[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.This man was lithe, erect; he walked likeathletes I had seen.Surely I should find a friend in him, and I lost no timein running down into the glade.He saw me as soon as I was clear of the trees,and stood leaning on his rifle."Wal, dog-gone my buttons!" he ejaculated."Who're you?"I blurted out all about myself, at the same time taking stock of him.He wasnot young, but I had never seen a young man so splendid.Hair, beard, and skinwere all of a dark gray.His eyes, too, were gray the keenest and clearest Ihad ever looked into.They shone with a kindly light, otherwise I might havethought his face hard and stern.His shoulders were very wide, his arms long,his hands enormous.His buckskin shirt attracted my attention to his otherclothes, which looked like leather overalls or heavy canvas.A belt carried ahuge knife and a number of shells of large caliber; the Winchester he had wasexceedingly long and heavy, and of an old pattern.The look of him broughtPage 46 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlback my old fancy of Wetzel or Kit Carson."So I'm lost," I concluded, "and don't know what to do.I daren't try tofind the sawmill.I won't go back to Holston just yet.""An' why not, youngster? 'Pears to me you'd better make tracks fromPenetier."I told him why, at which he laughed."Wal, I reckon you can stay with me fer a spell.My camp's in the head ofthis canyon.""Oh, thank you, that'll be fine!" I exclaimed.My great good luck filled mewith joy."Do you stay on the mountain?""Be'n here goin' on eighteen years, youngster.Mebbe you've heerd my name.Hiram Bent.""Are you a hunter?""Wal, I reckon so, though I'm more a trapper.Here, you pack my gun."With that he drew his knife and set to work on the deer.It was wonderful tosee his skill.In a few cuts and strokes, a ripping of the hide and a powerfulslash, he had cut out a haunch.It took even less work for the second.Then hehung the rest of the deer on a snag, and wiped his knife and hands on thegrass."Come on, youngster," he said, starting up the canyon.I showed him where the carcass of my deer had been devoured."Cougar.Thar's a big feller has the run of this canyon.""Cougar? I thought it was a mountain-lion.""Cougar, painter, panther, lion all the same critter.An' if you leave himalone he'll not bother you, but he's bad in a corner.""He scared away the coyotes.""Youngster, even a silver-tip thet's a grizzly bear will make tracks awayfrom a cougar.I lent my pack of hounds to a pard over near Springer.If I hadthem we'd put thet cougar up a tree in no time.""Are there many lions cougars here?""Only a few.Thet's why there's plenty of deer.Other game is plentiful,too.Foxes, wolves, an', up in the mountains, bears are thick.""Then I may get to see one get a shot at one?""Wal, I reckon."From that time I trod on air.I found myself wishing for my brother Hal.Ibecame reconciled to the loss of mustang and outfit.For a moment I almostforgot Dick and Buell.Forestry seemed less important than hunting.I had reada thousand books about old hunters and trappers, and here I was in a wildmountain canyon with a hunter who might have stepped out of one of my dreams.Page 47 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlSo I trudged along beside him, asking a question now and then, and listeningalways.He certainly knew what would interest me.There was scarcely a thinghe said that I would ever forget.After a while, however, the trail became sosteep and rough that I, at least, had no breath to spare for talking.Weclimbed and climbed.The canyon had become a narrow, rocky cleft.Huge stonesblocked the way.A ragged growth of underbrush fringed the stream.Dead pines,with branches like spears, lay along the trail.We came upon a little clearing, where there was a rude log-cabin with astone chimney.Skins of animals were tacked upon logs.Under the bank was aspring.The mountain overshadowed this wild nook."Wal, youngster, here's my shack.Make yourself to home," said Hiram Bent.I was all eyes as we entered the cabin.Skins, large and small, and of manycolors, hung upon the walls.A fire burned in a wide stone grate.A roughtable and some pans and cooking utensils showed evidence of recent scouring.Abunch of steel traps lay in a corner.Upon a shelf were tin cans and clothbags, and against the wall stood a bed of glossy bearskins.To me the cabinwas altogether a most satisfactory place."I reckon ye're tired?" asked the hunter."Thet's some pumpkins of a climbunless you're used to it."I admitted I was pretty tired."Wal, rest awhile.You look like you hadn't slept much."He asked me about my people and home, and was so interested in forestry thathe left off his task of the moment to talk about it.I was not long indiscovering that what he did not know about trees and forests was hardly worthlearning.He called it plain woodcraft.He had never heard of forestry.Allthe same I hungered for his knowledge.How lucky for me to fall in with him!The things that had puzzled me about the pines he answered easily.Then hevolunteered information.From talking of the forest, he drifted to thelumbermen."Wal, the lumber-sharks are rippin' holes in Penetier.I reckon theywouldn't stop at nothin'.I've heered some tough stories about thet sawmillgang
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]