If a stag or a bear had trotted
out into my sight, and had showed me no animosity, not improbably I
would have forgotten my gun. More and more as I lived in the open I
grew reluctant to kill.
Presently a porcupine waddled along some rods away, and unaware of my
presence it passed by and climbed a spruce. I saw it climb high and
finally lost sight of it. In searching up and down this spruce I grew
alive to what a splendid and beautiful tree it was. Where so many
trees grew it always seemed difficult to single out one and study
it. This silver spruce was five feet through at the base, rugged,
gray-seamed, thick all the way to its lofty height. Its branches
were small, with a singular feature that they were uniform in shape,
length, and droop. Most all spruce branches drooped toward the ground.
That explained why they made such excellent shelters from rain. After
a hard storm I had seen the ground dry under a thick-foliaged spruce.
Many a time had I made a bed under one. Elk and deer stand under
a spruce during a rain, unless there is thunder and lightning. In
forests of high altitude, where lightning strikes many trees, I have
never found or heard of elk and deer being killed. This particular
spruce was a natural tent in the forest. The thick-spreading graceful
silver plumes extended clear to the top, where they were bushiest,
and rounded out, with all the largest branches there.
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