Then be devoted
himself to watching the heavens and the surface of the snow.
Some winter bird, duck or goose, might be flying by, or a
wandering deer might be passing. He must not lose any such
chance. He was more than ever a fierce creature of prey, sitting
at the mouth of his den, the rifle across his knee, his tanned
face so thin that the cheek bones showed high and sharp, his eyes
bright with fever and the fierce desire for prey, and the long,
lean body drawn forward as if it were about to leap.
He thought often of dragging himself down to the lake, breaking a
hole in the ice, and trying to fish, but the idea invariably came
only to be abandoned. He had neither hook nor bait. In the
afternoon he chewed the edge of his buckskin hunting shirt, but
it was too thoroughly tanned and dry. It gave back no
sustenance. He abandoned the experiment and lay still for a long
time.
That night he had a slight touch of frenzy, and began to laugh at
himself. It was a huge joke! What would Timmendiquas or
Thayendanegea think of him if they knew how he came to his end?
They would put him with old squaws or little children. And how
Braxton Wyatt and his lieutenant, the squat Tory, would laugh!
That was the bitterest thought of all.
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