by Zane Grey
“You may have to stay here with me…for weeks…maybe months…if we’ve the bad luck to get snowed in,” he said slowly, as if startled at this deduction. “You’re safe here. No sheep thief could ever find this camp. I’ll take risks to get you safe into Al’s hands. But I’m goin’ to be pretty sure about what I’m doin’…. So…there’s plenty to eat an’ it’s a pretty place.”
“Pretty! Why, it’s grand!” exclaimed Bo. “I’ve called it Paradise Park.”
“Paradise Park,” he repeated, weighing the words. “You’ve named it an’ also the creek. Paradise Creek! I’ve been here twelve years with no fit name for my home till you said that.”
“Oh, that pleases me,” returned Bo, with shining eyes.
“Eat now,” said Dorn. “An’ I reckon you’ll like that turkey.”
There was a clean tarpaulin upon which were spread steaming fragrant pans—roast turkey, hot biscuits and gravy, mashed potatoes as white as if prepared at home, stewed dried apples, and butter and coffee. This bounteous repast surprised and delighted the girls, and, when they had once tasted the roast wild turkey, then Milt Dorn had reason to blush at their encomiums.
“I hope…Uncle Al…doesn’t come…for a month,” declared Bo as she tried to get her breath. There was a brown spot on her nose and one in each cheek, suspiciously close to her mouth.
Dorn laughed. It was pleasant to hear him, for his laugh seemed unused and deep, as if it came from tranquil depths.
“Won’t you eat with us?” asked Helen.
“Reckon I will,” he said. “It’ll save time an’ hot grub tastes better.”
Quite an interval of silence ensued, which presently was broken by Dorn.
“Here comes Tom.”
Helen observed with a thrill that the cougar was magnificent, seen erect on all fours, approaching with slow sinuous grace. His color was tawny with spots of whitish gray. He had bowlegs, big and round and furry, and a huge head with great tawny eyes. No matter how tame he was said to be, he looked wild. Like a dog he walked right up and it so happened that he was directly behind Bo, within reach of her when she turned.
“Oh, Lord!” cried Bo, and up went both of her hands, in one of which was a huge piece of turkey. Tom took it, not viciously, but nevertheless with a snap that made Helen jump. As if by magic the turkey vanished. And Tom took a closer step toward Bo. Her expression of fright changed to consternation.
“He stole my turkey.”
“Tom, come here,” ordered Dorn sharply. The cougar glided around rather sheepishly. “Now lie down an’ behave.”
Tom crouched on all fours, his head resting on his paws, with his beautiful tawny eyes, light and piercing, fixed upon the hunter.
“Don’t grab,” said Dorn, holding out a piece of turkey. Whereupon Tom took it less voraciously.
As it happened the little bear cub saw this transaction, and he plainly indicated his opinion of the preference showed to Tom.
“Oh, the dear!” exclaimed Bo. “He means it’s not fair…. Come, Bud…come on.”
But Bud would not approach the group until called by Dorn. Then he scrambled to them with every manifestation of delight. Bo almost forgot her own needs in feeding him, and getting acquainted with him. Tom plainly showed his jealousy of Bud, and Bud likewise showed his fear of the great cat.
Helen could not believe the evidence of her eyes—that she was in the woods, calmly and hungrily partaking of sweet, wild-flavored meat—that a full-grown mountain lion lay on one side of her and a baby brown bear sat on the other—that a strange hunter, a man of the forest, there in his lonely and isolated fastness, appealed to the romance in her and interested her as no one else she had ever met.
When the wonderful meal was at last finished, Bo enticed the bear cub around to the camp of the girls, and there soon became great comrades with him. Helen, watching Bo play, was inclined to envy her. No matter where Bo was placed, she always got something out of it. She adapted herself. She who could have a good time with almost anyone or anything would find the hours sweet and fleeting in this beautiful park of wild wonders.
But merely objective actions—merely physical movements had never yet contented Helen. She could run and climb and ride and play with hearty and healthy abandon, but those things would not suffice long for her, and her mind needed food. Helen was a thinker. One reason she had desired to make her home in the West was that by taking up a life of the open, of action, she might think and dream and brood less. And here she was in the wild West, after the three most strenuously active days of her career, and still the same old giant revolved her mind and turned it upon herself and upon all she saw.
