Pennypacker.
"It's so, I've heard it from the Indians," confirmed Ross the guide.
They stopped a little while before sundown, and as the game was so
plentiful all around them, Ross said he would shoot a deer in order to
save their dried meat and other provisions.
"You come with me, while the others are making the camp," he said to
Henry.
The boy flushed with pride and gratification, and, taking his rifle,
plunged at once into the forest with the guide. But he said nothing,
knowing that silence would recommend him to Ross far more than words,
and took care to bring down his moccasined feet without sound. Nor did
he let the undergrowth rustle, as he slipped through it, and Ross
regarded him with silent approval. "A born woodsman," he said to
himself.
A mile from the camp they stopped at the crest of a little hill, thickly
clad with forest and undergrowth, and looked down into the glade beyond.
Here they saw several deer grazing, and as the wind blew from them
toward the hunters they had taken no alarm.
"Pick the fat buck there on the right," whispered Ross to Henry.
Henry said not a word.
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