HOW I MADE MOCCASINS
I had worked diligently for some time when I suddenly remembered the old grindstone and, laughing at my own stupidity, for I had repeatedly used the stone for sharpening my knife, I proceeded to sharpen the bones in a simple and easy manner.
I had ground down one bone to form a fairly fine needle-pointed tool when my glance fell upon the old rusty file. The sharp tang of the file suggested an awl at once, and, marveling that I had not thought of it sooner, I proceeded to grind it to a fine point.
In a few minutes I had an excellent awl and with its aid I found the completion of my moccasins easy. The heavy file made the tool clumsy, however, and as soon as the moccasins were finished I set to work to break the awl-like end from the file itself. It seemed a simple matter and the reader may smile at my spending a moment’s thought over breaking off one end of a file, but to me it was an affair of great importance, for I was afraid of snapping the steel in the wrong spot and thus ruining the awl which I found so useful. With only stones as hammers, I realized it would be difficult to break the metal in the desired place, and I pondered on the matter for some time before it occurred to me to cut the piece from the file by means of the grindstone.
While I was cutting through the file it flashed upon me that the remaining portion of the tool might be transformed into a most efficient weapon. To be sure, I had no real need of a weapon, for my flimsy bow and arrows and frog-spear had served all my needs. But I had seen deer tracks on several occasions and had even caught a fleeting glimpse of the creatures more than once, and while I had made no effort to molest them, knowing the hopelessness of such an attempt, I had longed to secure them and their hides. With a powerful spear, such as I could form from the old file, I thought it might be possible to kill a deer or some other large animal. Therefore I promptly set to work to grind the steel down to sharp edges and a point. I soon found, however, that the grindstone made scarcely any impression upon the file, and that, if I was to succeed, I must soften the metal by means of fire. I hesitated to do this, for fear that I would not be able to retemper it properly, but at last I thrust the file into the coals of my fire. When it was red-hot I raked it forth and allowed it to cool slowly. I now found the stone bit into the steel rapidly, and I felt genuine pride in my accomplishment as I watched the old file slowly assume the shape of a shining spear-head. It was hard work, however, and I stopped to rest many times before the task was half finished. In fact, I spent a large part of two days at this labor, and several times I was on the point of giving up the work as not being worth the trouble and exertion. At last, however, the spear-head was completed, and again placing it in the fire, I heated it to a cherry red, pulled it out from the coals, and dumped it into the kettle full of cold water. I found it had taken an excellent temper, and I then selected a straight, light pole of ash, bound the head to it with sinews and roots, and my spear was completed. I was proud of the result of all my work, for it certainly looked like a most efficient weapon, but I was in some doubt as to my ability to throw it accurately. I hobbled forth to try my skill. I had no mind to ruin or break the weapon by using it against a tree, but I remembered a rotten old stump which I had seen near the edge of the woods. This offered an excellent target.
I approached within a dozen yards of the stump, steadied myself on my crutch, and, balancing the spear, threw it with all my strength. The weapon fell far short of the mark and descended wrong end first. Then I realized that the pole was far too heavy for the head.
Cutting off a foot or so of the haft, I tried again, and found that the spear traveled in a straighter line and it struck near the base of the stump. This was encouraging, and by trimming off the pole a little at a time and by numerous trials I at last had the satisfaction of seeing the keen point bury itself in the rotten wood.
Again and again I hurled the weapon, each time gaining greater skill and retreating farther from the stump, until I could drive the spear into the stump at twenty paces every time.
My arm was now so tired with the unaccustomed exercise that I abandoned my target practice and returned to the cabin, well pleased with the success of my spear-making and quite convinced that if I could but find a deer I would have a very good chance of killing him.
During the day, while busy with my work, and interested, I felt quite optimistic and planned most wonderful things, but when alone in my cabin at night I often grew terribly despondent and saw matters in a very different light. While throwing the spear in the bright sunshine it had not seemed at all unreasonable to think of trailing a deer and killing him like a primitive hunter, but as I thought over the matter that night it seemed a most visionary and ridiculous scheme. To trail a deer and bring him down with a javelin would be a difficult feat at any time, and now, with my crippled foot, I realized that I would be hopelessly handicapped. In vain I tried to persuade myself that, as I had seen deer before, I might see them again, and that chance might favor me; in vain I tried to think up some other method of obtaining the wherewithal for the garments I so greatly needed. I could see nothing promising, nothing hopeful ahead, and, finally, convinced that I was doomed to die here in this deserted cabin in the wilderness, I fell asleep.