News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1913-07-02

sible. Go easy, and there's famine,
freezing, blackleg, all sorts of rea.
sons against laziness. 1t sort of edu-
! Gates
Mother was worse than silent. There
was something about her that scared
me more than anything outdoors. In
the morning her eye KEEP following me-
as if to say, go find your father"
Surely it was up to me, and if
wasn't big enough to drive the huskes
or pack fathers gun, thought / could
manage afoot to tote his four-pound
ak. She beckoned me to her and
kissed me-just once in ten years, and
I was quick through the door, out Of
reach, lest she should see me mighty
near cryin'
1t was all very we'll showing of
brave before mother, but when got
enough for going back. l wished I'd
left the matches behind, but l hadn't.
/ wished the snow would be too soft,
but it was hard as sand l wished
wasn't coward, and the bush didn't
look so wolfy, and what if I met up
with the Eskimo devil! Oh, ] was
surely the scaredest liz boy, and dead
certain I'd get lost. Then l went on
because l was going, and there was fl
theirs trail blazed on past Bake-appe
Marsh. The way was as plain as
streets, and the sun shining warm as
he looked oyer into the valley.
Then l saw a mans mitt, an old
buckskin mitt sticking up out of the
snow. Father had dropped his NIT,
and without that his hand would be-
froze. When l found him, how glad
he'd be to get it!
But when l tried to pick it up, it
was heavy. Then it came away, and
there was fathers hand sticking up.
1t was dead.
Of course I know I'd ought to have
dug down through the snow, but |
didn't. | ran for all l was worth.
Then l got out of breath and come
back shamed.
1t wasn't for love of father. No. I
hated to touch that hand, and when I
did l was sick. Still that was better
than being scared to touch. It's not
so bad when you dare.
l dug, with snow-shoe for a shovel.
There was the buckskin shirt smelling
good, and the long fringes I'd used
to tickle his nose with-then I found
his face. just couldn't bear that, but
turned my back and dug until | came
to the great, big, number-four trap he
used for wolf and beaver. He must
have stepped without seeing it under
the snow, and it broke his leg. Then
he'd tried to drag himself back home.
1t was when l stood up to get
breath and cool off that first seen the
wolf, setting peaceful, Vaughn his tail.
First / thought he was one of our
own huskies, but when he didn't know
his name l saw for sure he must be
the wolf who lived up Two Mile Crick.
He'd got poor inspecting fathers bust
ness instead of minding his own.
That's why he was called the Inspec-
tor. It was March, too, the moon Of
famine. OF course l threw nv ak
and missed. His hungry smiles still
thar behind a bush, and me wonder
ing whether his business is with me
or father. That's why l stepped on
the snow-shoes, and went right past
where he was, not daring to get my
AK. Yes, it was me he wanted to see
hrst, but of course l wasn't going to
encourage any animal into thinking
he'd scared man. Why, he'd scarce
have let father even see his tracks for
fear they'd be trapped or shot. So
walked slow and proud, leadin' him
on from father-at least | played that,
wishing all the time that mothers liz |
boy was to home. After a while I |
grabbed down a Topped stick where
father'd blazed, not as fierce as an |
ak, but enough to make me more or |
less respected.
The Inspector was bigger than me,
stronger n any man, swifter n any
horse. tell yer the named white wolf |
is wiser'n most people, and but for |
eating his cubs, he's natures gentle
man.
The trouble was not him hunting,
but me scared. Why, if he'd wanted
me, one flash, one bite, and I'm break