CHAPTER II
OUT OF THE WOODS
For over an hour Hiram Hooker lay perfectly still at the creekside.His wide-open eyes stared dreamily into the water. His mind wasstunned by the present situation. Feverishly and against his will histhoughts went hurrying back over the years which had led up to thismomentous climax.
A woman moved frequently across the picture--a bent, tired, work-warpedwoman--his mother. The pitiable leanness of the life of Hiram's motherhad been appalling. One word stood for the tenor of her days from sunto sun--nothing. She had never seen a piano or a typewriter, or even awashing machine. Silent, unmurmuring, she had given her life fornothing and gone.
Swiftly came in the picture the likeness of Hiram's father--tall,bewhiskered, strong as an ox, soft-voiced, and easy-going. Nothing butkindness had emanated from the father to his wife and child. FosterHooker, too, had slaved his life away for nothing. The rocky land hadclaimed him and held him down. They had had enough to eat and to keepthem warm--beyond that, nothing. Now he lay with Hiram's motherbetween the big bull pines on Wild-cat Hill.
There was in Hiram's thoughts no bitterness against his parents. Theyhad been always kind and had given their best to him. The rocky landhad held them chained. It offered sustenance, and of the bigprogressing world beyond they had lived afraid. In the early days theyhad buried themselves in the big woods to make their fortune. But thefortune was not there, and old age crept on. Old age told them thatthe world outside had passed beyond them, and they were afraid.
After all, had they given Hiram nothing? In his bitter moments he hadthought so, but to-day his thoughts were mellowed. He was on the eveof leaving everything that held memories of them. Had they not givenhim of themselves a love for the grandeur of these woods which touchedno other soul, save Uncle Sebastian's, perhaps, in all the valley?Hiram saw more in a redwood tree than the natives did; saw the beautyof contrast in the open spots in the forest, where the others saw onlygrazing ground for cattle; saw wonders in the rioting streams without athought of miners' inches. His father had taught him the love ofbooks, but there had been so few to love. He had taught him to think.Hiram was weird, queer, a "leetle cracked" to the others of BearValley. Uncle Sebastian alone had understood him--had sympathized withhim and helped him.
Now, though, it was over. He was leaving forever. One hundreddollars! He had never possessed so much in his twenty-six starvedyears! An exultation seized him which beat throbbingly in his templesand fired his soul with recklessness. He was bound out into the GreatUnknown, where the promises of his dreams would be fulfilled. He woulddo great things, live great adventures, then come back to scoff at them!
He sprang to his feet, collected the backless magazines, and climbedthe bank. With long strides he hurried along the bark road which woundround the contour of the hills. An hour later he was trotting down amanzanita slope to his cabin, nestled in the cup of the hills,surrounded by the whispering firs.
Just within he paused and looked about as if seeing the sordidness ofhis home for the first time. All the way up the hill the exultation ofimpending departure had thrilled him. It thrilled him still, and a newfeeling of contempt of what he saw came over him.
A panther skin hung on the rough, unpainted wall above the black andcheerless fireplace, three sets of antlers surrounding it. Near thefireplace lay an unsightly pile of wood and chips. The doors of thecracked and rusty stove were gaping wide. The remains of his breakfastwere on the clothless, homemade table. His rifle, the only thing wellkept, stood in a corner.
He passed through into the other room, separated from this by a thinboard partition. There, in oval walnut frames, hung the pictures ofthe two who lay between the big bull pines on Wild-cat Hill. A slightsense of depression seized him. The bed unmade, brought a sparkle ofanger to his eyes. He was disgusted with himself, but it did not last.The thought of the adventures that lay beyond and beckoned cameuppermost once more. "The girl" beckoned, too.
Yes, there was a girl. Hiram had seen her only in his dreams. She wasnot like Bear Valley girls. She was large and sturdy and strong, andher hair was of such dark brown as to seem almost black, her eyes darkand large and lustrous. She was a queen among women, this girl of hisdreams. About her hung some great mystery, and adventure followed inher footsteps. Out there somewhere beyond Bear Valley she stoodbeckoning him to come!
He went to bed early, to toss for hours and at last to drop intofretful, torturing dreams. The scream of a panther awoke him once.
He was up before sunrise, cooking his bacon and coffee and fryingslices of cold biscuit in the bacon grease.
The east was pink when he left the cabin, carrying the rifle, which hemeant to give to Uncle Sebastian. Everything else he left behind. Hetook a short cut over Wild-cat Hill. On its crest, between the twobull pines, he stopped before two graces.
The red sun was peering through the saddle of Signal Hill. Cold mistsrose from the forest. In the air was the breath of the morning.Weirdly the early wind moaned through the needles of the tall bullpines. Up from the canon came the roaring of Ripley Creek as it racedto the sea.
A lump came in Hiram's throat that he could not down. At his feet laythose who had lived and starved for him through the countless denialsof this wilderness. Below him lay the cabin which he had known as homefor twenty-six long years. About him stretched the grandeur of thisuntarnished land. Scalding tears burst from his eyes. Some monstrousogre had arisen to crush him. They were driving him from his home,from the land of his birth, from the spots he loved! No bittererperiod ever came in Hiram's life than when he stood that misty morningand watched the sun rise on the turning point of his career. Blindlyhe stumbled down Wild-cat Hill and took up the long road to Bixler'sstore. They were driving him, like Hagar, from all that he held dear,and there was hatred in his heart.
The She Boss: A Western Story Page 2