Then he came to a bit of hard ground, a tiny islet in the mire, upon which he could stand without sinking at all.He looked back from there, and he could not see his point of departure.Bushes, weeds, and saplings grew out of the swamp to a height of a dozen or fifteen feet, and he was inclosed completely.All the vegetation dripped with cold water, and the place was one of the most dismal that he had ever seen.But he had no thought of turning back.
Henry made a shrewd guess as to whither the path led, but he inferred from the appearance of the stepping stones-chiefly from the fact that an odd one here and there had sunk completely out of sight-that they had not been used in a long time, perhaps for years.He found on the other side of the islet a second line of stones, and they led across a marsh, that was almost like a black liquid, to another and larger island.
Here the ground was quite firm, supporting a thick growth of large trees.It seemed to Henry that this island might be seventy or eighty yards across, and he began at once to explore it.In the center, surrounded so closely by swamp oaks that they almost formed a living wall, he found what he had hoped to find, and his relief was so great that, despite his natural and trained stoicism, he gave a little cry of pleasure when he saw it.
A small lodge, made chiefly of poles and bark after the Iroquois fashion, stood within the circle of the trees, occupying almost the whole of the space.It was apparently abandoned long ago, and time and weather had done it much damage.But the bark walls, although they leaned in places at dangerous angles, still stood.The bark roof was pierced by holes on one side, but on the other it was still solid, and shed all the rain from its slope.
The door was open, but a shutter made of heavy pieces of bark cunningly joined together leaned against the wall, and Henry saw that he could make use of it.He stepped inside.The hut had a bark floor which was dry on one side, where the roof was solid, but dripping on the other.Several old articles of Indian use lay about.In one corner was a basket woven of split willow and still fit for service.There were pieces of thread made of Indian hemp and the inner bark of the elm.There were also a piece of pottery and a large, beautifully carved wooden spoon such as every Iroquois carried.In the corner farthest from the door was a rude fireplace made of large flat stones, although there was no opening for the smoke.
Henry surveyed it all thoughtfully, and he came to the conclusion that it was a hut for hunting, built by some warrior of an inquiring mind who had found this secret place, and who had recognized its possibilities.Here after an expedition for game he could lie hidden from enemies and take his comfort without fear.Doubtless he had sat in this hut on rainy days like the present one and smoked his pipe in the long, patient calm of which the Indian is capable.
Yes, there was the pipe, unnoticed before, trumpet shaped and carved beautifully, lying on a small bark shelf.Henry picked it tip and examined the bowl.It was as dry as a bone, and not a particle of tobacco was left there.He believed that it had not been used for at least a year.Doubtless the Indian who had built this hunting lodge had fallen in some foray, and the secret of it had been lost until Henry Ware, seeking through the cold and rain, had stumbled upon it.
It was nothing but a dilapidated little lodge of poles and bark, all a-leak, but the materials of a house were there, and Henry was strong and skillful.He covered the holes in tile roof with fallen pieces of bark, laying heavy pieces of wood across them to hold them in place.Then he lifted the bark shutter into position and closed the door.Some drops of rain still came in through the roof, but they were not many, and he would not mind them for the present.Then he opened the door and began his hardest task.
He intended to build a fire on the flat stones, and, securing fallen wood, he stripped off the bark and cut splinters from the inside.It was slow work and he was very cold, his wet feet sending chills through him, but be persevered, and the little heap of dry splinters grew to a respectable size.Then he cut larger pieces, laying them on one side while he worked with his flint and steel on the splinters.
Flint and steel are not easily handled even by the most skillful, and Henry saw the spark leap up and die out many times before it finally took hold of the end of the tiniest splinter and grew.
He watched it as it ran along the little piece of wood and ignited another and then another, the beautiful little red and yellow flames leaping up half a foot in height.Already he felt the grateful warmth and glow, but he would not let himself indulge in premature joy.He fed it with larger and larger pieces until the flames, a deeper and more beautiful red and yellow, rose at least two feet, and big coals began to form.He left the door open a while in order that the smoke might go out, but when the fire had become mostly coals he closed it again, all except a crack of about six inches, which would serve at once to let any stray smoke out, and to let plenty of fresh air in.
Now Henry, all his preparations made, no detail neglected, proceeded to luxuriate.He spread the soaked blanket out on the bark floor, took off the sodden moccasins and placed them at one angle of the fire, while he sat with his bare feet in front.
What a glorious warmth it was! It seemed to enter at his toes and proceed upward through his body, seeking out every little nook and cranny, to dry and warm it, and fill it full of new glow and life.
He sat there a long time, his being radiating with physical comfort.The moccasins dried on one side, and he turned the other.Finally they dried all over and all through, and he put them on again.Then he hung the blanket on the bark wall near the fire, and it, too, would be dry in another hour or so.He foresaw a warm and dry place for the night, and sleep.Now if one only had food! But he must do without that for the present.
