The Heart of the Red Firs: A Story of the Pacific NorthwestAnderson, Ada Woodruff
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The Heart of the Red Firs: A Story of the Pacific Northwest
Anderson, Ada Woodruff
Northwest, Pacific -- Fiction
"Yes, Mose was gone an’ ther wan’t nobody else ter hit."
"Hit? Do you mean he might have struck me?" She rose to her feet,
facing the boy. "Do you— Do men in this settlement ever strike the
women?"
He gave her a sidelong glance and thrust his hands deep into his
trousers pockets. "You bet," he answered.
There was a brief silence, then she said, and the vibration had not gone
from her voice, "No, Lem, I was not afraid, but I might have been if I
had known. Where I have lived men never strike women; they have other
ways. I was just thinking of Mose. I wanted to ask Mr. Laramie not to
be hard with him."
"Oh, don’t you bother ’bout Mose. He kin take care hisself. He’s got
more muscle now’n any other boy in ther hull deestrict, an’ it won’t be
long ’fore he kin turn in an’ thrash ther ole man."
There was another silence; the merriment again dimpled her mouth and she
looked off through the open door. Lem stooped and picked up a loose
sheet that had fluttered from the sketchbook to the floor. "Gee," he
said, "gee, but you kin draw."
"Yes?" Her glance returned and rested on the sheet interestedly. "What
is it, Lem?"
"Why, it’s er picture of ther timber-cruiser an’ that ther black horse
o’ his. Here’s ther same nice little star atween ther eyes, an’ I’ve
seen him fling up his head an’ point one ear jes that erway."
"So you know Colonel," she said, flushing, yet pleased at the
recognition. "Mr. Forrest bought him when he was a colt. He broke him,
and I am the only woman who ever mounted him."
"I ’low then you kin ride some. Ther ain’t never be’n no sech stepper
in this hull deestrict. Mill Thornton calc’lated he hed er prize when
he raised ther sorrel filly, but gee, I’ve seen ther black leave her
clear out o’ sight in less’n er minute."
The teacher laughed softly. "I know, I know, the beauty. And his
master, Lem. Did you ever see such a man in the saddle? So straight,
so easy, so ready at just the right instant with a quiet word, or else
that soft whistle."
"He kin ride," admitted Lem. "I’ve never seen him fizzle, an’ he’s be’n
out here off an’ on considerable; timber-cruisin’ first an’ then
prospectin’. He ’lowed last year he’d struck er gold mine or
somethin’."
"I know," she repeated, "I know. It was only a few miles from here he
found those splendid indications."
"Yes," said the boy with his impish smile, "an’ lost ’em."
"The mineral is there," she said with an upward tilt of her chin. "The
ore he brought down assayed remarkably rich. But he had broken his
compass that day and a heavy mist settled over every peak and spur.
There was absolutely nothing to mark a course from. Still, it’s there,
Lem, locked in the heart of the hills. He will find it again,
sometime."
She went over and took her hat from its peg on the wall, and Lem
followed, waiting on the steps while she locked the door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
The Heart of the Red Firs: A Story of the Pacific Northwest — John Shaqi
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