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

>too low, and the coyote got only a dusting of earth and

pine-needles thrown up into his face. This frightened him so

that he leaped aside blindly to butt into a tree, rolled

over, gained his feet, and then the cover of the forest.

Dale was amused at this. His hand was against all the

predatory beasts of the forest, though he had learned that

lion and bear and wolf and fox were all as necessary to the

great scheme of nature as were the gentle, beautiful wild

creatures upon which they preyed. But some he loved better

than others, and so he deplored the inexplicable cruelty.

 

He crossed the wide, grassy plain and struck another gradual

descent where aspens and pines crowded a shallow ravine and

warm, sunlighted glades bordered along a sparkling brook.

Here he heard a turkey gobble, and that was a signal for him

to change his course and make a crouching, silent detour

around a clump of aspens. In a sunny patch of grass a dozen

or more big gobblers stood, all suspiciously facing in his

direction, heads erect, with that wild aspect peculiar to

their species. Old wild turkey gobblers were the most

difficult game to stalk. Dale shot two of them. The others

began to run like ostriches, thudding over the ground,

spreading their wings, and with that running start launched

their heavy bodies into whirring flight. They flew low, at

about the height of a man from the grass, and vanished in

the woods.

 

Dale threw the two turkeys over his shoulder and went on his

way. Soon he came to a break in the forest level, from which

he gazed down a league-long slope of pine and cedar, out

upon the bare, glistening desert, stretching away, endlessly

rolling out to the dim, dark horizon line.

 

The little hamlet of Pine lay on the last level of sparsely

timbered forest. A road, running parallel with a

dark-watered, swift-flowing stream, divided the cluster of

log cabins from which columns of blue smoke drifted lazily

aloft. Fields of corn and fields of oats, yellow in the

sunlight, surrounded the village; and green pastures, dotted

with horses and cattle, reached away to the denser woodland.

This site appeared to be a natural clearing, for there was

no evidence of cut timber. The scene was rather too wild to

be pastoral, but it was serene, tranquil, giving the

impression of a remote community, prosperous and happy,

drifting along the peaceful tenor of sequestered lives.

 

Dale halted before a neat little log cabin and a little

patch of garden bordered with sunflowers. His call was

answered by an old woman, gray and bent, but remarkably

spry, who appeared at the door.

 

“Why, land’s sakes, if it ain’t Milt Dale!” she exclaimed,

in welcome.

 

“Reckon it’s me, Mrs. Cass,” he replied. “An’ I’ve brought

you a turkey.”

 

“Milt, you’re that good boy who never forgits old Widow

Cass… . What a gobbler! First one I’ve seen this fall.

My man Tom used to fetch home gobblers like that… . An’

mebbe he’ll come home again sometime.”

 

Her husband, Tom Cass, had gone into the forest years before

and had never returned. But the old woman always looked for

him and never gave up hope.

 

“Men have been lost in the forest an’ yet come back,”

replied Dale, as he had said to her many a time.

 

“Come right in. You air hungry, I know. Now, son, when last

did you eat a fresh egg or a flapjack?”

 

“You should remember,” he answered, laughing, as he followed

her into a small, clean kitchen.

 

“Laws-a’-me! An’ thet’s months ago,” she replied, shaking

her gray head. “Milt, you should give up that wild life —

an’ marry — an’ have a home.”

 

“You always tell me that.”

 

“Yes, an’ I’ll see you do it yet… . Now you set there,

an’ pretty soon I’ll give you thet to eat which ‘ll make

your mouth water.”

 

“What’s the news, Auntie?” he asked.

 

“Nary news in this dead place. Why, nobody’s been to

Snowdrop in two weeks! … Sary Jones died, poor old soul

— she’s better off — an’ one of my cows run away. Milt,

she’s wild when she gits loose in the woods. An’ you’ll have

to track her, ‘cause nobody else can. An’ John Dakker’s

heifer was killed by a lion, an’ Lem Harden’s fast hoss —

you know his favorite — was stole by hoss-thieves. Lem is

jest crazy. An’ that reminds me, Milt, where’s your big

ranger, thet you’d never sell or lend?”

 

“My horses are up in the woods, Auntie; safe, I reckon, from

horse-thieves.”

 

“Well, that’s a blessin’. We’ve had some stock stole this

summer, Milt, an’ no mistake.”

 

Thus, while preparing a meal for Dale, the old woman went on

recounting all that had happened in the little village since

his last visit. Dale enjoyed her gossip and quaint

philosophy, and it was exceedingly good to sit at her table.

In his opinion, nowhere else could there have been such

butter and cream, such ham and eggs. Besides, she always had

apple pie, it seemed, at any time he happened in; and apple

pie was one of Dale’s few regrets while up in the lonely

forest.

 

“How’s old Al Auchincloss?” presently inquired Dale.

 

“Poorly — poorly,” sighed Mrs. Cass. “But he tramps an’

rides around same as ever. Al’s not long for this world… .

An’, Milt, that reminds me — there’s the biggest news you

ever heard.”

 

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Dale, to encourage the excited

old woman.

 

“Al has sent back to Saint Joe for his niece, Helen Rayner.

She’s to inherit all his property. We’ve heard much of her

— a purty lass, they say… . Now, Milt Dale, here’s your

chance. Stay out of the woods an’ go to work… . You can

marry that girl!”

 

“No chance for me, Auntie,” replied Dale, smiling.

