howled. The lone, sinister note seemed to arouse the
officer, who gave some orders to the men and then turned to meet the
hunter and the lad.

"I've no doubt you surmised what the Indian meant," he said to Boyd.

"I fancy he was telling you all the trails through the Northwest were
closed to the white people," said the hunter.

"Yes, that was it, and his warning applied to hunters, scouts and
gold-seekers as well as settlers. He told me that the Sioux would not
have their hunting grounds invaded, and the buffalo herds on which they
live destroyed."

"What he told you, Captain, is in the heart of every warrior of their
nation. The Northern Cheyennes, a numerous and warlike tribe, feel the
same way, also. The army detachments are too few and too scattered to
hold back the white people, and a great and terrible war is coming."

"At least," said Captain Kenyon, "I must do my duty as far as I may. I
can't permit you and your young friend, Mr. Clarke, to go into the Sioux
country. The Indian chief, Red Cloud, showed himself to be a fierce and
resolute man and you would soon lose your lives."

Will's face fell, but the hunter merely shrugged his great shoulders.

"But you'll permit us to pass the night in your camp, Captain?" he said.

"Of course. Gladly. You're welcome to what we have. I'd not drive
anybody away from company and fire."

"We thank you, Captain Kenyon," said Will warmly. "It's a genuine
pleasure to us to be the guests of the army when we're surrounded by
such a wilderness."

Their horses were tethered nearby with those of the troop, and securing
their blankets from their packs they spread them on dead leaves near the
fire.

"You'll take breakfast with us in the morning," said Captain Kenyon
hospitably, "and then I'll decide which way to go, and what task we're
to undertake. I wish you'd join us as scout, hunter and guide, Mr. Boyd.
We need wisdom like yours, and Mr. Clarke could help us, too."

"I've been independent too long," replied the hunter lightly. "I've
wandered mountain and plain so many years at my own free will that I
couldn't let myself be bound now by military rules. But I thank you for
the compliment, just the same, Captain Kenyon."

He and Will Clarke lay down side by side with their feet to the fire,
their blankets folded about them rather closely, as the air, when the
night advanced and the coals died completely, was sure to grow cold.
Will was troubled, as he was extremely anxious to go on at once, but he
reflected that Jim Boyd was one of the greatest of all frontiersmen and
he would be almost sure to find a way. Summoning his will, he dismissed
anxiety from his mind and lay quite still, seeking sleep.

The camp was now quiet and the fire was sinking rapidly. Sentinels
walked on every side, but Will could not see them from where he lay. A
light wind blowing down from the mountains moaned through the thin
forest. Clouds came up from the west, blotting out the horizon and
making the sky a curving dome of blackness. Young William Clarke felt
that it was good to have comrades in the immense desolation, and it
strengthened his spirit to see the soldiers rolled in their blankets,
their feet to the dying coals.

Yet his trouble about the future came back. He and Boyd were in truth
and reality prisoners. Captain Kenyon was friendly and kind, but he
would not let them go on, because the Sioux and Cheyennes had barred all
the trails and the formidable Red Cloud had given a warning that could
not be ignored. Making another effort, he dismissed the thought a second
time and just as the last coals were fading into the common blackness he
fell asleep.

He was awakened late in the night by a hand pushing gently but
insistently against his shoulder. He was about to sit up abruptly, but
the voice of Boyd whispered in his ear:

"Be very careful! Make no noise! Release yourself from your blanket and
then do what I say!"

The hand fell away from his shoulder, and, moving his head a little,
Clarke looked carefully over the camp. The coals where the fire had been
were cold and dead, and no light shone there. The figures of the
sleeping soldiers were dim in the dusk, but evidently they slept
soundly, as not one of them stirred. He heard the regular breathing of
those nearest to him, and the light step of the sentinel just beyond a
clump of dwarf pines.

