The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (fastest ebook reader .TXT) 📖

you’ll see how

tame he is,” said Dale. “Reckon you’re both hungry?”

 

“Not so very,” returned Helen, aware of his penetrating gray

gaze upon her.

 

“Well, I am,” vouchsafed Bo.

 

“Soon as the turkey’s done we’ll eat. My camp is round

between the rocks. I’ll call you.”

 

Not until his broad back was turned did Helen notice that

the hunter looked different. Then she saw he wore a lighter,

cleaner suit of buckskin, with no coat, and instead of the

high-heeled horseman’s boots he wore moccasins and leggings.

The change made him appear more lithe.

 

“Nell, I don’t know what you think, but I call him

handsome,” declared Bo.

 

Helen had no idea what she thought.

 

“Let’s try to walk some,” she suggested.

 

So they essayed that painful task and got as far as a pine

log some few rods from their camp. This point was close to

the edge of the park, from which there was an unobstructed

view.

 

“My! What a place!” exclaimed Bo, with eyes wide and round.

 

“Oh, beautiful!” breathed Helen.

 

An unexpected blaze of color drew her gaze first. Out of the

black spruce slopes shone patches of aspens, gloriously red

and gold, and low down along the edge of timber troops of

aspens ran out into the park, not yet so blazing as those

above, but purple and yellow and white in the sunshine.

Masses of silver spruce, like trees in moonlight, bordered

the park, sending out here and there an isolated tree, sharp

as a spear, with under-branches close to the ground. Long

golden-green grass, resembling half-ripe wheat, covered the

entire floor of the park, gently waving to the wind. Above

sheered the black, gold-patched slopes, steep and

unscalable, rising to buttresses of dark, iron-hued rock.

And to the east circled the rows of cliff-bench, gray and

old and fringed, splitting at the top in the notch where the

lacy, slumberous waterfall, like white smoke, fell and

vanished, to reappear in wider sheet of lace, only to fall

and vanish again in the green depths.

 

It was a verdant valley, deep-set in the mountain walls,

wild and sad and lonesome. The waterfall dominated the

spirit of the place, dreamy and sleepy and tranquil; it

murmured sweetly on one breath of wind, and lulled with

another, and sometimes died out altogether, only to come

again in soft, strange roar.

 

“Paradise Park!” whispered Bo to herself.

 

A call from Dale disturbed their raptures. Turning, they

hobbled with eager but painful steps in the direction of a

larger campfire, situated to the right of the great rock

that sheltered their lean-to. No hut or house showed there

and none was needed. Hiding-places and homes for a hundred

hunters were there in the sections of caverned cliffs, split

off in bygone ages from the mountain wall above. A few

stately pines stood out from the rocks, and a clump of

silver spruce ran down to a brown brook. This camp was only

a step from the lean-to, round the corner of a huge rock,

yet it had been out of sight. Here indeed was evidence of a

hunter’s home — pelts and skins and antlers, a neat pile of

split fire-wood, a long ledge of rock, well sheltered, and

loaded with bags like a huge pantry-shelf, packs and ropes

and saddles, tools and weapons, and a platform of dry brush

as shelter for a fire around which hung on poles a various

assortment of utensils for camp.

 

“Hyar — you git!” shouted Dale, and he threw a stick at

something. A bear cub scampered away in haste. He was small

and woolly and brown, and he grunted as he ran. Soon he

halted.

 

“That’s Bud,” said Dale, as the girls came up. “Guess he

near starved in my absence. An’ now he wants everythin’,

especially the sugar. We don’t have sugar often up here.”

 

“Isn’t he dear? Oh, I love him!” cried Bo. “Come back, Bud.

Come, Buddie.”

 

The cub, however, kept his distance, watching Dale with

bright little eyes.

 

“Where’s Mr. Roy?” asked Helen.

 

“Roy’s gone. He was sorry not to say good-by. But it’s

important he gets down in the pines on Anson’s trail. He’ll

hang to Anson, an’ in case they get near Pine he’ll ride in

to see where your uncle is.”

 

“What do you expect?” questioned Helen, gravely.

 

“‘Most anythin’,” he replied. “Al, I reckon, knows now.

Maybe he’s rustlin’ into the mountains by this time. If he

meets up with Anson, well an’ good, for Roy won’t be far

off. An’ sure if he runs across Roy, why they’ll soon be

here. But if I were you I wouldn’t count on seein’ your

uncle very soon. I’m sorry. I’ve done my best. It sure is a

bad deal.”

 

“Don’t think me ungracious,” replied Helen, hastily. How

plainly he had intimated that it must be privation and

annoyance for her to be compelled to accept his hospitality!

“You are good — kind. I owe you much. I’ll be eternally

grateful.”

 

Dale straightened as he looked at her. His glance was

intent, piercing. He seemed to be receiving a strange or

unusual portent. No need for him to say he had never before

been spoken to like that!

 

“You may have to stay here with me — for weeks — maybe

months — if we’ve the bad luck to get snowed in,” he said,

slowly, as if startled at this deduction. “You’re safe here.

No sheep-thief could ever find this camp. I’ll take risks to

get you safe into Al’s hands. But I’m goin’ to be pretty

sure about what I’m doin’… . So — there’s plenty to eat

an’ it’s a pretty place.”

