"Yes, indeed; that I would!"

"And wouldn't you like for me to go and see how they are?"

"And wear your red moccasins?" added his mother, with a mocking smile.

"I could carry the moccasins in my hands."

"And who would carry your feet?"

"Shank's mare can carry my feet, for Shank's mare can carry double."

"But Shank's mare is tenderfooted, and there are twenty miles of stony hills and s.h.a.ggy woods between here and the fort. Besides, Shank's mare could never find the way."

"Yes, but I can! You first go by the hunting camp, then by the Lick, then by the sugar camp, and the next thing you know you are there."

"Now, what did I tell you? The Lick comes before the hunting camp, and there is no sugar camp at all. So the next thing you know you are not there, but lost. Besides all this, there are a thousand wild things in the woods, which even a strong man without his gun and knife would not be willing to run the risk of meeting. So just content yourself to stay at home, my boy, until to-morrow week, when we shall all be going to grandmam's quilting, and you will have somebody to keep you out of harm's way."

"I could go now and get back in time to go then, too," urged Sprigg, who was in a fair way of sliding off into one of his pets.

"But Sprigg, have you so soon forgotten what pap was telling us last night of his adventures between here and our old home? Once he was by three Indians chased far into the night, and pressed so closely that he only saved himself by leaping from a high bank into a deep river, where, as good luck would have it, a thick growth of rushes fringed the water's edge, thus affording him a hiding place until the savages gave up the pursuit. Then there was that other adventure with the two Indians, in which he should certainly have lost his life but for the timely a.s.sistance of brave Pow-wow. Now, Sprigg, what would you do miles and miles away from home, in the dark and lonesome woods, were you to see one of these terrible red men running to meet you, yelling like a demon--all hideously painted, rifle in hand, belt stuck full of tomahawks and scalping knives, eh?"

"I would scamper away as fast as Shank's mare could carry me," promptly rejoined our hero, who, though vain as a young peac.o.c.k, was as bold as a young game-c.o.c.k. Elster continued:

"And, Sprigg, there are bears in the woods, who have such a fancy for little boys that, should they find one astray too close to their den, they would hug him, and hug him, till there would not be enough breath left in his body to carry him home. So he stays just there; and when he is found, if ever he is found at all, the gra.s.s and the weeds and the dead leaves of the trees have gathered about him and covered him up--nothing left but his bones and his b.u.t.tons to tell you whether his name was John or Sprigg. And, Sprigg" here Elster lowered her voice as if he of whom she would speak might hear her--"there is one bear in the woods so large and strong and bold that five dogs as large and strong and bold as Pow-wow would be no match for him in a fight. Hunters who have lived much alone in the forest--red hunters, as well as white--say that neither arrow nor bullet has power to kill him. Though the eye of the marksman be as keen as that of a lynx, and his hand as steady and firm as the limb of an oak, and his bullet as swift as the red bolt shot from the edge of a storm cloud--all will avail him nothing; for, in a flash of time, where but the moment before appeared a bear, the hunter now sees nothing but a vine-clad rock, or a moss-grown stump, or a low, thick bush, waving its green head to the forest winds. Sometimes no shape whatever appears, and when this is the case, while yet the blue rifle smoke is curling up over his head, the hunter will hear, just there in the empty air so near that he could lay his hand on the spot, a low laugh--He-he-he! A wild, low laugh of scorn and derision, which causes the strong, bold man to quake and quail far more than were he to hear the loud, fierce growl of a bear behind him. Saving the red man, no one knows who or what this terrible shape of the wilderness is--where he dwells, nor how he exists; whom he loves, nor whom he hates; but white men call him 'Nick of the Woods.'"

CHAPTER V.

Who Gave Sprigg The Red Moccasins?

"Will-o'-the-Wisp.

Some would wear our moccasins red, Though the road should lead to the dead.

Some would wear our coronals green, Who would keep themselves unseen!

Jervis Whitney! Jervis Whitney!"

So sang a wild and musical voice out there in the woods; and halting suddenly and c.o.c.king his gun, Jervis Whitney stood on his guard.

"Will-o'-the-Wisp!

None shall wear our moccasins red, On the road that leads to the dead.

None shall wear our coronals green, But to see themselves as they are seen!

Jervis Whitney! Jervis Whitney!"