"Sit up now," whispered Boyd, "and when the sentinel passes a little
farther away we'll creep from the camp. Be sure you don't step on a
stick or trip over anything. Keep close behind me. The night's as black
as pitch, and it's our one chance to escape from friends who are too
hospitable."

Will saw the hunter slowly rise to a stooping position, and he did
likewise. Then when the sound of the sentinel's step was lost at the far
end of his beat, Boyd walked swiftly away from the camp and Will
followed on his trail. The lad glanced back once, and saw that the dim
figures by the dead fire did not stir. Weary and with the soothing wind
blowing over them, they slept heavily. It was evident that the two who
would go their own way had nothing to fear from them. There was now no
bar to their departure, save the unhappy chance of being seen by the
sentinel.

A rod from the camp and Boyd lay flat upon the ground, Will, without the
need of instruction, imitating him at once. The sentinel was coming
back, but like his commander he was a soldier of the civil war, used to
open battlefields, and he did not see the two shadows in the dusk. He
reached the end of his beat and turning went back again, disappearing
once more beyond the stunted pines.

"Now's our time," whispered Boyd, and rising he walked away swiftly but
silently, Will close behind him. Three hundred yards, and they stopped
by the trunk of a mountain oak.

"We're clear of the soldiers now," said the hunter, "but we must have
our horses. Without 'em and the supplies they carry we'd be lost. I
don't mean anything against you, Will. You're a likely lad and you learn
as fast as the best of 'em, but it's for me to cut out the horses and
bring 'em here. Do you think you can wait patiently at this place till I
come with 'em?"

"No, Jim, I can't wait patiently, but I can wait impatiently. I'll make
myself keep still."

"That's good enough. On occasion I can be as good a horse thief as the
best Sioux or Crow or Cheyenne that ever lived, only it's our own horses
that I'm going to steal. They've a guard, of course, but I'll slip past
him. Now use all your patience, Will."

"I will," said the lad, as he leaned against the trunk of the oak. Then
he became suddenly aware that he no longer either saw or heard Boyd. The
hunter had vanished as completely and as silently as if he had melted
into the air, but Will knew that he was going toward the thin forest,
where the horses grazed or rested at the end of their lariats.

All at once he felt terribly alone. He heard nothing now but the moaning
of the wind that came down from the far mountains. The camp was gone,
Boyd was gone, the horses were invisible, and he was the only human
being in the gigantic and unknown Northwest. The air felt distinctly
colder and he shivered a little. It was not fear, it was merely the
feeling that he was cut off from the race like a shipwrecked sailor on a
desert island. He took himself metaphorically by the shoulders and gave
his body a good shake. Boyd would be coming back soon with the horses,
and then he would have the best of comradeship.

But the hunter was a long time in returning, a half hour that seemed to
Will a full two hours, but at last, when he had almost given him up, he
heard a tread approaching. He had experience enough to know that the
sound was made by hoofs, and that Boyd was successful. He realized now,
so great was his confidence in the hunter's skill, that failure had not
entered his mind.

The sound came nearer, and it was made by more than one horse. Then the
figure of the hunter appeared in the darkness and behind him came four
horses, the two that they rode, and the extra animals for the packs.

"Splendidly done!" exclaimed the lad. "But I knew you could do it!"

"It was about as delicate a job as I ever handled," said Boyd, with a
certain amount of pride in his tone, "but by waiting until I had a good
chance I was able to cut 'em out. It was patience that did it. I tell
you, lad, patience is about the greatest quality a man can have. It's
the best of all winners."

"I suppose that's the reason, Jim, it's so hard to exercise it at times.
Although I had nothing to do and took none of the risk, it seemed to me
you were gone several hours."

Boyd laughed a little.

"It proves what I told you," he said, "but we want to get away from here
as quick as we can now. You lead two of the horses, I'll lead the other
two, and we won't mount for a while yet. I don't think they can hear us
at the camp, but we won't give 'em a chance to do so if we can help it."

