See that red squirrel, how
lightly he runs along that fallen trunk--how furtively he glances with his
sharp bright eye at the intruders on his sylvan haunts! Hark! there is
a rustling among the leaves--what strange creature works its way to the
shore? A mud turtle--it turns, and now is trotting along the little sandy
ridge to some sunny spot, where, half buried, it may lie unseen near the
edge of the river. See that musk-rat, how boldly he plunges into the
stream, and, with his oarlike tail, stems the current till he gains in
safety the sedges on the other side.
What gurgling sound is that?--it attracts the practised ear of the old
hunter. What is that object which floats so steadily down the middle of the
stream, and leaves so bright a line in its wake?--it is a noble stag. Look
at the broad chest, with which he breasts the water so gallantly; see
how proudly he carries his antlered head; he has no fear in those lonely
solitudes--he has never heard the crack of the hunter's rifle--he heeds
not the sharp twang of that bowstring, till the arrow rankles in his neck,
and the crimson flood dyes the water around him--he turns, but it is only
to present a surer mark for the arrow of the old hunter's bow; and now the
noble beast turns to bay, and the canoe is rapidly launched by the hand of
the Indian girl--her eye flashes with the excitement--her whole soul is in
the chase--she stands up in the canoe, and steers it full upon the wounded
buck, while a shower of blows are dealt upon his head and neck with the
paddle.
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