CHAPTER X.
A VAIN HUNT.—THE INDIAN CAMP.—DISCOVERY.—PURSUIT.—DESPERATE CONFLICT.—A MEETING.
Joe Napyank, the hunter, was a possessor of a peculiarity, which, with those of his profession, is certainly rare. He was a somnambulist or sleep-walker. This affliction—as it may perfectly be termed—had taken him in extreme peril on several occasions. It once made him a prisoner among the Indians and it once effected his escape.
Joe was generally affected, when he had undergone some severe deprivation such as hunger or thirst. He lay down with Smith, and for several hours slumbered peacefully. But finally, while in a state of coma, rose to his feet and made off. He awoke to find himself lying at the foot of a tree, with a sensation of hunger, strong, gnawing hunger, a craving that demanded instant satisfaction.
He knew all at once that he had been indulging in one of his nocturnal walks and he therefore lay still until morning, by which time he had become so ravenous that he would have made a respectable cannibal, and despite the imperative necessity of his immediately rejoining Smith, everything else gave way to the necessity of food—food—food, was what he must have.
Impelled forward by this blind craving, he forgot his usual caution and paid little heed to his footsteps. The truth was his mind was in a morbid condition, and he was not prepared to act coolly and deliberately. His sensation was that nothing could be done until he had satisfied this greatness of his system. After that, he could rejoin his young friend, and they two could carry out the objects of their expedition.
While thus wandering carelessly forward, his excited imagination detected a faint gobble in the wood as if a turkey were lost and was signalling to its companions; and proceeding stealthily onward, he suddenly came upon a large gobbler that was wandering disconsolately about as if utterly lost. Before it could get out of his reach, Joe had forgotten his usual prudence, and discharged his piece, succeeding in nothing more than wounding it.
It started off on a rapid run, and fearful that it would escape him, if he paused to load his piece, he dashed after it at the top of his speed, and now began an exceedingly interesting chase or rather race.
All things considered, perhaps in the condition of the gobbler, the hunter could outrun it, that is when both possessed the same advantage; but the bird had a way of slipping through the undergrowth, dodging under bushes, and trotting over fallen trees as though they were not there, that gave him a great advantage over his pursuer.
The latter tore headlong through the bushes, sometimes a rod or two in the rear, sometimes almost upon it, his hope constantly maintained at an exciting point, by the hair-breath escapes it made from him. More than once, he made a resolute leap forward, and, as he nearly stumbled, caught perhaps the tail feather of the bird, while the creature itself glided through his grasp, leaving a most vivid impression of its tapering form upon his hands, which had slipped over it so nicely. Then again perhaps he struck at it with his rifle and pinned another feather to the ground.
It is a fact, to which all hunters will testify, that, in the exciting pursuit of their game, they can travel mile after mile with hardly any sensible fatigue. It is not until the hunter comes to retrace his footsteps that he comprehends how great a distance he has passed over. The attendant, perhaps whose mind does not participate in the same excitement, is exhausted even in following the hunter.