He trod a course straight into the west, the ground, fortunately, being
soft and the hoofs of the horses making but little sound. Although the
darkness hung as thick and close as ever, the skillful woodsman found
the way instinctively, and neither stumbled nor trod upon the fallen
brushwood. Young Clarke, just behind him, followed in his tracks, also
stepping lightly and he knew enough not to ask any questions, confident
that Boyd would take them wherever they wished to go.

It was a full two hours before the hunter stopped and then they stood on
a low hill covered but thinly with the dwarfed trees of that region. The
night was lightening a little, a pallid moon and sparse stars creeping
out in the heavens. By the faint light young Clarke saw only a wild and
rugged country, low hills about them and in the north the blur that he
knew to be mountains.

"We can stand up straight now and talk in our natural voices," said
Boyd, in a clear, full tone, "and right glad I am, too. I hate to steal
away from friends, as if you were running from the law. That Captain
Kenyon is a fine fellow, though he and his men don't know much about
this wild country."

"Isn't this about the same direction that Red Cloud and his warriors
took?" asked Will.

"Not far from it, but we won't run into 'em. They're miles and miles
ahead. There's a big Sioux village two or three days' journey farther
on, and it's a certainty that their ponies are headed straight for it."

"And we won't keep going for the same village?"

The big hunter laughed infectiously.

"Not if we know what is good for us," he replied, "and we think we do.
Our trail leads far to the north of the Sioux town, and, when we start
again, we'll make an abrupt change in our course. There's enough
moonlight now for you to see the face of your watch, and tell me the
time, Will."

"Half-past one, Jim."

"And four or five hours until morning. We'll move on again. There's a
chance that some pursuing soldier might find us here, one chance in a
thousand, so to speak, but slim as it is it is well to guard against it.
Mount your horse. There's no reason now why we shouldn't ride."

Will sprang gladly into the saddle, leading his pack-animal by the
lariat, and once more followed Boyd, who rode down the hill into a wide
and shallow valley, containing a scattered forest of good growth. Boyd's
horse raised his head suddenly and neighed.

"What does that mean?" asked Will, startled. "Sioux?"

"No," replied the hunter. "I know this good and faithful brute so well
that he and I can almost talk together. I've learned the meaning of
every neigh he utters and the one you have just heard indicates that he
has smelled water. In this part of the world water is something that you
must have on your mind most of the time, and his announcement is
welcome."

"If there's a stream, do we camp by it?"

"We certainly do. We won't turn aside from the luck that fortune puts in
our way. We're absolutely safe from the soldiers now. They can't trail
us in the night, and we've come many miles."

They descended a long <DW72> and came into the valley, finding the grass
there abundant, and, flowing down the centre, a fine brook of clear cold
water, from which horses and horsemen drank eagerly. Then they unsaddled
and prepared for rest and food.

"Is there no danger here from the Sioux?" asked Will.

"I think not," replied the hunter. "I've failed to find a pony track,
and I'm quite sure I saw a buck among the trees over there. If the
Indians had passed this way there would have been no deer to meet our
eyes, and you and I, Will, my lad, will take without fear the rest we
need so much."

"I see that the brook widens and deepens into a pool a little farther
on, and as I'm caked with dust and dirt I think I'll take a bath."

"Go ahead. I've never heard that a man was less brave or less enduring
because he liked to keep clean. You'll feel a lot better when it's
done."

Will took off his clothes and sprang into the pool which had a fine,
sandy bottom. The chill at once struck into his marrow. He had not
dreamed that it was so cold. The hunter laughed when he saw him
shivering.

"That water comes down from the high mountains," he said, "and a few
degrees more of cold would turn it into ice. But splash, Will! Splash!
and you'll feel fine!"

Young Clarke obeyed and leaped and splashed with great energy, until his
circulation grew vigorous and warm. When he emerged upon the bank his
whole body was glowing and he felt a wonderful exhilaration, both
physical and mental. He ran up and down the bank until he was dry, and
then resumed his clothing.

