Eben Holden: A Tale of the North CountryBacheller, Irving
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Eben Holden: A Tale of the North Country
Bacheller, Irving
Farm life -- Fiction; Historical fiction; New York (State) -- Fiction
Here Ab paused. He had a way of stopping always at the most interesting
point to puff at his pipe. It looked as if he were getting up steam for
another sentence and these delays had the effect of 'continued in our
next'.
'Kill 'im?' Uncle Eb asked.
'Licked him,' he said.
'Huh!' we remarked incredulously.
'Licked 'im,' he repeated chucking. 'Went into his cave with a sledge
stake an' whaled 'im--whaled 'im 'til he run fer his life.'
Whether it was true or not I have never been sure, even to this day, but
Ab's manner was at once modest and convincing.
'Should 'a thought he'd 'a rassled with ye,' Uncle Eb remarked.
'Didn't give 'im time,' said Ab, as he took out his knife and began
slowly to sharpen a stick.
'Don't never wan' t' rassle with no bear,' he added, 'but hams is too
scurce here 'n the woods t' hev 'em tuk away 'fore ye know the taste uv
'em. I ain't never been hard on bears. Don't seldom ever set no traps
an' I ain't shot a bear fer mor'n 'n ten year. But they've got t' be
decent. If any bear steals my vittles he's goin' t' git cuffed bard.'
Ab's tongue had limbered up at last. His pipe was going well and he
seemed to have struck an easy grade. There was a tone of injury and
aggrievement in his talk of the bear's ingratitude. He snailed over his
whittling as we laughed heartily at the droll effect of it all.
'D'ye ever hear o' the wild man 'at roams 'round'n these woods?' he
asked.
'Never did,' said Uncle Eb.
'I've seen 'im more times 'n ye could shake a stick at,' said Ab
crossing his legs comfortably and spitting into the fire. 'Kind o' thank
he's the same man folks tells uv down 'n Paradise Valley there--'at goes
'round 'n the clearin' after bedtime.'
'The night man!' I exclaimed.
'Guess thet's what they call 'im,' said Ab. 'Curus man! Sometimes I've
hed a good squint at 'im off 'n the woods. He's wilder 'n a deer an'
I've seen 'im jump over logs, half as high as this shanty, jest as easy
as ye 'd hop a twig. Tried t' foller 'im once er twice but tain' no use.
He's quicker 'n a wil' cat.'
'What kind of a lookin' man is he?' Tip Taylor asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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