The Man of the Forest Part 29

"Why, Pedro! You have been fighting. Come here," she called.

The hound did not look guilty. He limped to her and held up his right fore paw. The action was unmistakable. Helen examined the injured member and presently found a piece of what looked like mussel-sh.e.l.l embedded deeply between the toes. The wound was swollen, b.l.o.o.d.y, and evidently very painful. Pedro whined. Helen had to exert all the strength of her fingers to pull it out. Then Pedro howled. But immediately he showed his grat.i.tude by licking her hand. Helen bathed his paw and bound it up.

When Dale returned she related the incident and, showing the piece of sh.e.l.l, she asked: "Where did that come from? Are there sh.e.l.ls in the mountains?"

"Once this country was under the sea," replied Dale. "I've found things that 'd make you wonder."

"Under the sea!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Helen. It was one thing to have read of such a strange fact, but a vastly different one to realize it here among these lofty peaks. Dale was always showing her something or telling her something that astounded her.

"Look here," he said one day. "What do you make of that little bunch of aspens?"

They were on the farther side of the park and were resting under a pine-tree. The forest here encroached upon the park with its straggling lines of spruce and groves of aspen. The little clump of aspens did not differ from hundreds Helen had seen.

"I don't make anything particularly of it," replied Helen, dubiously.

"Just a tiny grove of aspens--some very small, some larger, but none very big. But it's pretty with its green and yellow leaves fluttering and quivering."

"It doesn't make you think of a fight?"

"Fight? No, it certainly does not," replied Helen.

"Well, it's as good an example of fight, of strife, of selfishness, as you will find in the forest," he said. "Now come over, you an' Bo, an'

let me show you what I mean."

"Come on, Nell," cried Bo, with enthusiasm. "He'll open our eyes some more."

Nothing loath, Helen went with them to the little clump of aspens.

"About a hundred altogether," said Dale. "They're pretty well shaded by the spruces, but they get the sunlight from east an' south. These little trees all came from the same seedlings. They're all the same age. Four of them stand, say, ten feet or more high an' they're as large around as my wrist. Here's one that's largest. See how full-foliaged he is--how he stands over most of the others, but not so much over these four next to him. They all stand close together, very close, you see. Most of them are no larger than my thumb. Look how few branches they have, an' none low down. Look at how few leaves. Do you see how all the branches stand out toward the east an' south--how the leaves, of course, face the same way? See how one branch of one tree bends aside one from another tree.

That's a fight for the sunlight. Here are one--two--three dead trees.

Look, I can snap them off. An' now look down under them. Here are little trees five feet high--four feet high--down to these only a foot high. Look how pale, delicate, fragile, unhealthy! They get so little sunshine. They were born with the other trees, but did not get an equal start. Position gives the advantage, perhaps."

Dale led the girls around the little grove, ill.u.s.trating his words by action. He seemed deeply in earnest.

"You understand it's a fight for water an' sun. But mostly sun, because, if the leaves can absorb the sun, the tree an' roots will grow to grasp the needed moisture. Shade is death--slow death to the life of trees.

These little aspens are fightin' for place in the sunlight. It is a merciless battle. They push an' bend one another's branches aside an'

choke them. Only perhaps half of these aspens will survive, to make one of the larger clumps, such as that one of full-grown trees over there.

One season will give advantage to this saplin' an' next year to that one. A few seasons' advantage to one a.s.sures its dominance over the others. But it is never sure of holdin' that dominance. An 'if wind or storm or a strong-growin' rival does not overthrow it, then sooner or later old age will. For there is absolute and continual fight. What is true of these aspens is true of all the trees in the forest an' of all plant life in the forest. What is most wonderful to me is the tenacity of life."

And next day Dale showed them an even more striking example of this mystery of nature.

He guided them on horseback up one of the thick, verdant-wooded slopes, calling their attention at various times to the different growths, until they emerged on the summit of the ridge where the timber grew scant and dwarfed. At the edge of timber-line he showed a gnarled and knotted spruce-tree, twisted out of all semblance to a beautiful spruce, bent and storm-blasted, with almost bare branches, all reaching one' way. The tree was a specter. It stood alone. It had little green upon it. There seemed something tragic about its contortions. But it was alive and strong. It had no rivals to take sun or moisture. Its enemies were the snow and wind and cold of the heights.

Helen felt, as the realization came to her, the knowledge Dale wished to impart, that it was as sad as wonderful, and as mysterious as it was inspiring. At that moment there were both the sting and sweetness of life--the pain and the joy--in Helen's heart. These strange facts were going to teach her--to transform her. And even if they hurt, she welcomed them.

CHAPTER XI

"I'll ride you if it breaks--my neck!" panted Bo, pa.s.sionately, shaking her gloved fist at the gray pony.

Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face. Helen was within earshot, watching from the edge of the park, and she felt so fascinated and frightened that she could not call out for Bo to stop. The little gray mustang was a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black mane and tail, and a fine, spirited head. There was a blanket strapped on his back, but no saddle. Bo held the short halter that had been fastened in a hackamore knot round his nose. She wore no coat; her blouse was covered with gra.s.s and seeds, and it was open at the neck; her hair hung loose and disheveled; one side of her face bore a stain of gra.s.s and dirt and a suspicion of blood; the other was red and white; her eyes blazed; beads of sweat stood out on her brow and wet places shone on her cheeks. As she began to strain on the halter, pulling herself closer to the fiery pony, the outline of her slender shape stood out lithe and strong.

Bo had been defeated in her cherished and determined ambition to ride Dale's mustang, and she was furious. The mustang did not appear to be vicious or mean. But he was spirited, tricky, mischievous, and he had thrown her six times. The scene of Bo's defeat was at the edge of the park, where thick moss and gra.s.s afforded soft places for her to fall.

It also afforded poor foothold for the gray mustang, obviously placing him at a disadvantage. Dale did not bridle him, because he had not been broken to a bridle; and though it was harder for Bo to try to ride him bareback, there was less risk of her being hurt. Bo had begun in all eagerness and enthusiasm, loving and petting the mustang, which she named "Pony." She had evidently antic.i.p.ated an adventure, but her smiling, resolute face had denoted confidence. Pony had stood fairly well to be mounted, and then had pitched and tossed until Bo had slid off or been upset or thrown. After each fall Bo bounced up with less of a smile, and more of spirit, until now the Western pa.s.sion to master a horse had suddenly leaped to life within her. It was no longer fun, no more a daring circus trick to scare Helen and rouse Dale's admiration.

The issue now lay between Bo and the mustang.

Pony reared, snorting, tossing his head, and pawing with front feet.

"Pull him down!" yelled Dale.

Bo did not have much weight, but she had strength, an she hauled with all her might, finally bringing him down.

"Now hold hard an' take up rope an' get in to him," called Dale. "Good!

You're sure not afraid of him. He sees that. Now hold him, talk to him, tell him you're goin' to ride him. Pet him a little. An' when he quits shakin', grab his mane an' jump up an' slide a leg over him. Then hook your feet under him, hard as you can, an' stick on."

If Helen had not been so frightened for Bo she would have been able to enjoy her other sensations. Creeping, cold thrills chased over her as Bo, supple and quick, slid an arm and a leg over Pony and straightened up on him with a defiant cry. Pony jerked his head down, brought his feet together in one jump, and began to bounce. Bo got the swing of him this time and stayed on.

"You're ridin' him," yelled Dale. "Now squeeze hard with your knees.

Crack him over the head with your rope.... That's the way. Hang on now an' you'll have him beat."

The mustang pitched all over the s.p.a.ce adjacent to Dale and Helen, tearing up the moss and gra.s.s. Several times he tossed Bo high, but she slid back to grip him again with her legs, and he could not throw her.

Suddenly he raised his head and bolted. Dale answered Bo's triumphant cry. But Pony had not run fifty feet before he tripped and fell, throwing Bo far over his head. As luck would have it--good luck, Dale afterward said--she landed in a boggy place and the force of her momentum was such that she slid several yards, face down, in wet moss and black ooze.

Helen uttered a scream and ran forward. Bo was getting to her knees when Dale reached her. He helped her up and half led, half carried her out of the boggy place. Bo was not recognizable. From head to foot she was dripping black ooze.

"Oh, Bo! Are you hurt?" cried Helen.

Evidently Bo's mouth was full of mud.

"Pp--su--tt! Ough! Whew!" she sputtered. "Hurt? No! Can't you see what I lit in? Dale, the sun-of-a-gun didn't throw me. He fell, and I went over his head."

"Right. You sure rode him. An' he tripped an' slung you a mile," replied Dale. "It's lucky you lit in that bog."

"Lucky! With eyes and nose stopped up? Oooo! I'm full of mud. And my nice--new riding-suit!"

Bo's tones indicated that she was ready to cry. Helen, realizing Bo had not been hurt, began to laugh. Her sister was the funniest-looking object that had ever come before her eyes.

"Nell Rayner--are you--laughing--at me?" demanded Bo, in most righteous amaze and anger.

"Me laugh-ing? N-never, Bo," replied Helen. "Can't you see I'm just--just--"

"See? You idiot! my eyes are full of mud!" flashed Bo. "But I hear you.

I'll--I'll get even."

Dale was laughing, too, but noiselessly, and Bo, being blind for the moment, could not be aware of that. By this time they had reached camp.

Helen fell flat and laughed as she had never laughed before. When Helen forgot herself so far as to roll on the ground it was indeed a laughing matter. Dale's big frame shook as he possessed himself of a towel and, wetting it at the spring, began to wipe the mud off Bo's face. But that did not serve. Bo asked to be led to the water, where she knelt and, with splashing, washed out her eyes, and then her face, and then the bedraggled strands of hair.

"That mustang didn't break my neck, but he rooted my face in the mud.

I'll fix him," she muttered, as she got up. "Please let me have the towel, now.... Well! Milt Dale, you're laughing!"