Kingsbury County independent. (DeSmet, Kingsbury County, S.D.) 1894-1929, 1909-04-23
CHAPTER VIII.

| THE FIRING OF HELLER'S CABIN
on the night of the ninth of April
there swirled over the Seven Mountains
a wild whisk of snow hat plastered
the landscape as with whitewash. Five
inches deep IL lay and hung and stuck.
Every flake clung where II fell, n In
the morning the world was a study in
white-a fluff OF CLOUD above, like a
fleece over the hills held up by the
ridges, and a smudge of snow beneath.
that concealed every colour and out
line. II was ike q world in a dream.
Every twig was a main branch, every
thread a cable, every fence rail q saw
log. Saplings and branches bowed to
the earth beneath festoons more gor-
geous thar those of Christmas. For a
day and a night the Seven Mountains
were a realm beyond the dreams of
fairyland. Then the sun came out.
Tom Farthing saw the beauty of the
morning and thought of bears, for Tom
was a hunter, and the morning was one
of a thousand. If the clouds did not
break, letting out the sun he felt sure
of a bear, provided one had moved dur
ing the night. Therefore Tom was up
in the Gap before five. making for the
Wild Meadows. At six he was on the
summit of Raccoon Ridge, looking to-
ward the north, where the meadows
lay smooth and white among the welter
of the hills like an oil spot at sea.
Eager as he was, he paused and
swept his yes about the horizon. For.
a moment the poet in the man domi-
mated the hunter II was like q frost
picture on a mighty window. At his
feet. in the direction from which he had
come. lay the V-like trough of Plum
Run, then Heller's Ridge with its sud
den GAP. then the dead level of He'll
Bottom with every trace of man
Smoothed out, then the fog. On every
side a wild, chaotic world without coll
our or sharp angle, Enthusiastically be-
ruff1ed with the o
He paused but a moment, then he
plunged over the ridge-crest down to-
wards the meadows, stumbling into pit
falls, tripping over stones and brush,
and drenching himself through and
through with the snow from the low
shrubbery. AT seven he entered the
rhododendron slough known as the
Wild Meadows.
The detail Of Toms day do not con-
Germ this tale. He killed no bears,
though he tramped far; but late in the
afternoon ne found himself
ly hungry, wet to the skin, tired as a
young fellow of 20 ever gets, down on
Roaring Run just where IL is Joined
by the Plum Run stream From this
point there are two ways of reaching
Heller'S Gap; one up through the rough
bottom between Raccoon and Roaring
Ridges-a rocky hole with a brush snarl
like a barbed wire tangle, and the other
through the jaws of Roaring Run and
out to the He'll Bottom pike.
With the smear of greasy snGw over
brush and rocks, Plum Run was u Of
the question, and the longer route
through the gap was well nigh so.
Even in summer, when the green slime
is dry on the rocks and when the wa
ters that go snarling down the gut
are low and harmless, ii is q hard climb
to follow the blind trail along the face
of the precipice. For the space of sew
eral rods one must cling and balance
and choose his footing with care and
a misstep when the run in spring is
q wild torrent is not pleasant TO think
of.
But Tom did not hesitate. He buckled
his rife tightly TO his back, pulled his
cap low over his ears, and five minutes
later stood, hot and painting, among the
rocks of Poppy Miller's farm. He kicked
the snow from a projection and sat
down.
Suddenly, behind the rock masses
along the brook, he heard q splash.
then another. With the spirit OF the
days hunt strong upon him, he sprang
to his feet and, with gun at full cock,
crept noiselessly through the snow. AL
most double he inched along. then
raised himself silently over the crest
of the rock. An instant, and he drew
back as IL he had come full upon q
RATHER.
(Coptizucd Mex Weekl