The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (fastest ebook reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: Zane Grey
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something affecting her nostrils. She imagined, with regret,
that she had taken cold. But presently her head cleared
somewhat and she realized that the thick pine odor of the
forest had clogged her nostrils as if with a sweet pitch.
The smell was overpowering and disagreeable because of its
strength. Also her throat and lungs seemed to burn.
When she began to lose interest in the forest and her
surroundings it was because of aches and pains which would
no longer be denied recognition. Thereafter she was not
permitted to forget them and they grew worse. One,
especially, was a pain beyond all her experience. It lay in
the muscles of her side, above her hip, and it grew to be a
treacherous thing, for it was not persistent. It came and
went. After it did come, with a terrible flash, it could be
borne by shifting or easing the body. But it gave no
warning. When she expected it she was mistaken; when she
dared to breathe again, then, with piercing swiftness, it
returned like a blade in her side. This, then, was one of
the riding-pains that made a victim of a tenderfoot on a
long ride. It was almost too much to be borne. The beauty of
the forest, the living creatures to be seen scurrying away,
the time, distance — everything faded before that stablike
pain. To her infinite relief she found that it was the trot
that caused this torture. When Ranger walked she did not
have to suffer it. Therefore she held him to a walk as long
as she dared or until Dale and Bo were almost out of sight;
then she loped him ahead until he had caught up.
So the hours passed, the sun got around low, sending golden
shafts under the trees, and the forest gradually changed to
a brighter, but a thicker, color. This slowly darkened.
Sunset was not far away.
She heard the horses splashing in water, and soon she rode
up to see the tiny streams of crystal water running swiftly
over beds of green moss. She crossed a number of these and
followed along the last one into a more open place in the
forest where the pines were huge, towering, and far apart. A
low, gray bluff of stone rose to the right, perhaps
one-third as high as the trees. From somewhere came the
rushing sound of running water.
“Big Spring,” announced Dale. “We camp here. You girls have
done well.”
Another glance proved to Helen that all those little streams
poured from under this gray bluff.
“I’m dying for a drink,” cried Bo with her customary
hyperbole.
“I reckon you’ll never forget your first drink here,”
remarked Dale.
Bo essayed to dismount, and finally fell off, and when she
did get to the ground her legs appeared to refuse their
natural function, and she fell flat. Dale helped her up.
“What’s wrong with me, anyhow?” she demanded, in great
amaze.
“Just stiff, I reckon,” replied Dale, as he led her a few
awkward steps.
“Bo, have you any hurts?” queried Helen, who still sat her
horse, loath to try dismounting, yet wanting to beyond all
words.
Bo gave her an eloquent glance.
“Nell, did you have one in your side, like a wicked, long
darning-needle, punching deep when you weren’t ready?”
“That one I’ll never get over!” exclaimed Helen, softly.
Then, profiting by Bo’s experience, she dismounted
cautiously, and managed to keep upright. Her legs felt like
wooden things.
Presently the girls went toward the spring.
“Drink slow,” called out Dale.
Big Spring had its source somewhere deep under the gray,
weathered bluff, from which came a hollow subterranean
gurgle and roar of water. Its fountainhead must have been a
great well rushing up through the cold stone.
Helen and Bo lay flat on a mossy bank, seeing their faces as
they bent over, and they sipped a mouthful, by Dale’s
advice, and because they were so hot and parched and burning
they wanted to tarry a moment with a precious opportunity.
The water was so cold that it sent a shock over Helen, made
her teeth ache, and a singular, revivifying current steal
all through her, wonderful in its cool absorption of that
dry heat of flesh, irresistible in its appeal to thirst.
Helen raised her head to look at this water. It was
colorless as she had found it tasteless.
“Nell — drink!” panted Bo. “Think of our — old spring —
in the orchard — full of pollywogs!”
And then Helen drank thirstily, with closed eyes, while a
memory of home stirred from Bo’s gift of poignant speech.
The first camp duty Dale performed was to throw a pack off
one of the horses, and, opening it, he took out tarpaulin
and blankets, which he arranged on the ground under a
pine-tree.
“You girls rest,” he said, briefly.
“Can’t we help?” asked Helen, though she could scarcely
stand.
“You’ll be welcome to do all you like after you’re broke
in.”
“Broke in!” ejaculated Bo, with a little laugh. “I’m all
broke UP now.”
“Bo, it looks as if Mr. Dale expects us to have quite a stay
with him in the woods.”
“It does,” replied Bo, as slowly she sat down upon the
blankets, stretched out with a long sigh, and laid her head
on a saddle. “Nell, didn’t he say not to call him Mister?”
Dale was throwing the packs off the other horses.
Helen lay down beside Bo, and then for once in her life she
experienced the sweetness of rest.
“Well, sister, what do you intend to call him?” queried
Helen, curiously.
“Milt, of course,” replied Bo.
Helen had to laugh despite her weariness and aches.
