Camp and Trail - A Story of the Maine Woods by Isabel Hornibrook
page 57 of 263 (21%)
page 57 of 263 (21%)
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Here his steel-gray eyes fell on the moccasins which he had not yet put
on, and struck fire instantly. His ambition was doubled. For if there is one thing more than another which in the forest will stir the pluck of a novice, and make him feel like an old woodsman, it is the sight of his Indian footwear. Dol put his on, admired their light, comfortable feeling, their soft buckskin, and rashly decided that he could dispense with the loose inner soles which Cyrus had fitted into them to protect his feet. Then, being very much of a stranger to American woods, he communed with himself after this fashion,-- "Cyrus says that different tribes of Indians wear differently made moccasins, and one redskin, if he sees the tracks of another in soft mud or snow, can tell what tribe he belongs to by his footmarks. That's funny! I suppose if any old brave was knocking about and saw my tracks in a boggy spot, he'd think it was a Kickapoo who had passed that way--not Dol Farrar of Manchester, England. These are of the shape worn by the Kickapoo tribe--so Cy says. "I'm the kid of the camp, I know," he went on, with another flash in his eyes, as if there was a bit of flint somewhere in his make-up which had struck their steel. "But I'll be bound I can do as well or better than the others can. I'm off now to Squaw Pond. I think I can follow the trail easily enough. Uncle Eb showed me yesterday where he had spotted some of the trees all the way along to the water. And if I don't shoot a couple of black ducks for dinner or supper, I'm a duffer, and not fit for camping." He took down the powder-horn and slung it round him, saw that there was |
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