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- Стр. 502/662
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A
sound
--
not
a
sight
--
startled
him
from
his
all-engrossing
occupation
.
It
was
the
report
of
a
rifle
;
but
so
distant
,
as
to
appear
but
the
detonation
of
a
percussion-cap
that
had
missed
fire
.
Instinctively
he
stopped
;
at
the
same
time
raising
his
eyes
,
but
without
unbending
his
body
.
With
a
quick
glance
the
horizon
was
swept
,
along
the
half
dozen
points
whence
the
sound
should
have
proceeded
.
A
spot
of
bluish
smoke
--
still
preserving
its
balloon
shape
--
was
slowly
rolling
up
against
the
sky
.
A
dark
blotch
beneath
indicated
the
outlines
of
an
"
island
"
of
timber
.
So
distant
was
the
"
motte
,
"
the
smoke
,
and
the
sound
,
that
only
the
eye
of
an
experienced
prairie-man
would
have
seen
the
first
,
or
his
ear
heard
the
last
,
from
the
spot
where
Zeb
Stump
was
standing
.
But
Zeb
saw
the
one
,
and
heard
the
other
.
"
Durned
queery
!
"
he
muttered
,
still
stooped
in
the
attitude
of
a
gardener
dibbing
in
his
young
cabbage-plants
.
"
Dog-goned
queery
,
to
say
the
leest
o
n't
.
Who
in
ole
Nick
's
name
kin
be
huntin
'
out
thur
--
whar
theer
ai
n't
game
enuf
to
pay
for
the
powder
an
shet
?
I
've
been
to
thet
ere
purayra
island
;
an
I
know
there
ai
n't
nothin
'
thur
'
ceptin
'
coyoats
.
What
they
get
to
live
on
,
only
the
Eturnal
kin
tell
!
"
"
Wagh
!
"
he
went
on
,
after
a
short
silence
.
"
Some
storekeeper
from
the
town
,
out
on
a
exkurshun
,
as
he
'd
call
it
,
who
's
proud
o
'
poppin
'
away
at
them
stinkin
'
varmints
,
an
'll
go
hum
wi
'
a
story
he
's
been
a
huntin
'
wolves
!
Wal
.
'
Tai
n't
no
bizness
o
'
myen
.
Let
yurd-stick
hev
his
belly-ful
o
'
sport
.
Heigh
!
thur
's
somethin'
comin
'
this
way
.
A
hoss
an
somebody
on
his
back
--
streakin
'
it
as
if
hell
war
arter
him
,
wi
'
a
pitchfork
o
'
red-het
lightnin
'
!
What
!
As
I
live
,
it
air
the
Headless
!
It
is
,
by
the
jumpin
'
Geehosophat
!
"
The
observation
of
the
old
hunter
was
quite
correct
.