“What can I do?” she asked Bo almost helplessly.
“Why rest, you silly,” retorted Bo. “You walk like an old crippled woman with only one leg.”
Helen hoped the comparison was undeserved, but the advice was sound. The blankets spread out in the grass looked inviting and they felt comfortably warm in the sunshine. The breeze was slow, languorous, fragrant, and it brought the low hum of the murmuring waterfall, like a melody of bees. Helen made a pillow and lay down to rest. The green pine needles, so thin and fine in their crisscrossed network, showed clearly against the blue sky. She looked in vain for birds. Then her gaze went wonderingly to the lofty fringed rim of the great amphitheater, and, as she studied it, she began to grasp its remoteness, how far away it was in the rarified atmosphere. A black ea gle, sweeping along, looked of tiny size, and yet he was far under the heights above. How pleasant she fancied it to be up there. And drowsy fancy lulled her to sleep.
Helen slept all afternoon and, upon awakening toward sunset, found Bo curled beside her. Dorn had thoughtfully covered them with a blanket; also he had built a campfire. The air was growing keen and cold.
Later, when they had put on their coats and made comfortable seats beside the fire, Dorn came over, apparently to visit them.
“I reckon you can’t sleep all the time,” he said. “An’ bein’ city girls you’ll get lonesome.”
“Lonesome!” echoed Helen. The idea of her being lonesome here had not occurred to her.
“I’ve thought that all out,” went on Dorn as he sat down, Indian fashion, before the blaze. “It’s natural you’d find time drag up here, bein’ used to lots of people an’ goin’s on, an’ work, an’ all girls like.”
“I’d never be lonesome here,” replied Helen with her direct force.
Dorn did not betray surprise, but he showed that his mistake was something to ponder over.
“Excuse me,” he said presently, as his gray eyes held hers. “That’s how I had it. As I remember girls…an’ it doesn’t seem long since I left home…most of them would die of lonesomeness up here.” Then he addressed himself to Bo. “How about you? You see I figured you’d be the one that liked it, an’ your sister the one who wouldn’t.”
“I won’t get lonesome very soon,” replied Bo.
“I’m glad. It worried me some…not ever havin’ girls as company before. An’ in a day or so, when you’re rested, I’ll help you pass the time.”
Bo’s eyes were full of flashing interest, and Helen asked him: “How?”
It was a sincere expression of her curiosity and not either a doubtful or ironic challenge of an educated woman to a man of the forest. But as a challenge he took it.
“How?” he repeated, and a strange smile flitted across his face. “Why, by givin’ you rides an’ climbs to beautiful places. An’ then, if you’re interested, to show you how little so-called civilized people know of Nature.”
Helen realized then that what ever his calling, hunter or wanderer or hermit, he was not uneducated, even if he appeared illiterate.
“I’ll be happy to learn from you,” she said.
“Me, too!” chimed in Bo. “You can’t tell too much to anyone from Missouri.”
He smiled then, and that warmed Helen to him, for then he seemed less removed from other people. About this hunter there began to be someth
ing of the very nature of which he spoke—a stillness, aloofness, an unbreakable tranquility, a cold clear spirit like that in the mountain air, a physical something not unlike the tamed wildness of his pets, or the strength of the pines.
“I’ll bet I can tell you more’n you’ll ever remember,” he said.
“What’ll you bet,” retorted Bo.
“Well, more roast turkey against…say somethin’ wise when you’re safe an’ home to your Uncle Al’s, runnin’ his ranch.”
“Agreed. Nell, you hear?”
Helen nodded her head.
