“He’s a half-breed Indian with a lame leg. He came over the trail ’bout two years ago. Got one look at that shiny haired kid an’ thought she was an angel, I guess, an’ has been hantin’ her ever since. He built hisself a cabin up there. Works for Wainwright in the summer an’ traps in the winter. He follers that kid ’round like a dog follers its master.”
“He’ll be glad to see ye, as ye can talk his lingo. His langwidge is too high-falutin’ for me. He sometimes comes to ask me ’bout the habits of animals, but I got a sneakin’ notion that he knows more ’bout it than I do.”
That evening Donald and Andy visited the recluse.
The trail to Wainwright’s cabin was a mere path that followed the vagaries of a small mountain stream which at times flowed with a tranquil murmur, then suddenly plunged over ledges and shattered itself into creamy foam on the worn rocks below.
Out of breath from the steep climb, Donald and Andy sat down as they reached the bluff. Everywhere was the song of birds and the whispering of gentle zephyrs laden with the fragrance of the forest.
“Whit, whit, whit, ch’ wee-e-e-e,” sounded the shrill hunting call of an osprey, or “fish-hawk,” as he wheeled over the lake, then made his spectacular plunge and rose on high with a fish gripped in his long, powerful talons. Donald watched him carry it to his mate, who was standing guard over a big nest in the top of a dead pine. Again the male bird dropped like a bolt, struck the water with a loud splash, and disappeared below the surface for a few seconds, then rose to scatter spray in his struggles to lift himself clear of the water.
A bald eagle, from the vantage point of a tall fir, took instant note of the successful fisherman, and with a majestic swoop flew under the smaller bird. Higher and higher rose the osprey, the eagle relentlessly pursuing, until at last the intimidated bird released its hold on the prize. With a scream of triumph the eagle seized the glistening, wriggling fish in mid-air and bore it away.
From the woods in their rear came the lilt of a song mingled with the thud of flying hoofs, and around a tangle of low spruce came a piebald cayuse at full gallop. On his bare back the girl of the woods was standing with arms outstretched, pirouetting on her moccasined toes like a dancing dervish. Her heavy hair streaming about her face and shoulders, she seemed even more an elf than when poised for flight on the edge of her fairy nest. As she neared the bluff she settled to her seat and seized the reins.