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

CHAPTER XIII

After more days of riding the grassy level of that

wonderfully gold and purple park, and dreamily listening by

day to the ever-low and ever-changing murmur of the

waterfall, and by night to the wild, lonely mourn of a

hunting wolf, and climbing to the dizzy heights where the

wind stung sweetly, Helen Rayner lost track of time and

forgot her peril.

 

Roy Beeman did not return. If occasionally Dale mentioned

Roy and his quest, the girls had little to say beyond a

recurrent anxiety for the old uncle, and then they forgot

again. Paradise Park, lived in a little while at that season

of the year, would have claimed any one, and ever afterward

haunted sleeping or waking dreams.

 

Bo gave up to the wild life, to the horses and rides, to the

many pets, and especially to the cougar, Tom. The big cat

followed her everywhere, played with her, rolling and

pawing, kitten-like, and he would lay his massive head in

her lap to purr his content. Bo had little fear of anything,

and here in the wilds she soon lost that.

 

Another of Dale’s pets was a half-grown black bear named

Muss. He was abnormally jealous of little Bud and he had a

well-developed hatred of Tom, otherwise he was a very

good-tempered bear, and enjoyed Dale’s impartial regard.

Tom, however, chased Muss out of camp whenever Dale’s back

was turned, and sometimes Muss stayed away, shifting for

himself. With the advent of Bo, who spent a good deal of

time on the animals, Muss manifestly found the camp more

attractive. Whereupon, Dale predicted trouble between Tom

and Muss.

 

Bo liked nothing better than a rough-and-tumble frolic with

the black bear. Muss was not very big nor very heavy, and in

a wrestling bout with the strong and wiry girl he sometimes

came out second best. It spoke well of him that he seemed to

be careful not to hurt Bo. He never bit or scratched, though

he sometimes gave her sounding slaps with his paws.

Whereupon, Bo would clench her gauntleted fists and sail

into him in earnest.

 

One afternoon before the early supper they always had, Dale

and Helen were watching Bo teasing the bear. She was in her

most vixenish mood, full of life and fight. Tom lay his long

length on the grass, watching with narrow, gleaming eyes.

 

When Bo and Muss locked in an embrace and went down to roll

over and over, Dale called Helen’s attention to the cougar.

 

“Tom’s jealous. It’s strange how animals are like people.

Pretty soon I’ll have to corral Muss, or there’ll be a

fight.”

 

Helen could not see anything wrong with Tom except that he

did not look playful.

 

During supper-time both bear and cougar disappeared, though

this was not remarked until afterward. Dale whistled and

called, but the rival pets did not return. Next morning Tom

was there, curled up snugly at the foot of Bo’s bed, and

when she arose he followed her around as usual. But Muss did

not return.

 

The circumstance made Dale anxious. He left camp, taking Tom

with him, and upon returning stated that he had followed

Muss’s track as far as possible, and then had tried to put

Tom on the trail, but the cougar would not or could not

follow it. Dale said Tom never liked a bear trail, anyway,

cougars and bears being common enemies. So, whether by

accident or design, Bo lost one of her playmates.

 

The hunter searched some of the slopes next day and even

went up on one of the mountains. He did not discover any

sign of Muss, but he said he had found something else.

 

“Bo you girls want some more real excitement?” he asked.

 

Helen smiled her acquiescence and Bo replied with one of her

forceful speeches.

 

“Don’t mind bein’ good an’ scared?” he went on.

 

“You can’t scare me,” bantered Bo. But Helen looked

doubtful.

 

“Up in one of the parks I ran across one of my horses — a

lame bay you haven’t seen. Well, he had been killed by that

old silvertip. The one we chased. Hadn’t been dead over an

hour. Blood was still runnin’ an’ only a little meat eaten.

That bear heard me or saw me an’ made off into the woods.

But he’ll come back to-night. I’m goin’ up there, lay for

him, an’ kill him this time. Reckon you’d better go, because

I don’t want to leave you here alone at night.”

 

“Are you going to take Tom?” asked Bo.

 

“No. The bear might get his scent. An’, besides, Tom ain’t

reliable on bears. I’ll leave Pedro home, too.”

 

When they had hurried supper, and Dale had gotten in the

horses, the sun had set and the valley was shadowing low

down, while the ramparts were still golden. The long zigzag

trail Dale followed up the slope took nearly an hour to

climb, so that when that was surmounted and he led out of

the woods twilight had fallen. A rolling park extended as

far as Helen could see, bordered by forest that in places

sent out straggling stretches of trees. Here and there, like

islands, were isolated patches of timber.

