A light canoe of bark, containing a single human figure, moved
swiftly up one of the twin streams that form the Ohio. The
water, clear and deep, coming through rocky soil, babbled gently
at the edges, where it lapped the land, but in the center the
full current flowed steadily and without noise.
The thin shadows of early dusk were falling, casting a pallid
tint over the world, a tint touched here and there with living
fire from the sun, which was gone, though leaving burning embers
behind. One glowing shaft, piercing straight through the heavy
forest that clothed either bank, fell directly upon the figure in
the boat, as a hidden light illuminates a great picture, while
the rest is left in shadow. It was no common forest runner who
sat in the middle of the red beam. Yet a boy, in nothing but
years, he swung the great paddle with an ease and vigor that the
strongest man in the West might have envied. His rifle, with the
stock carved beautifully, and the long, slender blue barrel of
the border, lay by his side. He could bring the paddle into the
boat, grasp the rifle, and carry it to his shoulder with a
single, continuous movement.
His most remarkable aspect, one that the casual observer even
would have noticed, was an extraordinary vitality. He created in
the minds of those who saw him a feeling that he lived intensely
every moment of his life. Born and-bred in the forest, he was
essentially its child, a perfect physical being, trained by the
utmost hardship and danger, and with every faculty, mental and
physical, in complete coordination. It is only by a singular
combination of time and place, and only once in millions of
chances, that Nature produces such a being.
The canoe remained a few moments in the center of the red light,
and its occupant, with a slight swaying motion of the paddle,
held it steady in the current, while he listened. Every feature
stood out in the glow, the firm chin, the straight strong nose,
the blue eyes, and the thick yellow hair. The red blue, and
yellow beads on his dress of beautifully tanned deerskin flashed
in the brilliant rays. He was the great picture of fact, not of
fancy, a human being animated by a living, dauntless soul.
He gave the paddle a single sweep and shot from the light into
the shadow. His canoe did not stop until it grazed the northern
shore, where bushes and overhanging boughs made a deep shadow.
It would have taken a keen eye now to have seen either the canoe
or its occupant, and Henry Ware paddled slowly and without noise
in the darkest heart of the shadow.
The sunlight lingered a little longer in the center of the
stream. Then the red changed to pink. The pink, in its turn,
faded, and the whole surface of the river was somber gray,
flowing between two lines of black forest.
The coming of the darkness did not stop the boy. He swung a
little farther out into the stream, where the bushes and hanging
boughs would not get in his way, and continued his course with
some increase of speed.
The great paddle swung swiftly through the water, and the length
of stroke was amazing, but the boy's breath did not come faster,
and the muscles on his arms and shoulders rippled as if it were
the play of a child. Henry was in waters unknown to him. He had
nothing more than hearsay upon which to rely, and he used all the
wilderness caution that he had acquired through nature and
training. He called into use every faculty of his perfect
physical being. His trained eyes continually pierced the
darkness. At times, he stopped and listened with ears that could
hear the footfall of the rabbit, but neither eye nor ear brought
report of anything unusual. The river flowed with a soft,
sighing sound. Now and then a wild creature stirred in the
forest, and once a deer came down to the margin to drink, but
this was the ordinary life of the woods, and he passed it by.
He went on, hour after hour. The river narrowed. The banks grew
higher and rockier, and the water, deep and silvery under the
moon, flowed in a somewhat swifter current. Henry gave a little
stronger sweep to the paddle, and the speed of the canoe was
maintained. He still kept within the shadow of the northern
bank.
He noticed after a while that fleecy vapor was floating before
the moon. The night seemed to be darkening, and a rising wind
came out of the southwest. The touch of the air on, his face
was damp. It was the token of rain, and he felt that it would
not be delayed long.
It was no part of his plan to be caught in a storm on the
Monongahela. Besides the discomfort, heavy rain and wind might
sink his frail canoe, and he looked for a refuge. The river&http://english.xuezhishi.net/literary/2007-08-25/20593.html
