He had never seen a man before, and he was
as curious about it as a blue jay. No dog's voice had ever wakened the
echoes within fifty miles; but every sound of the wilderness he seemed
to know a thousand times better than I. The snapping of the smallest
stick under the stealthy tread of fox or wildcat would send him
scurrying out of sight in wild alarm; yet I watched a dozen of them
at play one night when a frightened moose went crashing through the
underbrush and plunged into the lake near by, and they did not seem to
mind it in the least.
The spot referred to was the only camping ground on the lake; so
Simmo, my Indian guide, assured me; and he knew very well. I
discovered afterward that it was the only cleared bit of land for
miles around; and this the rabbits knew very well. Right in the midst
of their best playground I pitched my tent, while Simmo built his
lean-to near by, in another little opening. We were tired that night,
after a long day's paddle in the sunshine on the river. The
after-supper chat before the camp fire--generally the most delightful
bit of the whole day, and prolonged as far as possible--was short and
sleepy; and we left the lonely woods to the bats and owls and creeping
things, and turned in for the night.
I was just asleep when I was startled by a loud thump twice repeated,
as if a man stamped on the ground, or, as I thought at the time, just
like the thump a bear gives an old log with his paw, to see if it is
hollow and contains any insects.
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