 

At ten thousand feet elevation the twilight of this clear

and cold night was a rich and rare atmospheric effect. It

looked as if it was seen through perfectly clear smoked

glass. Objects were singularly visible, even at long range,

and seemed magnified. In the west, where the afterglow of

sunset lingered over the dark, ragged, spruce-speared

horizon-line, there was such a transparent golden line

melting into vivid star-fired blue that Helen could only

gaze and gaze in wondering admiration.

 

Dale spurred his horse into a lope and the spirited mounts

of the girls kept up with him. The ground was rough, with

tufts of grass growing close together, yet the horses did

not stumble. Their action and snorting betrayed excitement.

Dale led around several clumps of timber, up a long grassy

swale, and then straight westward across an open flat toward

where the dark-fringed forest-line raised itself wild and

clear against the cold sky. The horses went swiftly, and the

wind cut like a blade of ice. Helen could barely get her

breath and she panted as if she had just climbed a laborsome

hill. The stars began to blink out of the blue, and the gold

paled somewhat, and yet twilight lingered. It seemed long

across that flat, but really was short. Coming to a thin

line of trees that led down over a slope to a deeper but

still isolated patch of woods, Dale dismounted and tied his

horse. When the girls got off he haltered their horses also.

 

“Stick close to me an’ put your feet down easy,” he

whispered. How tall and dark he loomed in the fading light!

Helen thrilled, as she had often of late, at the strange,

potential force of the man. Stepping softly, without the

least sound, Dale entered this straggly bit of woods, which

appeared to have narrow byways and nooks. Then presently he

came to the top of a well-wooded slope, dark as pitch,

apparently. But as Helen followed she perceived the trees,

and they were thin dwarf spruce, partly dead. The slope was

soft and springy, easy to step upon without noise. Dale went

so cautiously that Helen could not hear him, and sometimes

in the gloom she could not see him. Then the chill thrills

ran over her. Bo kept holding on to Helen, which fact

hampered Helen as well as worked somewhat to disprove Bo’s

boast. At last level ground was reached. Helen made out a

light-gray background crossed by black bars. Another glance

showed this to be the dark tree-trunks against the open

park.

 

Dale halted, and with a touch brought Helen to a straining

pause. He was listening. It seemed wonderful to watch him

bend his head and stand as silent and motionless as one of

the dark trees.

 

“He’s not there yet,” Dale whispered, and he stepped forward

very slowly. Helen and Bo began to come up against thin dead

branches that were invisible and then cracked. Then Dale

knelt down, seemed to melt into the ground.

 

“You’ll have to crawl,” he whispered.

 

How strange and thrilling that was for Helen, and hard work!

The ground bore twigs and dead branches, which had to be

carefully crawled over; and lying flat, as was necessary, it

took prodigious effort to drag her body inch by inch. Like a

huge snake, Dale wormed his way along.

 

Gradually the wood lightened. They were nearing the edge of

the park. Helen now saw a strip of open with a high, black

wall of spruce beyond. The afterglow flashed or changed,

like a dimming northern light, and then failed. Dale crawled

on farther to halt at length between two tree-trunks at the

edge of the wood.

 

“Come up beside me,” he whispered.

 

Helen crawled on, and presently Bo was beside her panting,

with pale face and great, staring eyes, plain to be seen in

the wan light.

 

“Moon’s comin’ up. We’re just in time. The old grizzly’s not

there yet, but I see coyotes. Look.”

 

Dale pointed across the open neck of park to a dim blurred

patch standing apart some little distance from the black

wall.

 

“That’s the dead horse,” whispered Dale. “An’ if you watch

close you can see the coyotes. They’re gray an’ they move… .

Can’t you hear them?”

 

Helen’s excited ears, so full of throbs and imaginings,

presently registered low snaps and snarls. Bo gave her arm a

squeeze.

 

“I hear them. They’re fighting. Oh, gee!” she panted, and

drew a long, full breath of unutterable excitement.

 

“Keep quiet now an’ watch an’ listen,” said the hunter.

 

Slowly the black, ragged forest-line seemed to grow blacker

and lift; slowly the gray neck of park lightened under some

invisible influence; slowly the stars paled and the sky

filled over. Somewhere the moon was rising. And slowly that

vague blurred patch grew a little clearer.

 

Through the tips of the spruce, now seen to be rather close

at hand, shone a slender, silver crescent moon, darkening,

hiding, shining again, climbing until its exquisite

sickle-point topped the trees, and then, magically, it

cleared them, radiant and cold. While the eastern black wall

shaded still blacker, the park blanched and the border-line

opposite began to stand out as trees.

 

“Look! Look!” cried Bo, very low and fearfully, as she

pointed.

 

“Not so loud,” whispered Dale.

 

“But I see