 

“Pretty! Why, it’s grand!” exclaimed Bo. “I’ve called it

Paradise Park.”

 

“Paradise Park,” he repeated, weighing the words. “You’ve

named it an’ also the creek. Paradise Creek! I’ve been here

twelve years with no fit name for my home till you said

that.”

 

“Oh, that pleases me!” returned Bo, with shining eyes.

 

“Eat now,” said Dale. “An’ I reckon you’ll like that

turkey.”

 

There was a clean tarpaulin upon which were spread steaming,

fragrant pans — roast turkey, hot biscuits and gravy,

mashed potatoes as white as if prepared at home, stewed

dried apples, and butter and coffee. This bounteous repast

surprised and delighted the girls; when they had once tasted

the roast wild turkey, then Milt Dale had occasion to blush

at their encomiums.

 

“I hope — Uncle Al — doesn’t come for a month,” declared

Bo, as she tried to get her breath. There was a brown spot

on her nose and one on each cheek, suspiciously close to her

mouth.

 

Dale laughed. It was pleasant to hear him, for his laugh

seemed unused and deep, as if it came from tranquil depths.

 

“Won’t you eat with us?” asked Helen.

 

“Reckon I will,” he said, “it’ll save time, an’ hot grub

tastes better.”

 

Quite an interval of silence ensued, which presently was

broken by Dale.

 

“Here comes Tom.”

 

Helen observed with a thrill that the cougar was

magnificent, seen erect on all-fours, approaching with slow,

sinuous grace. His color was tawny, with spots of whitish

gray. He had bow-legs, big and round and furry, and a huge

head with great tawny eyes. No matter how tame he was said

to be, he looked wild. Like a dog he walked right up, and it

so happened that he was directly behind Bo, within reach of

her when she turned.

 

“Oh, Lord!” cried Bo, and up went both of her hands, in one

of which was a huge piece of turkey. Tom took it, not

viciously, but nevertheless with a snap that made Helen

jump. As if by magic the turkey vanished. And Tom took a

closer step toward Bo. Her expression of fright changed to

consternation.

 

“He stole my turkey!”

 

“Tom, come here,” ordered Dale, sharply. The cougar glided

round rather sheepishly. “Now lie down an’ behave.”

 

Tom crouched on all-fours, his head resting on his paws,

with his beautiful tawny eyes, light and piercing, fixed

upon the hunter.

 

“Don’t grab,” said Dale, holding out a piece of turkey.

Whereupon Tom took it less voraciously.

 

As it happened, the little bear cub saw this transaction,

and he plainly indicated his opinion of the preference shown

to Tom.

 

“Oh, the dear!” exclaimed Bo. “He means it’s not fair… .

Come, Bud — come on.”

 

But Bud would not approach the group until called by Dale.

Then he scrambled to them with every manifestation of

delight. Bo almost forgot her own needs in feeding him and

getting acquainted with him. Tom plainly showed his jealousy

of Bud, and Bud likewise showed his fear of the great cat.

 

Helen could not believe the evidence of her eyes — that she

was in the woods calmly and hungrily partaking of sweet,

wild-flavored meat — that a full-grown mountain lion lay on

one side of her and a baby brown bear sat on the other —

that a strange hunter, a man of the forest, there in his

lonely and isolated fastness, appealed to the romance in her

and interested her as no one else she had ever met.

 

When the wonderful meal was at last finished Bo enticed the

bear cub around to the camp of the girls, and there soon

became great comrades with him. Helen, watching Bo play, was

inclined to envy her. No matter where Bo was placed, she

always got something out of it. She adapted herself. She,

who could have a good time with almost any one or anything,

would find the hours sweet and fleeting in this beautiful

park of wild wonders.

 

But merely objective actions — merely physical movements,

had never yet contented Helen. She could run and climb and

ride and play with hearty and healthy abandon, but those

things would not suffice long for her, and her mind needed

food. Helen was a thinker. One reason she had desired to

make her home in the West was that by taking up a life of

the open, of action, she might think and dream and brood

less. And here she was in the wild West, after the three

most strenuously active days of her career, and still the

same old giant revolved her mind and turned it upon herself

and upon all she saw.

 

“What can I do?” she asked Bo, almost helplessly.

 

“Why, rest, you silly!” retorted Bo. “You walk like an old,

crippled woman with only one leg.”

 

Helen hoped the comparison was undeserved, but the advice

was sound. The blankets spread out on the grass looked

inviting and they felt comfortably warm in the sunshine. The

breeze was slow, languorous, fragrant, and it brought the

low hum of the murmuring waterfall, like a melody of bees.

Helen made a pillow and lay down to rest. The green

pine-needles, so thin and fine in their crisscross network,

showed clearly against the blue sky. She looked in vain for

birds. Then her gaze went wonderingly to the lofty fringed

rim of the great amphitheater, and as she studied it she

began to grasp its remoteness, how far away it was in the

rarefied atmosphere. A black eagle, sweeping along, looked

of tiny size, and yet he was far under the heights above.

How pleasant she fancied it to be up there! And drowsy fancy

lulled her to sleep.

 

Helen slept all afternoon, and upon awakening, toward

sunset, found Bo curled beside her. Dale had thoughtfully

covered them with a blanket; also he had built a campfire.

The air was growing keen and cold.

 

Later, when they had put their