The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗
- Author: Zane Grey
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she ever leave home for the West? Her solicitude for Bo had
been forgotten. Nevertheless, any marked change in the
topography of the country was registered, perhaps
photographed on her memory by the torturing vividness of her
experience.
The forest grew more level and denser. Shadows of twilight
or gloom lay under the trees. Presently Dale and Roy,
disappeared, going downhill, and likewise Bo. Then Helen’s
ears suddenly filled with a roar of rapid water. Ranger
trotted faster. Soon Helen came to the edge of a great
valley, black and gray, so full of obscurity that she could
not see across or down into it. But she knew there was a
rushing river at the bottom. The sound was deep, continuous,
a heavy, murmuring roar, singularly musical. The trail was
steep. Helen had not lost all feeling, as she had believed
and hoped. Her poor, mistreated body still responded
excruciatingly to concussions, jars, wrenches, and all the
other horrible movements making up a horse-trot.
For long Helen did not look up. When she did so there lay a
green, willow-bordered, treeless space at the bottom of the
valley, through which a brown-white stream rushed with
steady, ear-filling roar.
Dale and Roy drove the pack-animals across the stream, and
followed, going deep to the flanks of their horses. Bo rode
into the foaming water as if she had been used to it all her
days. A slip, a fall, would have meant that Bo must drown in
that mountain torrent.
Ranger trotted straight to the edge, and there, obedient to
Helen’s clutch on the bridle, he halted. The stream was
fifty feet wide, shallow on the near side, deep on the
opposite, with fast current and big waves. Helen was simply
too frightened to follow.
“Let him come!” yelled Dale. “Stick on now! … Ranger!”
The big black plunged in, making the water fly. That stream
was nothing for him, though it seemed impassable to Helen.
She had not the strength left to lift her stirrups and the
water surged over them. Ranger, in two more plunges,
surmounted the bank, and then, trotting across the green to
where the other horses stood steaming under some pines, he
gave a great heave and halted.
Roy reached up to help her off.
“Thirty miles, Miss Helen,” he said, and the way he spoke
was a compliment.
He had to lift her off and help her to the tree where Bo
leaned. Dale had ripped off a saddle and was spreading
saddle-blankets on the ground under the pine.
“Nell — you swore — you loved me!” was Bo’s mournful
greeting. The girl was pale, drawn, blue-lipped, and she
could not stand up.
“Bo, I never did — or I’d never have brought you to this —
wretch that I am!” cried Helen. “Oh, what a horrible ride!”
Rain was falling, the trees were dripping, the sky was
lowering. All the ground was soaking wet, with pools and
puddles everywhere. Helen could imagine nothing but a
heartless, dreary, cold prospect. Just then home was vivid
and poignant in her thoughts. Indeed, so utterly miserable
was she that the exquisite relief of sitting down, of a
cessation of movement, of a release from that infernal
perpetual-trotting horse, seemed only a mockery. It could
not be true that the time had come for rest.
Evidently this place had been a camp site for hunters or
sheep-herders, for there were remains of a fire. Dale lifted
the burnt end of a log and brought it down hard upon the
ground, splitting off pieces. Several times he did this. It
was amazing to see his strength, his facility, as he split
off handfuls of splinters. He collected a bundle of them,
and, laying them down, he bent over them. Roy wielded the ax
on another log, and each stroke split off a long strip. Then
a tiny column of smoke drifted up over Dale’s shoulder as he
leaned, bareheaded, sheltering the splinters with his hat. A
blaze leaped up. Roy came with an armful of strips all white
and dry, out of the inside of a log. Crosswise these were
laid over the blaze, and it began to roar. Then piece by
piece the men built up a frame upon which they added heavier
woods, branches and stumps and logs, erecting a pyramid
through which flames and smoke roared upward. It had not
taken two minutes. Already Helen felt the warmth on her icy
face. She held up her bare, numb hands.
Both Dale and Roy were wet through to the skin, yet they did
not tarry beside the fire. They relieved the horses. A lasso
went up between two pines, and a tarpaulin over it, V-shaped
and pegged down at the four ends. The packs containing the
baggage of the girls and the supplies and bedding were
placed under this shelter.
Helen thought this might have taken five minutes more. In
this short space of time the fire had leaped and flamed
until it was huge and hot. Rain was falling steadily all
around, but over and near that roaring blaze, ten feet high,
no water fell. It evaporated. The ground began to steam and
to dry. Helen suffered at first while the heat was driving
out the cold. But presently the pain ceased.
“Nell, I never knew before how good a fire could feel,”
declared Bo.
And therein lay more food for Helen’s reflection.
In ten minutes Helen was dry and hot. Darkness came down
upon the dreary, sodden forest, but that great campfire
made it a different world from the one Helen had
anticipated. It blazed and roared, cracked like a pistol,
hissed and sputtered, shot sparks everywhere, and sent aloft
a dense, yellow, whirling column of smoke. It began to have
a heart of gold.
Dale took a long pole and raked out a pile of red embers
upon which the coffee-pot and oven soon began to steam.
“Roy, I promised the girls turkey to-night,” said the
hunter.
