the great scheme of nature as were the
gentle, beautiful wild creatures upon which they preyed. But some he
loved better than others, and so he deplored the inexplicable cruelty.

He crossed the wide, grassy plain and struck another gradual descent
where aspens and pines crowded a shallow ravine and warm, sun-lighted
glades bordered along a sparkling brook. Here he heard a turkey gobble,
and that was a signal for him to change his course and make a crouching,
silent detour around a clump of aspens. In a sunny patch of grass
a dozen or more big gobblers stood, all suspiciously facing in his
direction, heads erect, with that wild aspect peculiar to their species.
Old wild turkey gobblers were the most difficult game to stalk. Dale
shot two of them. The others began to run like ostriches, thudding over
the ground, spreading their wings, and with that running start launched
their heavy bodies into whirring flight. They flew low, at about the
height of a man from the grass, and vanished in the woods.

Dale threw the two turkeys over his shoulder and went on his way. Soon
he came to a break in the forest level, from which he gazed down a
league-long slope of pine and cedar, out upon the bare, glistening
desert, stretching away, endlessly rolling out to the dim, dark horizon
line.

The little hamlet of Pine lay on the last level of sparsely timbered
forest. A road, running parallel with a dark-watered, swift-flowing
stream, divided the cluster of log cabins from which columns of blue
smoke drifted lazily aloft. Fields of corn and fields of oats, yellow
in the sunlight, surrounded the village; and green pastures, dotted
with horses and cattle, reached away to the denser woodland. This site
appeared to be a natural clearing, for there was no evidence of cut
timber. The scene was rather too wild to be pastoral, but it was serene,
tranquil, giving the impression of a remote community, prosperous and
happy, drifting along the peaceful tenor of sequestered lives.

Dale halted before a neat little log cabin and a little patch of garden
bordered with sunflowers. His call was answered by an old woman, gray
and bent, but remarkably spry, who appeared at the door.

"Why, land's sakes, if it ain't Milt Dale!" she exclaimed, in welcome.

"Reckon it's me, Mrs. Cass," he replied. "An' I've brought you a
turkey."

"Milt, you're that good boy who never forgits old Widow Cass.... What
a gobbler! First one I've seen this fall. My man Tom