"You look so happy now that I'll try it myself," said Boyd, and he was
soon in the water, puffing and blowing like a big boy. When he had
resumed his deerskins it was almost day. A faint line of silver showed
in the east, and above them the sky was gray with the coming dawn.

"I'll light a little fire and make coffee," said Boyd, "but the rest of
the breakfast must be cold. Still, a cup of coffee on a chill morning
puts life into a man."

Will, with the zeal characteristic of him, was already gathering dead
brushwood, and Boyd soon boiled the grateful brown liquid, of which they
drank not one cup but two each, helping out the breakfast with crackers
and strips of dried beef. Then the pot and the cups were returned to the
packs and the hunter carefully put out the fire.

"It's a good thing we loaded those horses well," he said, "because we'll
need everything we have. Now you roll up in your blanket, Will, and get
the rest of your sleep."

"And you feel sure there is no danger? I don't want to leave all the
responsibility to you. I'd like to do what I can."

"Don't bother yourself about it. The range of the Sioux is farther west
mostly, and it's not likely we could find a better place than this for
our own little private camp."

The coming of a bright, crisp day removed from Will the feeling of
desolation that the wilderness had created in his mind. Apprehension and
loneliness disappeared with the blackness of the night. He was with one
of the best scouts and hunters in the West, and the sun was rising upon
a valley of uncommon beauty. All about him the trees grew tall and
large, without undergrowth, the effect being that of a great park, with
grass thick and green, upon which the horses were grazing in deep
content. The waters of the brook sang a little song as they hurried over
the gravel, and the note of everything was so strongly of peace that the
lad, wearied by their flight and mental strain, fell asleep in a few
minutes.

It was full noon when he awoke, and, somewhat ashamed of himself, he
sprang up, ready to apologize, but the hunter waved a deprecatory hand.

"You didn't rest too long," said Boyd. "You needed it. As for me, I'm
seasoned and hard, adapted by years of practice to the life I lead. It's
nothing to me to pass a night without sleep, and to catch up later on.
While you were lying there in your blanket I scouted the valley
thoroughly, leaving the horses to watch over you. It's about two miles
long and a mile broad. At the lower end the brook flows into a narrow
chasm."

"What did you find in the valley itself, Jim?"

"Track of bear, deer, wolf and panther, but no sign of human being,
white or red. It's certain that we're the only people in it, but if we
need game we can find it. It's a good sign, showing that this part of
the country has not been hunted over by the Indians."

"Before long we'll have to replenish our food supply with game."

"Yes, that's certain. We want to draw as little on our flour and coffee
as we can. We can do without 'em, but when you don't have 'em you miss
'em terribly."

The stores had been heaped at the foot of a tree, while the pack horses,
selected for their size and strength, nibbled at the rich grass. Will
contemplated the little mound of supplies with much satisfaction. They
had not started upon the path of peril without due preparation.

Each carried a breech-loading, repeating rifle of the very latest make,
a weapon yet but little known on the border. In the packs were two more
rifles of the same kind, two double-barreled, breech-loading shotguns,
thousands of cartridges, several revolvers, two strong axes, medicines,
extra blankets, and, in truth, everything needed by a little army of two
on the march. Boyd, a man of vast experience in the wilderness, had
selected the outfit and he was proud of its completeness.

"Don't you think, Jim," said young Clarke, "that you might take a little
sleep this afternoon? You've just said that we've nothing to dread in
the valley, and I can watch while you build yourself up."

Boyd gave him a quick but keen glance. He saw that the lad's pride was
at stake, and that he was anxious to be trusted with an important task.
Looking at his alert face, and knowing his active intellect, the hunter
knew that he would learn swiftly the ways of the wilderness.

"A good idea," he said in tones seemingly careless. "I'll change my mind
and take a nap. Wake me up if you see strange signs or think anything is
going to happen."

Without further word he spread his blanket on the leaves and in a minute
or two was off to slumberland. Will, full of pride,