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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"The Hunters of the Hills"

The river
flowed, a silver torrent, in the clear light of the morning, a fish
leaping up now and then in the waters so seldom stirred by any strange
presence. The whole scene was saturated with the beauty and the majesty
of the wilderness, and to the eye that did not know it suggested only
peace. But Robert often lifted his gaze from the paddle and the river to
search the green thickets on either side. They were only casual glances,
Willet being at once their sentinel and guard.
The great hunter was never more keenly alert. His thick, powerful figure
was poised evenly in the canoe, and the long-barreled rifle lay in the
hollow of his arm, his hand on the lock and his finger on the trigger.
Eyes, trained by many years in the forest, searched continually among
the trees for a figure that did not belong there, and, at the same
time, he listened for the sound of any movement not natural to the
wilderness. He felt his full responsibility as the rifleman of the fleet
of one canoe, and he accepted it.
"Lads," he said, "we're approaching the narrowest part of the river.


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