The Man of the Forest by Zane Grey (read me like a book txt) 📗

“Can you?” queried Helen.

“Can I what?” Bo was now thoroughly awake and lay there staring at her sister.

“Why—get up.”

“I'd like to know why not,” retorted Bo, as she made the effort. She got one arm and shoulder up, only to flop back like a crippled thing. And she uttered the most piteous little moan. “I'm dead! I know—I am!”

“Well, if you're going to be a Western girl you'd better have spunk enough to move.”

“A-huh!” ejaculated Bo. Then she rolled over, not without groans, and, once upon her face, she raised herself on her hands and turned to a sitting posture. “Where's everybody?... Oh, Nell, it's perfectly lovely here. Paradise!”

Helen looked around. A fire was smoldering. No one was in sight. Wonderful distant colors seemed to strike her glance as she tried to fix it upon near-by objects. A beautiful little green tent or shack had been erected out of spruce boughs. It had a slanting roof that sloped all the way from a ridge-pole to the ground; half of the opening in front was closed, as were the sides. The spruce boughs appeared all to be laid in the same direction, giving it a smooth, compact appearance, actually as if it had grown there.

“That lean-to wasn't there last night?” inquired Bo.

“I didn't see it. Lean-to? Where'd you get that name?”

“It's Western, my dear. I'll bet they put it up for us.... Sure, I see our bags inside. Let's get up. It must be late.”

The girls had considerable fun as well as pain in getting up and keeping each other erect until their limbs would hold them firmly. They were delighted with the spruce lean-to. It faced the open and stood just under the wide-spreading shelf of rock. The tiny outlet from the spring flowed beside it and spilled its clear water over a stone, to fall into a little pool. The floor of this woodland habitation consisted of tips of spruce boughs to about a foot in depth, all laid one way, smooth and springy, and so sweetly odorous that the air seemed intoxicating. Helen and Bo opened their baggage, and what with use of the cold water, brush and comb, and clean blouses, they made themselves feel as comfortable as possible, considering the excruciating aches. Then they went out to the campfire.

Helen's eye was attracted by moving objects near at hand. Then simultaneously with Bo's cry of delight Helen saw a beautiful doe approaching under the trees. Dale walked beside it.

“You sure had a long sleep,” was the hunter's greeting. “I reckon you both look better.”

“Good morning. Or is it afternoon? We're just able to move about,” said Helen.

“I could ride,” declared Bo, stoutly. “Oh, Nell, look at the deer! It's coming to me.”

The doe had hung back a little as Dale reached the camp-fire. It was a gray, slender creature, smooth as silk, with great dark eyes. It stood a moment, long ears erect, and then with a graceful little trot came up to Bo and reached a slim nose for her outstretched hand. All about it, except the beautiful soft eyes, seemed wild, and yet it was as tame as a kitten. Then, suddenly, as Bo fondled the long ears, it gave a start and, breaking away, ran back out of sight under the pines.

“What frightened it?” asked Bo.

Dale pointed up at the wall under the shelving roof of rock. There, twenty feet from the ground, curled up on a ledge, lay a huge tawny animal with a face like that of a cat.

“She's afraid of Tom,” replied Dale. “Recognizes him as a hereditary foe, I guess. I can't make friends of them.”

“Oh! So that's Tom—the pet lion!” exclaimed Bo. “Ugh! No wonder that deer ran off!”

“How long has he been up there?” queried Helen, gazing fascinated at Dale's famous pet.

“I couldn't say. Tom comes an' goes,” replied Dale. “But I sent him up there last night.”

“And he was there—perfectly free—right over us—while we slept!” burst out Bo.

“Yes. An' I reckon you slept the safer for that.”

“Of all things! Nell, isn't he a monster? But he doesn't look like a lion—an African lion. He's a panther. I saw his like at the circus once.”

“He's a cougar,” said Dale. “The panther is long and slim. Tom is not only long, but thick an' round. I've had him four years. An' he was a kitten no bigger 'n my fist when I got him.”

“Is he perfectly tame—safe?” asked Helen, anxiously.

“I've never told anybody that Tom was safe, but he is,” replied Dale. “You can absolutely believe it. A wild cougar wouldn't attack a man unless cornered or starved. An' Tom is like a big kitten.”

The beast raised his great catlike face, with its sleepy, half-shut eyes, and looked down upon them.

“Shall I call him down?” inquired Dale.

For once Bo did not find her voice.

“Let us—get a little more used to him—at a distance,” replied Helen, with a little laugh.

“If he comes to you, just rub his head an' 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,