the man of the forest-第40部分

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observations；　he　was　bound　to　confess　that　no　longer　did　the
chase　suffice　for　him。

Many　times　on　the　heights　that　day；　with　the　wind　keen　in
his　face；　and　the　vast　green　billows　of　spruce　below　him；　he
had　found　that　be　was　gazing　without　seeing；　halting　without
object；　dreaming　as　he　had　never　dreamed　before。

Once；　when　a　magnificent　elk　came　out　upon　a　rocky　ridge
and；　whistling　a　challenge　to　invisible　rivals；　stood　there
a　target　to　stir　any　hunter's　pulse；　Dale　did　not　even　raise
his　rifle。　　Into　his　ear　just　then　rang　Helen's　voice：　〃Milt
Dale；　you　are　no　Indian。　　Giving　yourself　to　a　hunter's
wildlife　is　selfish。　　It　is　wrong。　　You　love　this　lonely　life；
but　it　is　not　work。　　Work　that　does　not　help　others　is　not　a
real　man's　work。〃

From　that　moment　conscience　tormented　him。　　It　was　not　what
he　loved；　but　what　he　ought　to　do；　that　counted　in　the　sum
of　good　achieved　in　the　world。　　Old　Al　Auchincloss　had　been
right。　　Dale　was　wasting　strength　and　intelligence　that
should　go　to　do　his　share　in　the　development　of　the　West。
Now　that　he　had　reached　maturity；　if　through　his　knowledge
of　nature's　law　he　had　come　to　see　the　meaning　of　the　strife
of　men　for　existence；　for　place；　for　possession；　and　to　hold
them　in　contempt；　that　was　no　reason　why　he　should　keep
himself　aloof　from　them；　from　some　work　that　was　needed　in
an　incomprehensible　world。

Dale　did　not　hate　work；　but　he　loved　freedom。　　To　be　alone；
to　live　with　nature；　to　feel　the　elements；　to　labor　and
dream　and　idle　and　climb　and　sleep　unhampered　by　duty；　by
worry；　by　restriction；　by　the　petty　interests　of　men　　this
had　always　been　his　ideal　of　living。　　Cowboys；　riders；
sheep…herders；　farmers　　these　toiled　on　from　one　place　and
one　job　to　another　for　the　little　money　doled　out　to　them。
Nothing　beautiful；　nothing　significant　had　ever　existed　in
that　for　him。　　He　had　worked　as　a　boy　at　every　kind　of
range…work；　and　of　all　that　humdrum　waste　of　effort　he　had
liked　sawing　wood　best。　　Once　he　had　quit　a　job　of　branding
cattle　because　the　smell　of　burning　hide；　the　bawl　of　the
terrified　calf；　had　sickened　him。　　If　men　were　honest　there
would　be　no　need　to　scar　cattle。　　He　had　never　in　the　least
desired　to　own　land　and　droves　of　stock；　and　make　deals　with
ranchmen；　deals　advantageous　to　himself。　　Why　should　a　man
want　to　make　a　deal　or　trade　a　horse　or　do　a　piece　of　work
to　another　man's　disadvantage？　　Self…preservation　was　the
first　law　of　life。　　But　as　the　plants　and　trees　and　birds　and
beasts　interpreted　that　law；　merciless　and　inevitable　as
they　were；　they　had　neither　greed　nor　dishonesty。　　They　lived
by　the　grand　rule　of　what　was　best　for　the　greatest　number。

