I had no luck.
My friends bade me good-bye as if they expected to see me next day, and I
said good-bye calmly. I had my part to play. My short stay with them had
made me somehow different. But my coolness was deceitful. Dick helped me on
the train and wrung my hand again.
"Good-bye, Ken. It's been great to have you out. . . . Next year you'll be
back in the forests!"
He had to hurry to get off. The train started as I looked out of my window.
There stood the powerful hunter, his white head bare, and he was waving his
hat. Jim leaned against a railing with his sleepy, careless smile. I caught
a gleam of the blue gun swinging at his hip. Dick's eyes shone warm and
blue; he was shouting something. Then they all passed back out of sight. So
my gaze wandered to the indistinct black line of Penetier, to the purple
slopes, and up to the cold, white mountain-peaks, and Dick's voice rang in
my ears like a prophecy: "You'll be back in the forests."
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Young Forester, by Zane Grey
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