Wetzel
knew from the action of these denizens of the woods that he was the
only creature, not native to these haunts, who had disturbed them
this morning. Otherwise the deer would not have been grazing, but
lying low in some close thicket; fox squirrels seldom or never were
disturbed by a hunter twice in one day, for after being frightened
these little animals, wilder and shyer than gray squirrels, remained
hidden for hours, and grouse that have been flushed a little while
before, always get up unusually quick, and fly very far before
alighting.
Wetzel circled back over the hill, took a long survey from a rocky
eminence, and then reconnoitered the lowland for several miles. He
located the herd of buffalo, and satisfying himself there were no
Indians near--for the bison were grazing quietly--he returned to the
cave. A soft whistle into the back door of the rocky home told Joe
that the hunter was waiting.
"Coast clear?" whispered the lad, thrusting his head out of the
entrance. His gray eyes gleamed brightly, showing his eager spirit.
The hunter nodded, and, throwing his rifle in the hollow of his arm,
proceeded down the hill. Joe followed closely, endeavoring, as
Wetzel had trained him, to make each step precisely in the hunter's
footprints. The lad had soon learned to step nimbly and softly as a
cat.
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