The Young Forester

by Zane Grey

  VI. BACK TO HOLSTON

  Soon we were out of the forest, and riding across the sage-flat withHolston in sight. Both of us avoided the unpleasant subject of myenforced home-going. Evidently Dick felt cut up about it, and it causedme such a pang that I drove it from my mind. Toward the end of our rideDick began again to talk of forestry.

  "Ken, it's mighty interesting--all this you've said about trees. Some ofthe things are so simple that I wonder I didn't hit on them long ago; infact, I knew a lot of what you might call forestry, but the scientificideas--they stump me. Now, what you said about a pine-tree cleaningitself--come back at me with that."

  "Why, that's simple enough, Dick," I answered. "Now, say here we havea clump of pine saplings. They stand pretty close--close enough to makedense shade, but not too crowded. The shade has prevented the lowerbranches from producing leaves. As a consequence these branches die.Then they dry, rot, and fall off, so when the trees mature theyare clean-shafted. They have fine, clear trunks. They have cleanedthemselves, 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. Leaving our horsesin Cless's corral, we went to the hotel and proceeded to compose theletter. This turned out more of a task than we had bargained for. Butwe got it finished at last, not forgetting to put in a word for JimWilliams, and then we both signed it.

  "There!" I cried. "Dick, something will be doing round Holston beforemany days."

  "That's no joke, you can bet," replied Dick, wiping his face. "Ken, it'smade me sweat just to see that letter start East. Buell is a tough sort,and he'll make trouble. Well, he wants to steer clear of Jim and me."

  After that we fell silent, and walked slowly back toward Cless's corral.Dick's lips were closed tight, and he did not look at me. Evidentlyhe did not intend to actually put me aboard a train, and the time forparting had come. He watered his horses at the trough, and fussed overhis pack and fumbled with his saddle-girths. It looked to me as thoughhe had not the courage to say goodby.

  "Ken, it didn't look so bad--so mean till now," he said. "I'm all brokenup.... To get you way out here! Oh! what's the use? I'm mighty sorry....Good-bye--maybe--

  He broke off suddenly, and, wringing my hand, he vaulted into thesaddle. He growled at his pack-pony, and drove him out of the corral.Then he set off at a steady trot down the street toward the opencountry.

  It came to me in a flash, as I saw him riding farther and farther away,that the reason my heart was not broken was because I did not intend togo home. Dick had taken it for granted that I would board the next trainfor the East. But I was not going to do anything of the sort. To myamaze I found my mind made up on that score. I had no definite plan,but I was determined to endure almost anything rather than give up mymustang and outfit.

  "It's shift for myself now," I thought, soberly. "I guess I can makegood. ... I'm going back to Penetier."

  Even in the moment of impulse I knew how foolish this would be. But Icould not help it. That forest had bewitched me. I meant to go back toit.

  "I'll stay away from the sawmill," I meditated, growing lighter of heartevery minute. "I'll keep out of sight of the lumbermen. I'll go higherup on the mountain, and hunt, and study the trees.... I'll do it."

  Whereupon I marched off at once to a store and bought the supply ofprovisions that Buell had decided against when he helped me with myoutfit. This addition made packing the pony more of a problem than ever,but I contrived to get it all on to my satisfaction. It was nearingsunset when I rode out of Holston this second time. The sage flat wasbare and gray. Dick had long since reached the pines, and would probablymake camp at the spring where we had stopped for lunch. I certainly didnot want to catch up with him, but as there was small chance of that; itcaused me no concern.

  Shortly after sunset twilight fell, and it was night when I reached thefirst pine-trees. Still, as the trail was easily to be seen, I kept on,for I did not want to camp without water. The forest was very dark, insome places like a huge black tent, and I had not ridden far when theold fear of night, the fancy of things out there in the darkness, oncemore possessed me. It made me angry. Why could I not have the sameconfidence that I had in the daytime? It was impossible. The forest wasfull of moving shadows. When the wind came up to roar in the pine-tipsit was a relief because it broke the silence.

  I began to doubt whether I could be sure of locating the spring, and Ifinally decided to make camp at once. I stopped Hal, and had swung myleg over the pommel when I saw a faint glimmer of light far ahead. Ittwinkled like a star, but was not white and cold enough for a star.

  "That's Dick's campfire," I said. "I'll have to stop here. Maybe I'm tooclose now."

  I pondered the question. The blaze was a long way off, and I concludedI could risk camping on the spot, provided I did not make a fire.Accordingly I dismounted, and was searching for a suitable place whenI happened to think that the campfire might not be Dick's, after all.Perhaps Buell had sent the Mexican with Bud and Bill on my trail again.This would not do. But I did not want to go back or turn off the trail.

  "I'll slip up and see who it is," I decided.

  The idea pleased me; however, I did not yield to it without furtherconsideration. I had a clear sense of responsibility. I knew that fromnow on I should be called upon to reason out many perplexing things. Idid not want to make any mistakes. So I tied Hal and the pack-pony to abush fringing the trail, and set off through the forest.

  It dawned upon me presently that the campfire was much farther away thanit appeared. Often it went out of sight behind trees. By degrees it grewlarger and larger. Then I slowed down and approached more cautiously.Once when the trees obscured it I traveled some distance without gettinga good view of it. Passing down into a little hollow I lost it again.When I climbed out I hauled up short with a sharp catch of my breath.There were several figures moving around the campfire. I had stumbled ona camp that surely was not Dick Leslie's.

  The ground was as soft as velvet, and my footsteps gave forth no sound.When the wind lulled I paused behind a tree and waited for another gustyroar. I kept very close to the trail, for that was the only means bywhich I could return to my horses. I felt the skin tighten on my face.Suddenly, as I paused, I beard angry voices, pitched high. But I couldnot make out the words.

  Curiosity got the better of me. If the men were hired by Buell I wantedto know what they were quarrelling about. I stole stealthily from treeto tree, and another hollow opened beneath me. It was so wide and thepines so overshadowed it that I could not tell how close the oppositeside might be to the campfire. I slipped down along the edge of thetrail. The blaze disappeared. Only a faint arc of light showed throughthe gloom.

  I peered keenly into the blackness. At length I reached the slope. HereI dropped to my hands and knees.

  It was a long crawl to the top. Reaching it, I cautiously peeped over.There were trees hiding the fire. But it was close. I heard the voicesof men. I backed down the slope, crossed the trail, and came up on theother side. Pines grew thick on this level, and I stole silently fromone to another. Finally I reached the black trunk of a tree close to thecampfire.

  For a moment I lay low. I did not seem exactly afraid, but I was alltense and hard, and my heart drummed in my ears. There was somethingticklish about this scouting. Then I peeped out.

  It added little to my excitement to recognize the Mexican. He sat nearthe fire smoking a cigarette. Near him were several men, one of whomwas Bill. Facing them sat a man with his back to a small sapling. He wastied with a lasso.

  One glance at his white face made me drop behind the tree, where I laystunned and bewildered--for that man was Dick Leslie.