Gaut Gurley

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"It would be unsuitable, too much," quickly replied the maiden, in a low,
hurried tone. "I could not do a thing like that. But if you would accept
such a small thing?"

"I cannot but appreciate and honor your delicacy," returned Mrs. Elwood,
with a look of mingled admiration and respect. "I think you must be an
excellent girl; and I will accept your present,--yes, thankfully,--and
never forget the manner in which it was bestowed."

"Your words are in my heart, lady. I came, feeling much doubtful; I return,
much happy," said the maiden, rising to depart.

"Do not go yet," interposed the matron, who was beginning to feel a lively
interest in the other; "do not go yet. Claud should know you are here. I
will call him," she added, starting for the door.

"O no, no,--do not, do not. He would not wish to be troubled by one like
me," hurriedly entreated the maiden, with a look of alarmed delicacy.

"O, you are mistaken. He would be pleased to see you, and expect to be
called," said Mrs. Elwood, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, while pausing
at the unexpected objection. "But it is unnecessary; for I see that he is
already coming, and in a moment will be here," she added, glancing out of
the window.

Having made the announcement, she turned encouragingly to the maiden, to
reassure her, believing her request that Claud should not be called in
proceeded entirely from over-diffidence. But one glance of her quick and
searching eye was sufficient to apprise the former that there was a deeper
cause for those tender alarms. The cheeks of the beautiful girl were deeply
suffused with crimson, her bosom was heaving wildly, and her whole frame
was trembling like an aspen. As her eyes met the surprised gaze of the
matron, she became conscious that her looks had betrayed the secret she was
the most anxious to conceal; and she cast an imploring look on the face of
the other, as if to entreat the mercy of shielding the weakness.

Mrs. Elwood understood the silent appeal; and, approaching and laying her
hand gently on the shoulder of the other, said, in a low, kindly tone:

"Have no fears. You have made a friend of me."

The girl silently removed the hand, brought it to her lips, and, as a
bright tear-drop fell upon it, kissed it eagerly. The two then separated,
and resumed their respective seats, to compose themselves before the
expected entrance should be made.

In a few moments Claud carelessly entered the house; but stopped short in
surprise, at the threshold, on so unexpectedly seeing the well-remembered
face and form of the heroine of his late romantic adventure on the rapids,
in the room with his mother. But, almost instantly recovering his usual
manner, he gallantly advanced to the trembling maiden, took her by the
hand, and respectfully inquired about her welfare, and pleasantly adverted
to the singular circumstances under which they had become acquainted. Soon
becoming in a good measure assured, by a reception so much more
condescending and cordial than she had dared hope for, from one whose image
she had been cherishing as that of some superior being, the grateful and
happy girl, now forgetful of her wish to depart, gradually regained her
natural ease and vivacity, and sustained her part in the general
conversation that now ensued, with an intelligence and instinctive
refinement of thought and expression that equally charmed and surprised her
listeners. She at length, however, rose to depart, observing that her
father, who was in waiting for her at the landing, would chide her for her
long delay; when Claud offered to attend her to the lake. To this she at
first objected; but, on Claud's assurance that he should be pleased with
the walk, and that it would afford him the opportunity of meeting her
father, whom he had a curiosity to see, she blushingly assented, and the
couple sociably took their way to the lake together, leaving Mrs. Elwood
deeply revolving in her mind the new train of thoughts that had been
awakened by the remarkable personal beauty and evident rare qualities of
her fair visitor, and the discovery of the state of her feelings,--thoughts
which the matron laid up in her heart, but forbade her tongue to utter.

On reaching the landing, Fluella drew a bone whistle from her pocket, and
blew a blast so loud and shrill that the sound seemed to penetrate the
inmost depths of the surrounding forest. The next moment a similar sound
rose in response from the woods, apparently about half a mile distant, on
the right.

"He has heard me; that was my father's whistle. He has been taking a short
bout in the woods with his rifle, but will now soon be here. And Mr. Elwood
will wait, I know, for the chief wishes to thank the brave that rescued his
daughter," said the maiden, looking inquiringly at Claud.

"Yes," replied Claud, "yes, certainly; for, even without company, I am
never tired of standing on this commanding point, and looking out on this
beautiful lake and its surrounding scenery."