But　Dale's　philosophy；　cold　and　clear　and　inevitable；　like
nature　itself；　began　to　be　pierced　by　the　human　appeal　in
Helen　Rayner's　words。　　What　did　she　mean？　　Not　that　he　should
lose　his　love　of　the　wilderness；　but　that　he　realize
himself！　　Many　chance　words　of　that　girl　had　depth。　　He　was
young；　strong；　intelligent；　free　from　taint　of　disease　or
the　fever　of　drink。　　He　could　do　something　for　others。　　Who？
If　that　mattered；　there；　for　instance；　was　poor　old　Mrs。
Cass；　aged　and　lame　now；　there　was　Al　Auchincloss；　dying　in
his　boots；　afraid　of　enemies；　and　wistful　for　his　blood　and
his　property　to　receive　the　fruit　of　his　labors；　there　were
the　two　girls；　Helen　and　Bo；　new　and　strange　to　the　West；
about　to　be　confronted　by　a　big　problem　of　ranch　life　and
rival　interests。　　Dale　thought　of　still　more　people　in　the
little　village　of　Pine　　of　others　who　had　failed；　whose
lives　were　hard；　who　could　have　been　made　happier　by
kindness　and　assistance。

What；　then；　was　the　duty　of　Milt　Dale　to　himself？　　Because
men　preyed　on　one　another　and　on　the　weak；　should　he　turn
his　back　upon　a　so…called　civilization　or　should　he　grow
like　them？　　Clear　as　a　bell　came　the　answer　that　his　duty　was
to　do　neither。　　And　then　he　saw　how　the　little　village　of
Pine；　as　well　as　the　whole　world；　needed　men　like　him。　　He
had　gone　to　nature；　to　the　forest；　to　the　wilderness　for　his
development；　and　all　the　judgments　and　efforts　of　his　future
would　be　a　result　of　that　education。

Thus　Dale；　lying　in　the　darkness　and　silence　of　his　lonely
park；　arrived　at　a　conclusion　that　he　divined　was　but　the
beginning　of　a　struggle。

It　took　long　introspection　to　determine　the　exact　nature　of
that　struggle；　but　at　length　it　evolved　into　the　paradox
that　Helen　Rayner　had　opened　his　eyes　to　his　duty　as　a　man；
that　he　accepted　it；　yet　found　a　strange　obstacle　in　the
perplexing；　tumultuous；　sweet　fear　of　ever　going　near　her
again。

Suddenly；　then；　all　his　thought　revolved　around　the　girl；
and；　thrown　off　his　balance；　he　weltered　in　a　wilderness　of
unfamiliar　strange　ideas。

When　he　awoke　next　day　the　fight　was　on　in　earnest。　　In　his
sleep　his　mind　had　been　active。　　The　idea　that　greeted　him；
beautiful　as　the　sunrise；　flashed　in　memory　of　Auchincloss's
significant　words；　〃Take　your　chance　with　the　girl！〃

The　old　rancher　was　in　his　dotage。　　He　hinted　of　things
beyond　the　range　of　possibility。　　That　idea　of　a　chance　for
Dale　remained　before　his　consciousness　only　an　instant。
Stars　were　unattainable；　life　could　not　be　fathomed；　the
secret　of　nature　did　not　abide　alone　on　the　earth　　these
theories　were　not　any　more　impossible　of　proving　than　that
Helen　Rayner　might　be　for　him。

Nevertheless；　her　strange　coming　into　his　life　had　played
havoc；　the　extent　of　which　he　had　only　begun　to　realize。


For　a　month　he　tramped　through　the　forest。　　It　was　October；　a
still　golden；　fulfilling　season　of　the　year；　and　everywhere
in　the　vast　dark　green　a　glorious　blaze　of　oak　and　aspen
made　beautiful　contrast。　　He　carried　his　rifle；　but　he　never
used　it。　　He　would　climb　miles　and　go　this　way　and　that　with
no　object　in　view。　　Yet　his　eye　and　ear　had　never　been
keener。　　Hours　he　would　spend　on　a　promontory；　watching。　　the
distance；　where　the　golden　patches　of　aspen　shone　bright　out
of　dark…green　mountain　slopes。　　He　loved　to　fling　himself
down　in　an　aspen…grove　at　the　edge　of　a　senaca；　and　there
lie　in　that　radiance　like　a　veil　of　gold　and　purple　and　red；
with　the　white　tree…trunks　striping　the　shade。　　Always；
whether　there　were　breeze　or　not；　the　aspen…leaves　quivered；
ceaselessly；　wonderfully；　like　his　pulses；　beyond　his
control。　　Often　he　reclined　against　a　mossy　rock　beside　a
mountain　stream　to　listen；　to　watch；　to　feel　all　that　was
there；　while　his　mind　held　a　haunting；　dark…eyed　vision　of　a
girl。　　On　the　lonely　heights；　like　an　eagle；　he　sat　gazing
down　into　Paradise　Park；　that　was　more　and　more　beautiful；
but　would　never　again　be　the　same；　never　fill　him　with
content；　never　be　all　and　all　to　him。

