"Say? I say yes!" he exclaimed, in ringing voice, "Ken, you've made a man
of me!"
VI. BACK TO HOLSTON
Soon we were out of the forest, and riding across the sage-flat with
Holston in sight. Both of us avoided the unpleasant subject of my enforced
home-going. Evidently Dick felt cut up about it, and it caused me such a
pang that I drove it from my mind. Toward the end of our ride Dick began
again to talk of forestry.
"Ken, it's mighty interesting--all this you've said about trees. Some of
the things are so simple that I wonder I didn't hit on them long ago; in
fact, I knew a lot of what you might call forestry, but the scientific
ideas--they stump me. Now, what you said about a pine-tree cleaning
itself--come back at me with that."
"Why, that's simple enough, Dick," I answered. "Now, say here we have a
clump of pine saplings. They stand pretty close--close enough to make dense
shade, but not too crowded. The shade has prevented the lower branches from
producing leaves. As a consequence these branches die. Then they dry, rot,
and fall off, so when the trees mature they are clean-shafted. They have
fine, clear trunks. They have cleaned themselves, and so make the best of
lumber, free from knots."
So our talk went on. Once in town I was impatient to write to my father,
for we had decided that we would not telegraph.
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