“Mebbe tomorrow, if the wind shifts. This ‘s turkey
country.”
“Roy, a potato will do me!” exclaimed Bo. “Never again will I ask
for cake and pie! I never appreciated good things to eat. And
I’ve been a little pig, always. I never — never knew what it was
to be hungry —until now.”
Dale glanced up quickly.
“Lass, it’s worth learnin’,” he said.
Helen’s thought was too deep for words. In such brief space
had she been transformed from misery to comfort!
The rain kept on falling, though it appeared to grow softer
as night settled down black. The wind died away and the
forest was still, except for the steady roar of the stream.
A folded tarpaulin was laid between the pine and the fire,
well in the light and warmth, and upon it the men set
steaming pots and plates and cups, the fragrance from which
was strong and inviting.
“Fetch the saddle-blanket an’ set with your backs to the
fire,” said Roy.
Later, when the girls were tucked away snugly in their
blankets and sheltered from the rain, Helen remained awake
after Bo had fallen asleep. The big blaze made the
improvised tent as bright as day. She could see the smoke,
the trunk of the big pine towering aloft, and a blank space
of sky. The stream hummed a song, seemingly musical at
times, and then discordant and dull, now low, now roaring,
and always rushing, gurgling, babbling, flowing, chafing in
its hurry.
Presently the hunter and his friend returned from hobbling
the horses, and beside the fire they conversed in low tones.
“Wal, thet trail we made to-day will be hid, I reckon,” said
Roy, with satisfaction.
“What wasn’t sheeped over would be washed out. We’ve had
luck. An’ now I ain’t worryin’,” returned Dale.
“Worryin’? Then it’s the first I ever knowed you to do.”
“Man, I never had a job like this,” protested the hunter.
“Wal, thet’s so.”
“Now, Roy, when old Al Auchincloss finds out about this
deal, as he’s bound to when you or the boys get back to
Pine, he’s goin’ to roar.”
“Do you reckon folks will side with him against Beasley?”
“Some of them. But Al, like as not, will tell folks to go
where it’s hot. He’ll bunch his men an’ strike for the
mountains to find his nieces.”
“Wal, all you’ve got to do is to keep the girls hid till I
can guide him up to your camp. Or, failin’ thet, till you
can slip the girls down to Pine.”
“No one but you an’ your brothers ever seen my senaca. But
it could be found easy enough.”
“Anson might blunder on it. But thet ain’t likely.”
“Why ain’t it?”
“Because I’ll stick to thet sheep-thief’s tracks like a wolf
after a bleedin’ deer. An’ if he ever gets near your camp
I’ll ride in ahead of him.”
“Good!” declared Dale. “I was calculatin’ you’d go down to
Pine, sooner or later.”
“Not unless Anson goes. I told John thet in case there was
no fight on the stage to make a bee-line back to Pine. He
was to tell Al an’ offer his services along with Joe an’
Hal.”
“One way or another, then, there’s bound to be blood spilled
over this.”
“Shore! An’ high time. I jest hope I get a look down my old
‘forty-four’ at thet Beasley.”
“In that case I hope you hold straighter than times I’ve
seen you.”
“Milt Dale, I’m a good shot,” declared Roy, stoutly.
“You’re no good on movin’ targets.”
“Wal, mebbe so. But I’m not lookin’ for a movin’ target when
I meet up with Beasley. I’m a hossman, not a hunter. You’re
used to shootin’ flies off deer’s horns, jest for practice.”
“Roy, can we make my camp by tomorrow night?” queried Dale,
more seriously.
“We will, if each of us has to carry one of the girls. But
they’ll do it or die. Dale, did you ever see a gamer girl
than thet kid Bo?”
“Me! Where’d I ever see any girls?” ejaculated Dale. “I
remember some when I was a boy, but I was only fourteen
then. Never had much use for girls.”
“I’d like to have a wife like that Bo,” declared Roy,
fervidly.
There ensued a moment’s silence.
“Roy, you’re a Mormon an’ you already got a wife,” was
Dale’s reply.
“Now, Milt, have you lived so long in the woods thet you
never heard of a Mormon with two wives?” returned Roy, and
then he laughed heartily.
“I never could stomach what I did hear pertainin’ to more
than one wife for a man.”
“Wal, my friend, you go an’ get yourself ONE. An’ see then
if you wouldn’t like to have TWO.”
“I reckon one ‘d be more than enough for Milt Dale.”
“Milt, old man, let me tell you thet I always envied you
your freedom,” said Roy, earnestly. “But it ain’t life.”
“You mean life is love of a woman?”
“No. Thet’s only part. I mean a son — a boy thet’s like you
— thet you feel will go on with your life after you’re
gone.”
“I’ve thought of that — thought it all out, watchin’ the
birds an’ animals mate in the woods… . If I have no son
I’ll never live hereafter.”
“Wal,” replied Roy, hesitatingly, “I don’t go in so deep as
thet. I mean a son goes on with your blood an’ your work.”
“Exactly… An’, Roy, I envy you what you ve got, because
it’s out of all bounds
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