Late　in　October　the　first　snow　fell。　　It　melted　at　once　on
the　south　side　of　the　park；　but　the　north　slopes　and　the
rims　and　domes　above　stayed　white。

Dale　had　worked　quick　and　hard　at　curing　and　storing　his
winter　supply　of　food；　and　now　he　spent　days　chopping　and
splitting　wood　to　burn　during　the　months　he　would　be
snowed…in。　　He　watched　for　the　dark…gray；　fast…scudding
storm…clouds；　and　welcomed　them　when　they　came。　　Once　there
lay　ten　feet　of　snow　on　the　trails　he　would　be　snowed…in
until　spring。　　It　would　be　impossible　to　go　down　to　Pine。　　And
perhaps　during　the　long　winter　he　would　be　cured　of　this
strange；　nameless　disorder　of　his　feelings。

November　brought　storms　up　on　the　peaks。　　Flurries　of　snow
fell　in　the　park　every　day；　but　the　sunny　south　side；　where
Dale's　camp　lay；　retained　its　autumnal　color　and　warmth。　　Not
till　late　in　winter　did　the　snow　creep　over　this　secluded
nook。

The　morning　came　at　last；　piercingly　keen　and　bright；　when
Dale　saw　that　the　heights　were　impassable；　the　realization
brought　him　a　poignant　regret。　　He　had　not　guessed　how　he　had
wanted　to　see　Helen　Rayner　again　until　it　was　too　late。　　That
opened　his　eyes。　　A　raging　frenzy　of　action　followed；　in
which　he　only　tired　himself　physically　without　helping
himself　spiritually。

It　was　sunset　when　he　faced　the　west；　looking　up　at　the　pink
snow…domes　and　the　dark…golden　fringe　of　spruce；　and　in　that
moment　he　found　the　truth。

〃I　love　that　girl！　　I　love　that　girl！〃　he　spoke　aloud；　to　the
distant　white　peaks；　to　the　winds；　to　the　loneliness　and
silence　of　his　prison；　to　the　great　pines　and　to　the
murmuring　stream；　and　to　his　faithful　pets。　　It　was　his
tragic　confession　of　weakness；　of　amazing　truth；　of　hopeless
position；　of　pitiful　excuse　for　the　transformation　wrought
in　him。

Dale's　struggle　ended　there　when　he　faced　his　soul。　　To
understand　himself　was　to　be　released　from　strain；　worry；
ceaseless　importuning　doubt　and　wonder　and　fear。　　But　the
fever　of　unrest；　of　uncertainty；　had　been　nothing　compared
to　a　sudden　upflashing　torment　of　love。

With　somber　deliberation　he　set　about　the　tasks　needful；　and
others　that　he　might　make　　his　camp…fires　and　meals；　the
care　of　his　pets　and　horses；　the　mending　of　saddles　and
pack…harness；　the　curing　of　buckskin　for　moccasins　and
hunting…suits。　　So　his　days　were　not　idle。　　But　all　this　work
was　habit　for　him　and　needed　no　application　of　mind。

And　Dale；　like　some　men　of　lonely　wilderness　lives　who