"Ah! then you think, Mr. Elwood," exclaimed Fluella, with a countenance
sparkling with animation, "you think of our woods life, like one of your
great writers, whom I have read to remember, and who so prettily says:

'And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.'

One would almost think this wise writer must be one of my people, he
describes our ways of becoming instructed so truly; for we Indians, Mr.
Elwood, read few other books than those we see opened to us on the face of
nature, or hear or read few other sermons than those in the outspread pages
of the bright lake, the green woods, and the grand mountain."

"You Indians!" said Elwood, looking at the other with a playful yet
half-chiding expression. "Why, Fluella, should a stranger look at your fair
skin, hear you conversing so well in our language, and quoting so
appropriately from our books, he would hardly believe you an Indian, I
think, unless you told him."

"Then I would tell him, Mr. Elwood," responded the maiden, with dignity,
and a scarcely perceptible spice of offended pride in her manner. "I
_am_ one,--on my father's side, at least, wholly so; and, for the first ten
or twelve years of my life, was but a child of the woods and the wigwam;
and I will never shame at my origin, so far as that matters."

"But you did not learn to read in the wigwam, Fluella?" said Claud,
inquiringly.

"No," replied the girl; the proud air she had assumed, while speaking of
her origin, quickly subsiding into one of meekness. "No; but I supposed
that Mr. Phillips, who knows, might have told you that, for many years
past, I have lived much with your people, learned their ways, been to their
schools, and read their books. And, in owning my natural red father, may be
I should have also said, I have a good white father, who has done every
thing for the poor, ignorant, Indian girl."

"But where does this good and generous white father live, and what is his
name?" asked Claud.

"He lives near the seaside city," answered she, demurely; "I may say so
far. But I do not name him, ever. We think it not best. But, if he comes
here sometime, as he may, you shall see him, Mr. Elwood."

At this point of the dialogue, the attention of its participants was
arrested by the sound of breaking twigs and other indications of the near
approach of some one from the forest; and, the next moment, emerging
through the thick underbrush, which he parted by the muzzle of his rifle as
he made his way, the expected visitant came into view. Seemingly unmindful
of the presence of others near by, or of the curious and scrutinizing gaze
of Claud, he advanced with a firm, elastic tread, and stately bearing,
exhibiting a strong, erect frame, a large, intellectual head, and
handsomely moulded features, with a countenance of a grave and thoughtful
cast, but now and then enlivened by the keenly-glancing black eyes by which
it was particularly distinguished. With the exception of moccasins and
wampum belt, he was garbed in a good English dress; and, so far as his
exterior was in question, might have easily been mistaken, at a little
distance, for some amateur hunter from the cities; while, from the vigor of
his movements, and other general appearance, he might have equally well
passed for a man of the middle age, had not the frosts of time, which were
profusely sprinkled over his temples, and other visible parts of his head,
betrayed the secret of his advanced age.

"My daughter is not alone," he said, in very fair English utterance, coming
to a stand ten or twelve yards distant from the young couple.

"No" promptly replied the daughter, assuming the dignified tone and
attitude usual among those engaged in the ceremonies of some formal
presentation, or public introduction. "No, but my father will be pleased to
learn that this is the Mr. Claud Elwood, who did your daughter such good
service in her dangers on the rapids, and whom she has now conducted here,
that he might have the opportunity to see the chief, and receive the thanks
which it is more fitting for the father than the daughter to bestow."

"My daughter's words are good," said the chief. "The young brave has our
thanks to last; but the Red Man's thanks are acted, the White Man's spoken.
Does the young man understand the creed of our people?"

Fluella looked at Claud as if he was the one to answer the question, and he
accordingly remarked:

"I have ever heard, chief, that your people always notice a benefit done to
them, and that he who does them one secures their lasting gratitude."

"The young man," rejoined the chief, considerately, "has heard words that
make, sometime, too much; they make true, the good-doer doing no wrong to
us after. But when he takes advantage of our gratitude he wipes out the
debt; he does more,--he stands to be punished like one an enemy always."

