I heard Romer running, but could not see him. Then his
high voice pealed out: "I got him, Dad. You made a grand peg!"
Not only had Romer gotten him, but he insisted on packing him back to
camp. The gobbler was the largest I ever killed, not indeed one of the
huge thirty-five pounders, but a fat, heavy turkey, and quite a load
for a boy. Romer packed him down that steep slope in the dark without
a slip, for which performance I allowed him to stay up a while around
the camp-fire.
The Haughts came over from their camp that night and visited us. Much
as I loved to sit alone beside a red-embered fire at night in the
forest, or on the desert, I also liked upon occasions to have company.
We talked and talked. Old-timer Doyle told more than one of his "in
the early days" stories. Then Haught told us some bear stories. The
first was about an old black bear charging and sliding down at him. He
said no hunter should ever shoot at a bear above him, because it could
come down at him as swiftly as a rolling rock. This time he worked the
lever of his rifle at lightning speed, and at the last shot he "shore
saw bear hair right before his eyes." His second story was about a
boy who killed a bear, and was skinning it when five more bears came
along, in single file, and made it very necessary that he climb a tree
until they had gone. His third story was about an old she-bear that
had two cubs.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273