The
water, clear and deep, coming through rocky soil, babbled gently
at the edges, where it lapped the land, but in the center the
full current flowed steadily and without noise.
The thin shadows of early dusk were falling, casting a pallid
tint over the world, a tint touched here and there with living
fire from the sun, which was gone, though leaving burning embers
behind. One glowing shaft, piercing straight through the heavy
forest that clothed either bank, fell directly upon the figure in
the boat, as a hidden light illuminates a great picture, while
the rest is left in shadow. It was no common forest runner who
sat in the middle of the red beam. Yet a boy, in nothing but
years, he swung the great paddle with an ease and vigor that the
strongest man in the West might have envied. His rifle, with the
stock carved beautifully, and the long, slender blue barrel of
the border, lay by his side. He could bring the paddle into the
boat, grasp the rifle, and carry it to his shoulder with a
single, continuous movement.
His most remarkable aspect, one that the casual observer even
would have noticed, was an extraordinary vitality. He created in
the minds of those who saw him a feeling that he lived intensely
every moment of his life.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25