Then the whip-like crack of a rifle riveted me where I stood. One of the
deer fell, and the others bounded away. I saw a tall man stride down the
slope and into the glade. He was not like any of the loggers or lumbermen.
They were mostly brawny and round-shouldered. This man was lithe, erect; he
walked like athletes I had seen. Surely I should find a friend in him, and
I lost no time in running down into the glade. He saw me as soon as I was
clear of the trees, and stood leaning on his rifle.
"Wal, dog-gone my buttons!" he ejaculated. "Who're you?"
I blurted out all about myself, at the same time taking stock of him. He
was not young, but I had never seen a young man so splendid. Hair, beard,
and skin were all of a dark gray. His eyes, too, were gray--the keenest and
clearest I had ever looked into. They shone with a kindly light, otherwise
I might have thought his face hard and stern. His shoulders were very wide,
his arms long, his hands enormous. His buckskin shirt attracted my
attention to his other clothes, which looked like leather overalls or heavy
canvas. A belt carried a huge knife and a number of shells of large
caliber; the Winchester he had was exceedingly long and heavy, and of an
old pattern. The look of him brought back my old fancy of Wetzel or Kit
Carson.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125