"Holes the beavers dig in the bank, partly under water, where they can run in and breathe without being seen."
Venison was going on to tell me how many beaver skins he got, but the duck and fish were done, and had been divided up by Jim Buzzard, and handsomely laid out on a piece of clean bark, ready to eat.
We ranged ourselves in a row, squat upon the ground like so many Turks, drew our hunting-knives, and went to work. I looked out upon the lake that lay like a looking-glass, draped with gauze, at my feet. Day was dying over it like a strain of music. One slender bar of light lay trembling along its eastern shore. By and by it crept up the bank; from that to a mound behind, and from which it took a leap to a hill a mile distant, where it faded and faded into twilight. The water-fowl were screaming among the flags, and I noticed a belated hawk winging his way through the air on high, to his home in the forest. I could almost hear the winnowing of his wings in the silent sky. A chick-a-dee-dee came bobbing and winding down an oak near me, for the purpose of coaxing a supper. The trees began to assume uncertain shapes—the arms of the oaks stretched out longer and longer. The new moon grew brighter and brighter in the west. There it hung, looking down into the lake. The river sent up its hollow roar, the mists settled thicker and thicker, and solemn night at last came down over the wilderness.
After I had finished my watch of departing day, I looked around for my company. "Jim" had been stuffing himself for the last half hour, until he had grown as stupid as an over-fed anaconda. His jaws were moving very slowly over the bone of a duck—his eyes were drowsy—and every now and then he heaved a long-drawn sigh—a kind of melancholy groan over his inability to eat any more.
Venison said "we must build up our night fire to keep off the varmints," and accordingly we reared a pile of brush of logs, set it a-going, made up our bed of withered leaves, ranged ourselves in a circle with our feet turned to the blaze, and were soon lost in sleep.
Morn broke over us lovely as ever. As the first gray streaks began to melt away, Venison roused up to get a deer for breakfast. We went out on to a run-way, hid ourselves in the bushes, and soon a large buck, his antlers swung aloft, came snuffing and cracking along over the leaves, on his way to the lake to take his morning drink. Pop! and over he went, and soon his "saddles" were taken out and carried into camp, our stack started, and breakfast prepared.
Another day was loitered away among the fish—another day, beautiful as the last, we floated over the lake, and threaded the stream that poured into it. At night we found ourselves safely moored at Puddleford, our boat loaded with fish, and my soul filled with a thousand beautiful pictures of nature, that hang there winter and summer, as bright and lovely as life itself.