“All right. We’ll leave it to Nell,” began Dorn half seriously. “Now I’ll tell you, first, for the fun of passin’ time we’ll ride an’ race my horses out in the park. An’ we’ll fish in the brooks an’ hunt in the woods. There’s an old silvertip around that you can see me kill. An’ we’ll climb to the peaks an’ see wonderful sights…. So much for that. Now, if you really want to learn…or if you only want me to tell you…well, that’s no matter. Only I’ll win the bet. You’ll see how this park lies on the crater of a volcano an’ was once full of water…an’ how the snow blows in on one side in winter, a hundred feet deep, when there’s none in the other…. An’ the trees…how they grow an’ live an’ fight one another an’ depend on each other, an’ protect the forest from storm winds…. An’ how they hold the water that is the fountains of the great rivers…. An’ how the creatures an’ things that live in them or on them are good for them, an’ neither could live without the other…. An’ then I’ll show you my pets tame an’ untamed, an’ tell you how it’s man that makes any creature wild…how easy they are to tame…an’ how they learn to love you…. An’ there’s the life of the forest, the strife of it…how the bear lives, an’ the cats, an’ the wolves, an’ the deer…. You’ll see how cruel Nature is…how savage an’ wild the wolf or cougar tears down the deer…how a wolf loves fresh hot blood an’ how a cougar unrolls the skin of a deer back from his neck…. An’ you’ll see that this cruelty of Nature…this work of the wolf an’ cougar is what makes the deer so beautiful an’ healthy an’ swift an’ sensitive. Without his deadly foes the deer would deteriorate an’ die out…. An’ you’ll see how this principle works out among all creatures of the forest. Strife! It’s the meanin’ of all creation an’ the salvation…. If you’re quick to see, you’ll learn that the Nature here in the wilds is the same as that of men…only men are no longer cannibals. Trees fight to live…birds fight…animals fight…men fight…. They all live off one another. An’ it’s this fightin’ that brings them all closer an’ closer to bein’ perfect. But nothin’ will ever be perfect.”
“But how about religion?” interrupted Helen earnestly.
“Nature has a religion an’ it’s to live…to grow…to reproduce, each of its kind.”
“But that is not God in the immortality of the soul,” declared Helen.
“Well, it’s as close to God an’ immortality as Nature ever gets.”
“Oh, you would rob me of my religion!”
“No, I just talk as I see life,” replied Dorn reflectively, as he poked a stick into the red embers of the fire. “Maybe I have a religion. I don’t know. But it’s not the kind you have…not the Bible kind…. That kind doesn’t keep the men in Pine an’ Snowdrop an’ all over…sheepmen an’ ranchers an’ farmers an’ travelers, such as I’ve known…the religion they prefer doesn’t keep them from lyin’, cheatin’, stealin’, an’ killin’…. I reckon no man who lives as I do, which perhaps is my religion, will lie or cheat or kill, unless it’s to kill in self-defense or like I’d do if Snake Anson would ride up here now…. My religion, maybe, is love of life…wild life as it was in the beginnin’…an’ the wind that blows secrets from everywhere, an’ the water that sings all day an’ night, an’ the stars that shine constant, an’ the trees that speak somehow, an’ the rocks that aren’t dead…. I’m never alone here or on the trails. There’s somethin’ unseen, but always with me. An’ that’s it. Call it God if you like…. But what stalls me is…where was that spirit when this earth was a ball of fiery gas? Where will that spirit be when all life is frozen out or burned out on this globe an’ it hangs dead in space like the moon? That time will come…. There’s no waste in Nature. Not the littlest atom is destroyed. It changes, that’s all, as you see this pine wood go up in smoke an’ feel somethin’ that’s heat come out of it. Where does that go? It’s not lost. Nothin’ is lost…. So, the beautiful an’ savin’ thought is, maybe all rock an’ wood, water an’ blood an’ flesh are resolved back into the elements to come to life somewhere again sometime.”
“Oh, what you say is wonderful, but it’s terrible!” exclaimed Helen. He had struck deep into her soul.
“Terrible? I reckon,” he replied sadly.
Then ensued a little interval of silence.
“Milt Dorn, I lose the bet,” declared Bo with earnestness behind her frivolity.
“I’d forgotten that. Reckon I talked a lot,” he said apologetically. “You see I don’t get much chance to talk, except to myself or Tom. Years ago, when I found the habit of silence settlin’ down on me, I took to thinkin’ out loud an’ talkin’ to anythin’.”
“I could listen to you all night,” returned Bo dreamily.
“Do you read…do you have books?” inquired Helen suddenly.
“Yes. I read tolerable well, a good deal better than I talk or write,” he replied. “I went to school till I was fifteen. Always hated study, but liked to read…. Years ago an old friend of mine down here at Pine…Widow Cass…she gave me a lot of old books. An’ I packed them up here. Winter’s the time I read.”
