The Man of the Forest - Zane Grey (white hot kiss txt) 📗

coats on and made comfortable

seats beside the fire, Dale came over, apparently to visit

them.

 

“I reckon you can’t sleep all the time,” he said. “An’ bein’

city girls, you’ll get lonesome.”

 

“Lonesome!” echoed Helen. The idea of her being lonesome

here had not occurred to her.

 

“I’ve thought that all out,” went on Dale, as he sat down,

Indian fashion, before the blaze. “It’s natural you’d find

time drag up here, bein’ used to lots of people an’

goin’s-on, an’ work, an’ all girls like.”

 

“I’d never be lonesome here,” replied Helen, with her direct

force.

 

Dale did not betray surprise, but he showed that his mistake

was something to ponder over.

 

“Excuse me,” he said, presently, as his gray eyes held hers.

“That’s how I had it. As I remember girls — an’ it doesn’t

seem long since I left home — most of them would die of

lonesomeness up here.” Then he addressed himself to Bo. “How

about you? You see, I figured you’d be the one that liked

it, an’ your sister the one who wouldn’t.”

 

“I won’t get lonesome very soon,” replied Bo.

 

“I’m glad. It worried me some — not ever havin’ girls as

company before. An’ in a day or so, when you’re rested, I’ll

help you pass the time.”

 

Bo’s eyes were full of flashing interest, and Helen asked

him, “How?”

 

It was a sincere expression of her curiosity and not

doubtful or ironic challenge of an educated woman to a man

of the forest. But as a challenge he took it.

 

“How!” he repeated, and a strange smile flitted across his

face. “Why, by givin’ you rides an’ climbs to beautiful

places. An’ then, if you’re interested,’ to show you how

little so-called civilized people know of nature.”

 

Helen realized then that whatever his calling, hunter or

wanderer or hermit, he was not uneducated, even if he

appeared illiterate.

 

“I’ll be happy to learn from you,” she said.

 

“Me, too!” chimed in Bo. “You can’t tell too much to any one

from Missouri.”

 

He smiled, and that warmed Helen to him, for then he seemed

less removed from other people. About this hunter there

began to be something of the very nature of which he spoke

— a stillness, aloofness, an unbreakable tranquillity, a

cold, clear spirit like that in the mountain air, a physical

something not unlike the tamed wildness of his pets or the

strength of the pines.

 

“I’ll bet I can tell you more ‘n you’ll ever remember,” he

said.

 

“What ‘ll you bet?” retorted Bo.

 

“Well, more roast turkey against — say somethin’ nice when

you’re safe an’ home to your uncle Al’s, runnin’ his ranch.”

 

“Agreed. Nell, you hear?”

 

Helen nodded her head.

 

“All right. We’ll leave it to Nell,” began Dale, half

seriously. “Now I’ll tell you, first, for the fun of passin’

time we’ll ride an’ race my horses out in the park. An’

we’ll fish in the brooks an’ hunt in the woods. There’s an

old silvertip around that you can see me kill. An’ we’ll

climb to the peaks an’ see wonderful sights… . So much

for that. Now, if you really want to learn — or if you only

want me to tell you — well, that’s no matter. Only I’ll win

the bet! … You’ll see how this park lies in the crater

of a volcano an’ was once full of water — an’ how the snow

blows in on one side in winter, a hundred feet deep, when

there’s none on the other. An’ the trees — how they grow

an’ live an’ fight one another an’ depend on one another,

an’ protect the forest from storm-winds. An’ how they hold

the water that is the fountains of the great rivers. An’ how

the creatures an’ things that live in them or on them are

good for them, an’ neither could live without the other. An’

then I’ll show you my pets tame an’ untamed, an’ tell you

how it’s man that makes any creature wild — how easy they

are to tame — an’ how they learn to love you. An’ there’s

the life of the forest, the strife of it — how the bear

lives, an’ the cats, an’ the wolves, an’ the deer. You’ll

see how cruel nature is how savage an’ wild the wolf or

cougar tears down the deer — how a wolf loves fresh, hot

blood, an’ how a cougar unrolls the skin of a deer back from

his neck. An’ you’ll see that this cruelty of nature — this

work of the wolf an’ cougar — is what makes the deer so

beautiful an’ healthy an’ swift an’ sensitive. Without his

deadly foes the deer would deteriorate an’ die out. An’

you’ll see how this principle works out among all creatures

of the forest. Strife! It’s the meanin’ of all creation, an’

the salvation. If you’re quick to see, you’ll learn that the

nature here in the wilds is the same as that of men — only

men are no longer cannibals. Trees fight to live — birds

fight — animals fight — men fight. They all live off one

another. An’ it’s this fightin’ that brings them all closer

an’ closer to bein’ perfect. But nothin’ will ever be

perfect.”