Again sang the voice out there in the night; and looking straight before him, his eyes upon the spot where a speaker should be, Jervis Whitney saw never a living thing; saw nothing but the moss-grown trunk of a tree, where it lay on the ground, not ten paces distant, with the moonlight shining full upon it.

What I am now telling you happened last Sat.u.r.day night, on which, as you will remember, Jervis Whitney returned from their old Virginia home. He was within a mile of his journey's end, and had reached a glade in the forest where there was scarcely a tree or bush to break the clearest of moonlight with a shadow, when his ear was caught by the voice of the invisible speaker.

"Who calls Jervis Whitney?" now in his turn cried the White Hunter, looking in wonder all around him, far and near, still seeing never a shape of life that could call a man by name.

"I do!" answered the voice. "I, the king of the Manitous; or, as you white men call me, Nick of the Woods." And with these words there seemed to perch on the tree trunk, whence the voice proceeded, what seemed a magnificent bird of bright green plumage, and there beside it, visible, stood the mysterious speaker.

It was a manikin, scarcely more than a yard in height, but beautifully formed, with limbs as round and strong as those of a roebuck. In color and feature, the style of his face was that of the Indian, as was, indeed, his whole external appearance, excepting that, instead of the characteristic scalp-lock, he wore all his hair, which, straight, thick and long, fell in a sable gleam to his shoulders. He wore a bearskin robe, which, secured at the throat by a clasp which seemed to be a pair of claws interlocked, hung gracefully about his form; on the hair side, fresh and sleek; on the flesh side, smooth as satin and red as blood.

His airy little feet were shod with a pair of red moccasins, all agleam with bright-colored beads, which shone like rubies and diamonds in the glistering moonlight. The object, which the white hunter at first glance had supposed to be a large, green bird, now proved to be a kind of feathered hat, or coronal, resembling those worn by Indian sachems when in full dress. The red mist-cap of the fairies possessed the magic power of rendering the person who wore it--man, as well as elf--invisible to mortal eyes. That the white hunter might use his eyes as well as ears, and thus stand on equal terms in the interview, which had opened at a disadvantage to him, the elf had laid aside his magic headpiece, and now stood as plainly revealed to bodily vision as the brightest of moonlight could show him.

"And what can Jervis Whitney do for Nick of the Woods?" at length said the hunter, after eyeing the manikin over from top to toe for some moments in silent wonder, as well he might.

"For Nick of the Woods," replied the elf, "Jervis Whitney can do nothing; nor could he were he king of the earth. But for Jervis Whitney, Nick of the Woods can, and is willing to, do much." And the elf paused.

"Well, say on," said the hunter, as, unc.o.c.king his rifle and setting it on the ground, he propped his chin upon the muzzle, thereby signifying his readiness to listen. The elf resumed:

"You have a son, who goes by the name of Sprigg, I think."

"Yes, that have I; and a rare young buck he is. As antic at times in his capers as were he kin to an elf."

"Has he not teased you much of late for a pair of red moccasins?" And pat to the question, the manikin thrust out one of his small moccasined feet. "And did he beg you to get him a pair while you were gone to the land of Pocahontas?"

Jervis started. He had never given the matter a serious thought, there being no monkeys as yet in the country to create a demand for the article in question. After musing a moment he answered:

"Yes, it is even so, though I must confess that the thing had quite escaped my memory. But granting it to be as we say, how does the circ.u.mstance interest Nick of the Woods?"

"Listen!" replied the Manitou king. "I also have a son, who goes by the name of Manitou-Echo, until you white men christen him more to your fancy. Now my son Manitou-Echo has fallen in love with your son Sprigg, Sprigg being a boy more after his own heart than any young human being he has known for more than a hundred years. Of all fleet-footed fairies, Manitou-Echo, be it known, is the fleetest, and it is the chief delight of his existence to run races with fast boys. Sprigg, he says, is the fastest boy that has skipped upon the green earth since the days of Little Winged Moccasin, the boy who ran to the setting sun in quest of his shadow, which he had lost at noonday. So, then, my son Manitou-Echo is burning to run a race with your son Sprigg."