Conversation lagged after that, except for desultory remarks, and presently Dorn bade the girls good night and left them.
Helen watched his tall form vanish in the gloom under the pines, and, after he had disappeared, she still stared.
“Nell!” called Bo shrilly. “I’ve called you three times. I want to go to bed.”
“Oh! I…I was thinking,” rejoined Helen, half embarrassed, half wondering at herself. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I should smile you didn’t,” retorted Bo. “Wish you could just have seen your eyes…. Nell, do you want me to tell you something?”
“Why…yes,” said Helen rather feebly. She did not at all, when Bo talked like that.
“You’re going to fall in love with that wild hunter,” declared Bo in a voice that rang like a bell.
Helen was not only amazed, but enraged. She caught her breath, preparatory to giving this incorrigible sister a piece of her mind.
Bo went calmly on. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“Bo, you’re a little fool…a sentimental, romancing, gushy little fool!” retorted Helen. “All you seem to hold in your head is some rot about love. To hear you talk one would think there’s nothing else in the world but love.”
Bo’s eyes were bright, shrewd, affectionate, and laughing as she bent their steady gaze upon Helen.
“Nell, that’s just it. There is…nothing else!”
Chapter Ten
After a few days of riding the grassy level of that wonderfully gold and purple park, and dreamily listening by day to the ever low and ever changing murmur of the waterfall, and by night to the wild lonely mourn of a hunting wolf, and climbing to the dizzy heights where the wind stung sweetly, Helen Rayner lost track of time and forgot her peril.
Roy Beeman did not return. If occasionally Dorn mentioned Roy and his quest, the girls had little to say beyond a recurrent anxiety for the old uncle, and then they forgot again. Paradise Park, lived in a little while at that season of the year, would have claimed anyone, and ever afterward haunted sleeping or waking dreams.
Bo took at once to the wild life, to the horses and rides, to the camp work, for the girls had insisted on doing their share, to the many pets, and especially to the cougar, Tom. The big cat followed Bo everywhere, played with her, rolling and pawing, kitten-like, and he would lay his massive head in her lap
to purr his content. Bo had little fear of anything. And here in the wilds she soon lost that.
One of Dorn’s pets was a half-grown black bear named Muss. He was abnormally jealous of little Bud and he had a well-developed hatred of Tom; otherwise, he was a very good-tempered bear and enjoyed Dorn’s impartial regard. Tom, however, chased Muss out of camp whenever Dorn’s back was turned, and sometimes Muss stayed away, shifting for himself. With the advent of Bo, who spent a good deal of time on the animals, Muss manifestly found the camp more attractive. Whereupon Dorn predicted trouble between Tom and Muss.
Bo liked nothing better than a rough and tumble frolic with the black bear. Muss was not very big or very heavy, and in a wresting bout with the strong and wiry girl he sometimes came out second best. It spoke well of him that he seemed to be careful not to hurt Bo. He never bit or scratched, although he sometimes gave her sounding slaps with his paws. Whereupon Bo would clench her gauntleted fists and sail into him in earnest.
One afternoon, before the early supper they always had, Dorn and Helen were watching Bo teasing the bear. She was in her most vixenish mood, full of life and fight. Tom lay all his long length on the grass, watching with narrow gleaming eyes.
When Bo and Muss locked in an embrace and went down to roll over and over, Dorn called Helen’s attention to the cougar. “Tom’s jealous. It’s strange how animals are like people. Pretty soon I’ll have to corral Muss or there’ll be a fight.”
Helen could not see anything wrong with Tom except that he did not look playful.
During suppertime both bear and cougar disappeared, although this was not remarkable until afterwards. Dorn whistled and called, but the rival pets did not return. Next morning Tom was there, curled up snugly at the foot of Bo’s bed, and, when she arose, he followed her around as usual. But Muss did not return.
The circumstance made Dorn anxious. He left camp, taking Tom with him and, upon returning, stated that he had followed Muss’s tracks as far as possible, and then had tried to put Tom on the trail, but the cougar would not or could not follow it. Dorn said Tom never liked a bear trail, anyway—cougars and bears being common enemies. So whether by accident or design Bo lost one of her playmates.