 

“But how about religion?” interrupted Helen, earnestly.

 

“Nature has a religion, an’ it’s to live — to grow — to

reproduce, each of its kind.”

 

“But that is not God or the immortality of the soul,”

declared Helen.

 

“Well, it’s as close to God an’ immortality as nature ever

gets.”

 

“Oh, you would rob me of my religion!”

 

“No, I just talk as I see life,” replied Dale, reflectively,

as he poked a stick into the red embers of the fire. “Maybe

I have a religion. I don’t know. But it’s not the kind you

have — not the Bible kind. That kind doesn’t keep the men

in Pine an’ Snowdrop an’ all over — sheepmen an’ ranchers

an’ farmers an’ travelers, such as I’ve known — the

religion they profess doesn’t keep them from lyin’,

cheatin’, stealin’, an’ killin’. I reckon no man who lives

as I do — which perhaps is my religion — will lie or cheat

or steal or kill, unless it’s to kill in self-defense or

like I’d do if Snake Anson would ride up here now. My

religion, maybe, is love of life — wild life as it was in

the beginnin’ — an’ the wind that blows secrets from

everywhere, an’ the water that sings all day an’ night, an’

the stars that shine constant, an’ the trees that speak

somehow, an’ the rocks that aren’t dead. I’m never alone

here or on the trails. There’s somethin’ unseen, but always

with me. An’ that’s It! Call it God if you like. But what

stalls me is — where was that Spirit when this earth was a

ball of fiery gas? Where will that Spirit be when all life

is frozen out or burned out on this globe an’ it hangs dead

in space like the moon? That time will come. There’s no

waste in nature. Not the littlest atom is destroyed. It

changes, that’s all, as you see this pine wood go up in

smoke an’ feel somethin’ that’s heat come out of it. Where

does that go? It’s not lost. Nothin’ is lost. So, the

beautiful an’ savin’ thought is, maybe all rock an’ wood,

water an’ blood an’ flesh, are resolved back into the

elements, to come to life somewhere again sometime.”

 

“Oh, what you say is wonderful, but it’s terrible!”

exclaimed Helen. He had struck deep into her soul.

 

“Terrible? I reckon,” he replied, sadly.

 

Then ensued a little interval of silence.

 

“Milt Dale, I lose the bet,” declared Bo, with earnestness

behind her frivolity.

 

“I’d forgotten that. Reckon I talked a lot,” he said,

apologetically. “You see, I don’t get much chance to talk,

except to myself or Tom. Years ago, when I found the habit

of silence settlin’ down on me, I took to thinkin’ out loud

an’ talkin’ to anythin’.”

 

“I could listen to you all night,” returned Bo, dreamily.

 

“Do you read — do you have books?” inquired Helen,

suddenly.

 

“Yes, I read tolerable well; a good deal better than I talk

or write,” he replied. “I went to school till I was fifteen.

Always hated study, but liked to read. Years ago an old

friend of mine down here at Pine — Widow Cass — she gave

me a lot of old books. An’ I packed them up here. Winter’s

the time I read.”

 

Conversation lagged after that, except for desultory

remarks, and presently Dale bade the girls good night and

left them. Helen watched his tall form vanish in the gloom

under the pines, and after he had disappeared she still

stared.

 

“Nell!” called Bo, shrilly. “I’ve called you three times. I

want to go to bed.”

 

“Oh! I — I was thinking,” rejoined Helen, half embarrassed,

half wondering at herself. “I didn’t hear you.”

 

“I should smile you didn’t,” retorted Bo. “Wish you could

just have seen your eyes. Nell, do you want me to tell you

something?

 

“Why — yes,” said Helen, rather feebly. She did not at all,

when Bo talked like that.

 

“You’re going to fall in love with that wild hunter,”

declared Bo in a voice that rang like a bell.

 

Helen was not only amazed, but enraged. She caught her

breath preparatory to giving this incorrigible sister a

piece of her mind. Bo went calmly on.

 

“I can feel it in my bones.”

 

“Bo, you’re a little fool — a sentimental, romancing, gushy

little fool!” retorted Helen. “All you seem to hold in your

head is some rot about love. To hear you talk one would

think there’s nothing else in the world but love.”

 

Bo’s eyes were bright, shrewd, affectionate, and laughing as

she bent their steady gaze upon Helen.

 

“Nell, that’s just it. There IS nothing else!”