He loved the woods, and all
they contained. He learned the habits of the wild creatures. Each
deer, each squirrel, each grouse that he killed, taught him some
lesson.
He was always up with the lark to watch the sun rise red and grand
over the eastern hills, and chase away the white mist from the
valleys. Even if he was not hunting, or roaming the woods, if it was
necessary for him to lie low in camp awaiting Wetzel's return, he
was always content. Many hours he idled away lying on his back, with
the west wind blowing softly over him, his eye on the distant hills,
where the cloud shadows swept across with slow, majestic movement,
like huge ships at sea.
If Wetzel and Joe were far distant from the cave, as was often the
case, they made camp in the open woods, and it was here that Joe's
contentment was fullest. Twilight shades stealing down over the
camp-fire; the cheery glow of red embers; the crackling of dry
stocks; the sweet smell of wood smoke, all had for the lad a subtle,
potent charm.
The hunter would broil a venison steak, or a partridge, on the
coals. Then they would light their pipes and smoke while twilight
deepened. The oppressive stillness of the early evening hour always
brought to the younger man a sensation of awe. At first he
attributed this to the fact that he was new to this life; however,
as the days passed and the emotion remained, nay, grew stronger, he
concluded it was imparted by this close communion with nature.
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