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以下歐美電影榜英文介紹
pipe. The evening was very quiet; the birds had ceased their twittering;
the wind had died away; it was too early for the bay of a wolf, the wail of
a panther, or hoot of an owl; there was simply perfect silence.
The lad's deep, even breathing caught Wetzel's ear, and he found himself meditating, as he had often of late, on this new something that had
crept into his life. For Joe loved him; he could not fail to see that. The lad
had preferred to roam with the lonely Indian-hunter through the forests,
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to encounter the perils and hardships of a wild life, rather than accept
the smile of fortune and of love. Wetzel knew that Colonel Zane had
taken a liking to the boy, and had offered him work and a home; and,
also, the hunter remembered the warm light he had seen in Nell's hazel
eyes. Musing thus, the man felt stir in his heart an emotion so long absent that it was unfamiliar. The Avenger forgot, for a moment his brooding plans. He felt strangely softened. When he laid his head on the rude
pillow it was with some sense of gladness that, although he had always
desired a lonely life, and wanted to pass it in the fulfillment of his vow,
his loneliness was now shared by a lad who loved him.
Joe was awakened by the merry chirp of a chipmunk that every morning ran along the seamy side of the opposite wall of the gorge. Getting
up, he went to the back of the cave, where he found Wetzel combing out
his long hair. The lad thrust his hands into the cold pool, and bathed his
face. The water was icy cold, and sent an invigorating thrill through him.
Then he laughed as he took a rude comb Wetzel handed to him.
"My scalp is nothing to make an Indian very covetous, is it?" said he,
eyeing in admiration the magnificent black hair that fell over the hunter's
shoulders.
"It'll grow," answered Wetzel.
Joe did not wonder at the care Wetzel took of his hair, nor did he misunderstand the hunter's simple pride. Wetzel was very careful of his
rifle, he was neat and clean about his person, he brushed his buckskin
costume, he polished his knife and tomahawk; but his hair received more
attention than all else. It required much care. When combed out it
reached fully to his knees. Joe had seen him, after he returned from a
long hunt, work patiently for an hour with his wooden comb, and not
stop until every little burr was gone, or tangle smoothed out. Then he
would comb it again in the morning—this, of course, when time permitted—and twist and tie it up so as to offer small resistance to his slipping
through the underbush. Joe knew the hunter's simplicity was such, that
if he cut off his hair it would seem he feared the Indians—for that
streaming black hair the Indians had long coveted and sworn to take. It
would make any brave a famous chief, and was the theme of many a
savage war tale.
After breakfast Wetzel said to Joe:
"You stay here, an' I'll look round some; mebbe I'll come back soon,
and we'll go out an' kill a buffalo. Injuns sometimes foller up a buffalo
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trail, an' I want to be sure none of the varlets are chasin' that herd we
saw to-day."
Wetzel left the cave by the rear. It took him fifteen minutes to crawl to
the head of the tortuous, stony passage. Lifting the stone which closed
up the aperture, he looked out and listened. Then, rising, he replaced the
stone, and passed down the wooded hillside.
It was a beautiful morning; the dew glistened on the green leaves, the
sun shone bright and warm, the birds warbled in the trees. The hunter's
moccasins pressed so gently on the moss and leaves that they made no
more sound than the soft foot of a panther. His trained ear was alert to
catch any unfamiliar noise; his keen eyes sought first the remoter open
glades and glens, then bent their gaze on the mossy bluff beneath his
feet. Fox squirrels dashed from before him into bushy retreats; grouse
whirred away into the thickets; startled deer whistled, and loped off
with their white-flags upraised. Wetzel knew from the action of these
denizens of the woods that he was the only creature, not native to these
haunts, who had disturbed them this morning. Otherwise the deer
would not have been grazing, but lying low in some close thicket; fox
squirrels seldom or never were disturbed by a hunter twice in one day,
for after being frightened these little animals, wilder and shyer than gray
squirrels, remained hidden for hours, and grouse that have been flushed
a little while before, always get up unusually quick, and fly very far before alighting.
Wetzel circled back over the hill, took a long survey from a rocky eminence, and then reconnoitered the lowland for several miles. He located
the herd of buffalo, and satisfying himself there were no Indians
near—for the bison were grazing quietly—he returned to the cave. A soft
whistle into the back door of the rocky home told Joe that the hunter was
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