The maiden here cast an uneasy glance at Claud, and a deprecating one at
her father, at the unnecessary caution, as she believed it, which she
perceived the latter intended to convey by his words to the former. But, to
her relief, Claud did not appear as if he thought the remarks had any
application to himself, for he frankly responded:

"Your distinction is a just one, chief. Your views about these matters are
my own views. Your creed is a good creed, so far as the remembrance of
benefits is concerned; and I wish I could see it observed as generally
among my people as I believe it to be among yours. But, chief, your
daughter makes too much out of my assistance, the other day. I did only a
common duty,--what I should have been a coward not to have done. I have no
claim for any particular gratitude from her or you."

"Our gratitude was strong before; the young man now makes stronger,"
remarked the other, exchanging appreciating glances with his daughter.

"No, chief," resumed Claud, "I did not come here to boast of that small
service, nor claim any thanks for it, but to see a sagamore, who could give
me the knowledge of the Red Man which I would like to possess; to see one
who, in times gone by, was as a king in this lake country. His own history,
and that of his people especially, I would like to hear. They must be full
of interest and instruction to an inquirer like me. Will not the chief
relate it briefly? I have leisure,--my ears are open to his words."

"Would the young man know the history of Wenongonet, alone?" said the
other, with a musing and melancholy air. "It may be told easier than by
words. Does the young man see on yonder hill that tall, green pine, which
stands braced on the rocks, and laughs at the storms, because it is strong
and not afraid?"

"I do."

"That is Wenongonet fifty winters ago. Now, does the young man see that
tall, dry pine, in the quiet valley below, with a slender young tree
shooting up, and tenderly spreading its green branches around that aged
trunk, so it would shield its bare sides in the colds of winter, and fan
its leafless head in the heats of summer?"

"Yes, I see that, also."

"That dry tree, already tottering to its fall, is Wenongonet now."

"But what is the young tree with which you have coupled it?"

"The young man has eyes," said the speaker, glancing affectionately at his
blushing daughter.

"But the young man," he resumed after a thoughtful pause, "would know more
of the history of the Red Men who once held the country as their own? Let
him read it in the history of his own people, turned about to the opposite.
Let him call the white man's increase from a little beginning, the red
man's decrease from a great,--the white man's victories, the red man's
defeats,--the white man's flourishing, the red man's fading; and he will
have the history of the red men, and the reasons of their sad history, in
this country.

"Two hundred year-seasons ago, the Abenaques were the great nation of the
east. From the sea to the mountains they were the lords of Mavoshen.
[Footnote: The name by which the Province of Maine was designated by the
early voyagers, and the Indian word probably from which the present name of
the State of Maine was derived.] They were a nation of warriors and a wise
and active people. But, of all the four tribes--the Sokokis, the
Anasquanticooks, the Kenabas, the Wawenocks--who made up this great nation,
the Sokokis were the wisest and bravest. Wenongonet is proud when he thinks
of them. They were his tribe. All the land that sent its waters through the
Sawocotuc [Footnote: The Indian appellation of the river Saco, which is
doubtless an abbreviation of the Indian name here introduced.] to the sea
was theirs. They stood with their warriors at the outposts against the
crowding white settlers from the west and south. They were pleased to stand
there, because it was the post of danger and of honor in the nation. And
there they bravely kept their stand against that wide front of war, and
took the battle on themselves, till the snows of more than a hundred
winters were made red by their rifles and tomahawks. But those who court
death must often fall into his embrace. So with the Sokokis. They were at
first a great and many people; but they wasted and fell, as time, the
bringer of new and strange things, wore away, before the thick and more
thick coming of their greedy and pushing foes,--by their fire-water in
peace and their bullets in war, till the many became few, the great small.
What the bloody Church, with his swarm of picked warriors, had left after
his four terrible comings with fire and slaughter, the bold Lovewell
finished, on that black day when the great Paugus and all the flower of the
tribe found red graves round their ancient stronghold and home,--their
beloved Pegwacket. [Footnote: The name of a once populous Indian village,
which occupied the present beautiful site of the village of Fryeburg, Me.,
near Lovewell's Pond, where the sanguinary conflict here alluded to
occurred in 1725.] This was the last time the tribe was ever assembled as a
separate people. The name of the Sokokis, at which so many pale faces had
been made paler, was buried in the graves of the brave warriors who had
here died to defend its glory. The feeble remnant, panic-struck and
heart-broken, fled northward, and, like the withered leaves of the forest
flying before the strong east wind, were scattered and swept over the
mountains into Canada; all but the family of Paugus, who took their stand
on these lakes, where his son, Waurumba, took the empty title of chief and,
dying, left it still more empty to Wenongonet, the last of the long line of
sagamores,--the last ever to stand here to tell the young white man the
story of their greatness, and the fate of their tribe."

