But his ankle stood the strain
well, and his courage increased rather than diminished. He was
no longer a cripple confined to one spot. While be stood
resting, he noticed a clump of bushes about half a rod to his
left, and a hopeful idea came to him.
He broke his way slowly to the bushes, and then he searched
carefully among them. The snow was not nearly so thick there,
and under the thickest clump, where the shelter was best, he saw
a small round opening. In an instant all his old vigorous life,
all the abounding hope which was such a strong characteristic of
his nature, came back to him. Already he had triumphed over
Indians, Tories, the mighty slope, snow, ice, crippling, and
starvation.
He laid the rifle on the snow and took the ramrod in his right
hand. He thrust his left hand into the hole, and when the rabbit
leaped for life from his warm nest a smart blow of the ramrod
stretched him dead at the feet of the hunter. Henry picked up
the rabbit. It was large and yet fat. Here was food for two
meals. In the race between the ankle and starvation, the ankle
had won.
He did not give way to any unseemly elation. He even felt a
momentary sorrow that a life must perish to save his own, because
all these wild things were his kindred now.
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