 

The old woman snorted. “Much you know! Any girl would have

you, Milt Dale, if you’d only throw a kerchief.”

 

“Me! … An’ why, Auntie?” he queried, half amused, half

thoughtful. When he got back to civilization he always had

to adjust his thoughts to the ideas of people.

 

“Why? I declare, Milt, you live so in the woods you’re like

a boy of ten — an’ then sometimes as old as the hills… .

There’s no young man to compare with you, hereabouts. An’

this girl — she’ll have all the spunk of the

Auchinclosses.”

 

“Then maybe she’d not be such a catch, after all,” replied

Dale.

 

“Wal, you’ve no cause to love them, that’s sure. But, Milt,

the Auchincloss women are always good wives.”

 

“Dear Auntie, you’re dreamin’,” said Dale, soberly. “I want

no wife. I’m happy in the woods.”

 

“Air you goin’ to live like an Injun all your days, Milt

Dale?” she queried, sharply.

 

“I hope so.”

 

“You ought to be ashamed. But some lass will change you,

boy, an’ mebbe it’ll be this Helen Rayner. I hope an’ pray

so to thet.”

 

“Auntie, supposin’ she did change me. She’d never change old

Al. He hates me, you know.”

 

“Wal, I ain’t so sure, Milt. I met Al the other day. He

inquired for you, an’ said you was wild, but he reckoned men

like you was good for pioneer settlements. Lord knows the

good turns you’ve done this village! Milt, old Al doesn’t

approve of your wild life, but he never had no hard feelin’s

till thet tame lion of yours killed so many of his sheep.”

 

“Auntie, I don’t believe Tom ever killed Al’s sheep,”

declared Dale, positively.

 

“Wal, Al thinks so, an’ many other people,” replied Mrs.

Cass, shaking her gray head doubtfully. “You never swore he

didn’t. An’ there was them two sheep-herders who did swear

they seen him.”

 

“They only saw a cougar. An’ they were so scared they ran.”

 

“Who wouldn’t? Thet big beast is enough to scare any one.

For land’s sakes, don’t ever fetch him down here again! I’ll

never forgit the time you did. All the folks an’ children

an’ hosses in Pine broke an’ run thet day.”

 

“Yes; but Tom wasn’t to blame. Auntie, he’s the tamest of my

pets. Didn’t he try to put his head on your lap an’ lick

your hand?”

 

“Wal, Milt, I ain’t gainsayin’ your cougar pet didn’t act

better ‘n a lot of people I know. Fer he did. But the looks

of him an’ what’s been said was enough for me.”

 

“An’ what’s all that, Auntie?”

 

“They say he’s wild when out of your sight. An’ thet he’d

trail an’ kill anythin’ you put him after.”

 

“I trained him to be just that way.”

 

“Wal, leave Tom to home up in the woods—when you visit us.”

 

Dale finished his hearty meal, and listened awhile longer to

the old woman’s talk; then, taking his rifle and the other

turkey, he bade her good-by. She followed him out.

 

“Now, Milt, you’ll come soon again, won’t you — jest to see

Al’s niece — who’ll be here in a week?”

 

“I reckon I’ll drop in some day… . Auntie, have you seen

my friends, the Mormon boys?”

 

“No, I ‘ain’t seen them an’ don’t want to,” she retorted.

“Milt Dale, if any one ever corrals you it’ll be Mormons.”

 

“Don’t worry, Auntie. I like those boys. They often see me

up in the woods an’ ask me to help them track a hoss or help

kill some fresh meat.”

 

“They’re workin’ for Beasley now.”

 

“Is that so?” rejoined Dale, with a sudden start. “An’ what

doin’?”

 

“Beasley is gettin’ so rich he’s buildin’ a fence, an’

didn’t have enough help, so I hear.”

 

“Beasley gettin’ rich!” repeated Dale, thoughtfully. “More

sheep an’ horses an’ cattle than ever, I reckon?”

 

“Laws-a’-me! Why, Milt, Beasley ‘ain’t any idea what he

owns. Yes, he’s the biggest man in these parts, since poor

old Al’s took to failin’. I reckon Al’s health ain’t none

improved by Beasley’s success. They’ve bad some bitter

quarrels lately — so I hear. Al ain’t what he was.”

 

Dale bade good-by again to his old friend and strode away,

thoughtful and serious. Beasley would not only be difficult

to circumvent, but he would be dangerous to oppose. There

did not appear much doubt of his driving his way rough-shod

to the dominance of affairs there in Pine. Dale, passing

down the road, began to meet acquaintances who had hearty

welcome for his presence and interest in his doings, so that

his pondering was interrupted for the time being. He carried

the turkey to another old friend, and when he left her house

he went on to the village store. This was a large log cabin,

roughly covered with clapboards, with a wide plank platform

in front and a hitching-rail in the road. Several horses

were standing there, and a group of lazy, shirt-sleeved

loungers.

 

“I’ll be doggoned if it ain’t Milt Dale!” exclaimed one.

 

“Howdy, Milt, old buckskin! Right down glad to see you,”

greeted another.

 

“Hello, Dale! You air shore good for sore eyes,” drawled

still another.

 

After a long period of absence Dale always experienced a

singular warmth of feeling when he met these acquaintances.

It faded quickly when he got back to the intimacy of his

woodland, and that was because the people of Pine, with few

exceptions — though they liked him and greatly admired his

outdoor wisdom — regarded him as a sort of nonentity.

Because he loved the wild and preferred it to village and

range life, they had classed