The American family Robinson

by D. W. Belisle

They had been kept within the tent for many days by a series of storms, and their stock of fresh meats had become quite exhausted, when Howe and the chief announced their determination to go on a hunt for game. They could not take the colt, as in the deep snow it would make more trouble than it would be of service to them. Telling the children to be of good cheer, and keep up a good fire, they launched forth, protected from the cold by the thick, warm fur garments they had manufactured for themselves, and armed with their bows and arrows they had made also, they gaily took the way down the valley as the one where game was generally most abundant. A pair of partridges, a wild turkey, and an antelope, were soon brought down; but as it was early in the day, and they were only warmed in the sport, they hung these on a sapling, and proceeded on.

"I tell you what, chief," said the trapper, "I am in for a buck. They are never so fat and tender as now, and I intend to have the plumpest, nicest venison steak for supper there is in this forest, if I have to work for it. There are signs of them about, and a little further down we shall find where they have been browsing, if I am not mistaken."

"My brother is right," said the chief; "yonder they have passed, and their trail is still fresh in the snow. There are many of them, and our wigwam will again be full of fat venison. Hist, yonder they are; they will see us if we do not move with great caution. You take the circuit round that clump of spruce to the right, and I will keep farther down to the left."

Warily they made their way until within shot of them, when they discharged their arrows, and one fine doe selected by the chief, fell, shot through the heart. Howe was not so fortunate, he having selected a noble buck, who bounded away with the arrow sticking in his side, but from the quantity of blood that flowed from his wound, staining the snow, they knew he could not run far. Hanging up the doe after dressing it, they set out to recover the buck, which they expected to find dead not far off. In this they were mistaken: he led them many miles before he gave out, and by the time he was dressed, and they were ready for returning, the sun had passed the meridian.

They had not retraced their steps more than half a mile, when a wailing sound was faintly heard from a thicket a few rods distant. They paused in a listening attitude. Again came the sound like the wail of a young child.

"A panther," said Howe, "he wants some of our venison, perhaps a bite of us. Let us on or we shall have to fight."

Again it was heard now louder, and then followed a heavy sob and groan.

"No panther," said the chief throwing down his load and making for the thicket. Howe began to think so too, and was following, when the chief, with a cry of surprise, disappeared beneath in the thicket. Howe hastened forward, and there on the bare ground which she had cleared of snow lay a young squaw with a papoose but a few years old huddled in her arms which she was vainly endeavoring to shield from the cold. They were terribly emaciated, with the seal of gaunt famine in their sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. The mother's limbs were frost bitten and entirely benumbed with cold.

"Lost," said the chief; "she has been lost like us in these interminable wilds."

"We must save her," said the trapper. "Wrap her in that skin from the venison while I build a fire to warm her by and cook her some meat. Poor thing, she looks as though she was nearly dead with hunger and cold. She is human, see the tears in her eyes as she hugs that little thing closer in her arms. Bless me but it makes a child of me—poor thing! poor thing!"