“I suppose, then, when your Las Vegas cowboy comes along you
will call him what he called you.”
Bo blushed, which was a rather unusual thing for her.
“I will if I like,” she retorted. “Nell, ever since I could
remember you’ve raved about the West. Now you’re OUT West,
right in it good and deep. So wake up!”
That was Bo’s blunt and characteristic way of advising the
elimination of Helen’s superficialities. It sank deep. Helen
had no retort. Her ambition, as far as the West was
concerned, had most assuredly not been for such a wild,
unheard-of jaunt as this. But possibly the West — a living
from day to day — was one succession of adventures, trials,
tests, troubles, and achievements. To make a place for
others to live comfortably some day! That might be Bo’s
meaning, embodied in her forceful hint. But Helen was too
tired to think it out then. She found it interesting and
vaguely pleasant to watch Dale.
He hobbled the horses and turned them loose. Then with ax in
hand he approached a short, dead tree, standing among a few
white-barked aspens. Dale appeared to advantage swinging the
ax. With his coat off, displaying his wide shoulders,
straight back, and long, powerful arms, he looked a young
giant. He was lithe and supple, brawny but not bulky. The ax
rang on the hard wood, reverberating through the forest. A
few strokes sufficed to bring down the stub. Then he split
it up. Helen was curious to see how he kindled a fire. First
he ripped splinters out of the heart of the log, and laid
them with coarser pieces on the ground. Then from a
saddlebag which hung on a near-by branch he took flint and
steel and a piece of what Helen supposed was rag or
buckskin, upon which powder had been rubbed. At any rate,
the first strike of the steel brought sparks, a blaze, and
burning splinters. Instantly the flame leaped a foot high.
He put on larger pieces of wood crosswise, and the fire
roared.
That done, he stood erect, and, facing the north, he
listened. Helen remembered now that she had seen him do the
same thing twice before since the arrival at Big Spring. It
was Roy for whom he was listening and watching. The sun had
set and across the open space the tips of the pines were
losing their brightness.
The camp utensils, which the hunter emptied out of a sack,
gave forth a jangle of iron and tin. Next he unrolled a
large pack, the contents of which appeared to be numerous
sacks of all sizes. These evidently contained food supplies.
The bucket looked as if a horse had rolled over it, pack and
all. Dale filled it at the spring. Upon returning to the
campfire he poured water into a washbasin, and, getting
down to his knees, proceeded to wash his hands thoroughly.
The act seemed a habit, for Helen saw that while he was
doing it he gazed off into the woods and listened. Then he
dried his hands over the fire, and, turning to the
spread-out pack, he began preparations for the meal.
Suddenly Helen thought of the man and all that his actions
implied. At Magdalena, on the stage-ride, and last night,
she had trusted this stranger, a hunter of the White
Mountains, who appeared ready to befriend her. And she had
felt an exceeding gratitude. Still, she had looked at him
impersonally. But it began to dawn upon her that chance had
thrown her in the company of a remarkable man. That
impression baffled her. It did not spring from the fact that
he was brave and kind to help a young woman in peril, or
that he appeared deft and quick at campfire chores. Most
Western men were brave, her uncle had told her, and many
were roughly kind, and all of them could cook. This hunter
was physically a wonderful specimen of manhood, with
something leonine about his stature. But that did not give
rise to her impression. Helen had been a school-teacher and
used to boys, and she sensed a boyish simplicity or vigor or
freshness in this hunter. She believed, however, that it was
a mental and spiritual force in Dale which had drawn her to
think of it.
“Nell, I’ve spoken to you three times,” protested Bo,
petulantly. “What ‘re you mooning over?”
“I’m pretty tired — and far away, Bo,” replied Helen. “What
did you say?”
“I said I had an enormous appetite.”
“Really. That’s not remarkable for you. I’m too tired to
eat. And afraid to shut my eyes. They’d never come open.
When did we sleep last, Bo?”
“Second night before we left home,” declared Bo.
“Four nights! Oh, we’ve slept some.”
“I’ll bet I make mine up in this woods. Do you suppose we’ll
sleep right here — under this tree — with no covering?”
“It looks so,” replied Helen, dubiously.
“How perfectly lovely!” exclaimed Bo, in delight. “We’ll see
the stars through the pines.”
“Seems to be clouding over. Wouldn’t it be awful if we had a
storm?”
“Why, I don’t know,” answered Bo, thoughtfully. “It must
storm out West.”
Again Helen felt a quality of inevitableness in Bo. It was
something that had appeared only practical in the humdrum
home life in St. Joseph. All of a sudden Helen received a
flash of wondering thought — a thrilling consciousness that
she and Bo had begun to develop in a new and wild
environment. How strange, and fearful, perhaps, to watch
that growth! Bo, being younger, more impressionable, with
elemental rather than intellectual instincts, would grow
stronger more swiftly. Helen wondered if she could yield to
her own leaning to the primitive. But how could anyone with
a thoughtful and grasping mind yield that way?
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