Chapter XIX
The young fellow stayed three weeks, and was a constant joy to Thorpe. His enthusiasms were so whole-souled; his delight so perpetual; his interest so fresh! The most trivial expedients of woods lore seemed to him wonderful. A dozen times a day he exclaimed in admiration or surprise over some bit of woodcraft practiced by Thorpe or one of the Indians.
“Do you mean to say you have lived here six weeks and only brought in what you could carry on your backs!” he cried.
“Sure,” Thorpe replied.
“Harry, you're wonderful! I've got a whole canoe load, and imagined I was travelling light and roughing it. You beat Robinson Crusoe! He had a whole ship to draw from.”
“My man Friday helps me out,” answered Thorpe, laughingly indicating Injin Charley.
Nearly a week passed before Wallace managed to kill a deer. The animals were plenty enough; but the young man's volatile and eager attention stole his patience. And what few running shots offered, he missed, mainly because of buck fever. Finally, by a lucky chance, he broke a four-year-old's neck, dropping him in his tracks. The hunter was delighted. He insisted on doing everything for himself—cruel hard work it was too—including the toting and skinning. Even the tanning he had a share in. At first he wanted the hide cured, “with the hair on.” Injin Charley explained that the fur would drop out. It was the wrong season of the year for pelts.
“Then we'll have buckskin and I'll get a buckskin shirt out of it,” suggested Wallace.
Injin Charley agreed. One day Wallace returned from fishing in the pool to find that the Indian had cut out the garment, and was already sewing it together.
“Oh!” he cried, a little disappointed, “I wanted to see it done!”