On concluding his story, the chief turned to his daughter and significantly
pointed to the lengthening shadows of the trees on the water, with a motion
of his head towards their home up the lakes.

"The chief thinks," said Fluella, arousing herself from the thoughtful
attitude in which she had been silently listening to the
conversation,--"the chief thinks it time we were on the water, on our way
home. We shall have now to bid Mr. Elwood a good-evening."

So saying, she stepped lightly into the canoe and took her seat. She was
immediately followed by the chief, who, quickly handling his oar, sent the
light craft, with a single stroke, some rods into the lake, when, partially
turning its bow towards the spot where Claud was standing on the shore, he
said:

"Should the young man ever stray from his companions in the hunt, or find
himself weary, or wet, or cold, or in want of food, when out on the borders
of the Molechunk-a-munk, let him feel, and doubt not, that he will be
welcome to the lodge of Wenongonet."

"And, if Mr. Elwood should be in the vicinity of our lake this fall, and
_not_ happen to be in a so very sad condition, he might, perhaps, find a
good welcome on calling,--so, especially, if he come before the time of the
first snows," added Fluella, playfully at first, but with a slight
suffusion of the cheek as she proceeded to the close.

"I thank the chief," responded Claud with a respectful bow. "And I thank
you, my fair friend," he continued, turning more familiarly to Fluella. "I
hope to come, some time. But why do you speak of the first snows?"

"O, the birds take wing for a warmer country about that time, and perhaps
some who have not wings may be off with them," replied Fluella, in the same
tone of playfulness and emotion.

A stately bow from the father, and another with a sweetly eloquent smile
from the daughter, completed, on their part, the ceremonies of the adieu;
when the canoe was headed round, and, by the easy and powerful
paddle-strokes of the still vigorous old man, sent bounding over the waters
of the glassy lake.

Slowly and thoughtfully Claud turned and took his way homeward. "Who could
have expected," he soliloquized, "to witness such an exhibition of
intellect and exalted tone of feeling in one of that despised race, as that
proud old man displayed, in his eloquently-told story? And that daughter!
Well, what is she to me? My faith is given to another. But why feel this
strange interest? Yet, after all, it is probably nothing but what any one
would naturally feel in the surprise occasioned on beholding such qualities
in such a place and person. No, no, it can be nothing more; and I will
whistle it to the winds."

And he accordingly quickened his steps, and literally began to whistle a
lively tune, by way of silencing the unbidden sensation which he felt
conscious had often, since he first met this fair daughter of the wilds,
been lurking within. But, though he thus resolved and reasoned the
intruding feeling into nothing, yet he felt he would not like to have Avis
Gurley know how often the sparkling countenance and witching smile of this
new and beautiful face had been found mingling themselves with the
previously exclusive images of his dreams. But, if they did so before this
second interview, would they do it less now? His head resolutely answered,
"Yes, less, till they are banished." His heart softly whispered, "No." And
we will not anticipate by disclosing whether head or heart was to prove the
better prophet.

CHAPTER XII.

"Away! nor let me loiter in my song,
For we have many a mountain path to tread,
And many a varied shore to sail along,--
By truth and sadness, not by fiction, led."

The day agreed on, by the trappers, for starting on their expedition into
the unbroken wilds around and beyond the upper lakes to the extreme
reservoirs of the lordly Androscoggin, had at length arrived. All the
married men belonging to the company, not having sons of their own old
enough, had engaged those of their neighbors to come and remain with their
families during their absence from home, which, it was thought probable,
would be prolonged to nearly December. Steel-traps and rifles had been put
in order, ammunition plentifully provided, and supplies of such provisions
as could not be generally procured by the rifle and fish-hook in the woods
and its waters, carefully laid in; and all were packed up the night
previous, and in readiness for a start the next morning.

