The Trail of Black Hawk

by Paul G. Tomlinson

“Not that I remember,” Walt replied, and the others seated about the fire shook their heads in token that they had never heard the tale either.

“Well,” began Mason, “it was soon after we had arrived from the East. Of course I don’t remember it very well, but I’ve often heard my father relate the story. It seems we had arrived at our future home in the summer time; my father and mother, myself and my father’s dog, a noble and intelligent animal he called Robin, because when he was a puppy he had once caught a young bird of that species. We settled down near the bank of a small stream and my father set to work clearing a space in the forest for us, and in building a house for us to live in.

“It was no easy task for one man, equipped only with an axe, to level much of the forest round about, and in addition to that we had a home to build. My mother could help some, however, and together they finally erected a cabin. It was small, but it was snug and promised good shelter against the blasts of winter. It took some time to do all this though, and cold weather was at hand by the time the cabin was completed and a fair-sized space had been cleared.

“Winter approached and we had a home, and the beginnings of a farm. It had taken a good many weeks to acquire these things, however, and my father had had time for little else. Consequently our store of meat for the long, cold months was very low. Father had had little chance to hunt. He set out one morning, his gun over his shoulder, Robin at his heels and a small supply of jerked venison in his game bag. He was in hopes of bagging a buck, which would feed us for a long time.

“Several miles he walked through the forest. Usually game abounded in this region, undisturbed except by an occasional Indian hunter. This time, however, father saw nothing except a flock of wild turkeys which flew away before he could get a shot. All the morning and into the afternoon he tramped through the woods and over the hills. Along toward the middle of the afternoon he suddenly spied a large stag. Ordering Robin to follow ‘at heel’ he crept cautiously along in an attempt to get a good shot at the deer.

“Just before he came within range, however, the buck suddenly took fright and bounded away. My father followed his trail eagerly, mile after mile. Night was almost at hand when he discovered his game standing on a large rock, his figure clearly outlined against the sky. Closer and closer father crept and finally raised his gun and fired. The deer leaped high into the air as the shot rang out and fell to the earth dead. Father ran forward joyfully and a few moments later had the buck on his back and was headed for home.

“For the first time he noticed that snow had begun to fall. It was the first snow of the winter and soon covered the ground and the branches of the nearby trees. Father had traveled many miles that day and now was far from home. He knew the country only slightly and now that the snow was on the ground it was hard to recognize landmarks. Things look vastly different in winter from what they do in summer and father had never seen this part of the country in its winter coat. Meanwhile, the storm constantly increased in fury.

“On and on father plodded. The stag was across his shoulder and Robin followed whimpering at his heels. Father was worried now; he was fast tiring and he felt more sure every moment that he had lost his way. Night now covered the land and the snow drifted in like some great white robe. It was bitterly cold, and constantly growing colder. The thought of his wife and boy was all that kept him going. His strength was fast waning, however, and he finally succumbed to the irresistible desire he felt to lie down in the snow and go to sleep. He dropped his burden and fell forward, almost too weak to move.”

“Did he die?” demanded Walt as the story teller stopped speaking.

“No, indeed,” replied Mason. “Here comes the remarkable part of the story. When father sank to the ground Robin immediately started for home. How he knew where it was and how to get there I never could see. At any rate my mother heard him whine and scratch at the door. It was after midnight and she was nearly distracted by fear and anxiety. She could easily see by Robin’s actions that he wished her to follow him, and putting on a great fur coat she went quickly out into the blinding storm.