"Well, and how is my son Sprigg to run this race with your son Manitou-Echo?" and the hunter crossed his legs, still with his chin propped on the muzzle of his gun, an att.i.tude characteristic of hunters, from Robin Hood, in the cross-bow days of Merry England, to Daniel Boone, in the rifle days of green Kentucky.

"True," rejoined Nick of the Woods, "Sprigg, with merely his own bare feet to go on, would stand but a slender chance in a trial of speed with Manitou-Echo. Therefore, to put him on an equal footing for the feat, Sprigg must be furnished with a pair of red moccasins such as we elves wear." And the elf again thrust out his moccasined feet, by way of exemplification.

"But, while we shall be doing so much to please the whim of your son Manitou-Echo, what shall we be doing to please or benefit my son Sprigg?"

"Pat to the point!" quoth Nick of the Woods. "The very thing I was coming to next--the main thing, indeed, which has led me to seek this interview with Sprigg's father. I should hardly have come a thousand miles out of my way, since set of sun, had it been merely to gratify Manitou-Echo in an elfish whim. In brief, then, and in sweet earnest, too, the object we have in view is intended mainly for Sprigg's own good; and, as the means to this end, my son Manitou-Echo has sent, as a present to your son Sprigg, a pair of red moccasins, to put him, as I have just said, on an equal footing in the trial of speed between them.

Refuse the gift, and nothing shall follow therefrom, be it for good or for evil. Accept the gift, and good--nothing but good--shall come of it, sooner or later."

Here, with the air of one who has had his say, and now but awaits your final answer to take fair leave of you, the Manitou paused. Jervis Whitney did the like, remaining silent for many moments, half in doubt, half in debate, his eyes bent fixedly the while upon his companion. At length, very dubiously, indeed, he answered:

"I must confess, were we to drop the matter just here, I should be left as much in the mist as if you had kept your mist-cap on your head and allowed me only the use of my ears. Will you please enlighten me, sir, with a few more gleams of your moonshine?"

"Certainly, sir; certainly!" rejoined Nick of the Woods, with an obliging smile and a courteous wave of the hand. "I perceive you are something of a philosopher, by wishing to view the subject in that light. Know, then, that Sprigg's fancy for red moccasins has grown to be the one idea of his mind--a hankering, so to speak; and the best cure in the world for a hankering, as everybody knows, is a strong, sudden, overwhelming dose of the thing so hankered after. Sprigg's case is like that of a man's case, whose heart is dead set on matrimony--a little experience, tough and lively, being all that is needed to cure him of the hankering and restore him to a healthy condition of mind. As with matrimony, so with moccasins."

"I am glad that Elster is not present to hear that speech; else should I feel constrained to send a bullet through your bearskin, just by way of giving you the lie, and of satisfying her that I am the truest of husbands, as she is the best of wives, although I am perfectly aware that it would be a waste of powder and lead, having once or twice in my time sent my bullet after a bear, and found that, without missing my mark, I had shot nothing."

"And I should esteem you all the more highly for doing so much to please your wife," rejoined Nick of the Woods, with increased complacency; "and my wife, Meg of the Hills, were she present, also, at the time, would cordially join in my expression of commendation. When I say, 'as with matrimony, so with moccasins,' it is merely by way of ill.u.s.tration, and is not to be understood as an expression of my private sentiments. Our married life--Meg's and mine--began with that of Adam and Eve, and our honeymoon is not yet on the wane. Just here, I should be tempted to go off at a tangent into wide digression, had long observation not taught me that there is nothing so galling to a hunter's patience as a hang-fire gun. As with a gun, so with a speaker. Then, in fine, I will say, 'trust me, and to the latest day of your life you never shall rue it, though you should live until the Indian, the Jeer and the Manitou cease to exist.'"

Then, as if he had, indeed, made an end of his say, the Manitou king picked up his crown of plumes and placed it upon his head, when straight he was no more to be seen than the transparent air around him. The next instant, with a magnificent somerset curve, full ten feet aloft in the air, a pair of red moccasins plumped themselves, as if firm little feet were in them, square in front of the hunter, where he stood--with his chin still propped on the muzzle of his gun and his legs still crossed?

I rather think not! "Leave, and lose! Take, and gain! But leave or take, it is all one to Nick of the Woods!" And hardly were the words spoken, just there in the empty moonlight, when a whirr in the leaves and flutter in the air announced that the elf was gone.