It had been agreed that the company should rendezvous on the lake-shore, at
the spot which we have already often mentioned, and which, by common
consent, was now beginning to be called Elwood's Landing. And, accordingly,
early on the appointed morning, Mark Elwood and his son Claud, having
dispatched their breakfast, which Mrs. Elwood had been careful to make an
unusually good and plentiful one, shouldered their large hunting packs,
with their blankets neatly folded and strapped outside; and, having bid
that anxious and thoughtful wife and mother a tender farewell, left the
house and proceeded with a lively step to the border of the lake. On
reaching their canoe at the landing, they glanced inquiringly around them
for some indications of the presence or coming of their expected
companions. But not a living object met their strained gaze, and not the
semblance of a sound greeted their listening ears. A light sheeted fog, of
varying thickness and density in the different portions of the wide
expanse,--here thin and spray-like, as if formed of the breath of some
marine monster, and there thickening to the appearance of the stratiform
cloud,--lay low stretched, in long, slow-creeping undulations, over the
bosom of the waveless lake.

"The first on the ground, after all," exclaimed Mr. Elwood, on peering out
sharply through the partially-obstructing fog in the direction of the
outlet of the lake, up through which most of the company, who lived on the
rivers below, were expected to come. "That is smart, after so much
cautioning to us to be here in season. But they cannot be very far off, can
they, Claud?"

"One would suppose not," replied the latter; "but sounds, in this dense and
quiet state of the atmosphere, could be distinguished at a great distance,
and, with all that my best faculties can do, I cannot hear a single sound
from any quarter.--But stay, what was that?"

"What did you think you heard, Claud?" asked Mr. Elwood, after waiting a
moment for the other to proceed or explain.

"Why, I can hardly tell, myself," was the musing reply; "but it was some
shrill, long-drawn sound, that seemed to come from a great distance in the
woods off here to the south-east, or on the lake beyond."

"Perhaps it was a loon somewhere up the lake," suggested Mr. Elwood.

"It may be so, possibly," rejoined Claud, doubtfully; "but, if there were
any inhabitants near enough in that direction, I should think it must
be--hark, there it is again! and, as I thought, the crowing of a rooster."

"A rooster! then it must be the echo of one, that has somehow struck across
from Phillips' barn; but how could that be? Ah, I have just thought: your
rooster must be Codman coming down the lake. You know how curiously he
imitated that creature at the logging bee, don't you?"

"No; I happened to be in a noisy bustle in the house, just at the time of
those queer performances of his, and heard them imperfectly. But, if the
sound I heard was not that of a veritable rooster, I never was so deceived
in my life respecting the character of a sound."

"Well, I think you will find I am right, but we will wait, listen, and
see."

The event soon proved the truth of Mr. Elwood's conjecture. Suddenly a
canoe, rounding a woody point a half-mile to the right, shot into view, and
the old loud and shrill _Kuk-kuk-ke-o-ho_ of Comical Codman rang far and
wide over the waters to the echoing hills beyond. But, before Claud had
sufficiently recovered from his surprise to respond to the triumphant "_I
told you so_" of his father, the strange salute was answered by a merry,
responsive shout of voices in the opposite direction; and presently two
canoes, each containing two men, emerged into view from the fog hanging
over the outlet, and, joining in a contest of speed, to which they seemed
to perceive the single boatman was, by his movements, challenging them,
rapidly made their way towards the understood goal of the landing.

"The race is run.
The vict'ry won!"

exclaimed the trapper, in his usual cheery tone and inimitable air of mock
gravity, as he drew up his oar, to let the impulse of his last stroke send
his canoe in to the shore of the landing, as it did, while the foremost of
his competitors in the friendly race was yet fifty yards distant. "Mighty
smart fellows, you!" he resumed, waggishly cocking his eye towards the
hunter, who had charge of the boat most in advance. "_What bright and
early_ chaps, living only from two to five miles off, to let one who has
ten miles to come be in first at the rendezvous!"

"Well, Codman, I suppose we must give in," responded the hunter. "But, to
do all this, you must have risen long before day; how did you contrive to
wake up?"

"Why, crowed like the house a-fire, and waked myself up, to be sure!"
replied Codman, promptly. "How did you suppose I did it? But let that all
go; I want to look you over a little. You have brought some new faces with
you, this time, haven't you, Mr. Hunter?"

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