This evening, the occupant of the honored place was a philosopher and a man familiar with wood lore, who had promised the boys a treat. Knowing this to be in store for them, each of the woodsmen had been anxious to complete his task so that he might be on time to hear this great man of the world. “There’s many a flower that’s born to blush and bloom unseen, and waste its fragrance on the desert air.“
He had traveled far, since early morning, through the silent forest, wading through drifts three and four feet high, with only his compass to guide him. He had passed over windfalls, avoiding treacherous pot holes, covered with twigs and snow. He was careful not to break a snowshoe, for to do so would end his journey in the deep snow, abruptly.
Trained in wood lore as he was, his mind was alert to everything he passed as he plodded wearily along. At times, his musings were broken by a sharp report like that of a rifle as a giant oak suddenly cracked when pierced by the intense cold. The late, winter sun had sunk behind the dense forest. There was a sprinkle of silvery particles of snow
52
|
|
blowing here and there through the air. As the cold, silent night urged the wayfarer to seek shelter, he stumbled onto a tote road. The crunching sound of a sleigh, the clank of harness, then came a welcome invitation to ride, from the driver of a four horse team.
The cruiser removed his ice-caked snow shoes and seated himself upon the bunk of the wide logging sled, enjoying the comfort which those with tired leg muscles can enjoy, when a journey on foot is ended.
Reaching the bunkhouse after a three mile ride through the cold air, tainted by the sweat of the horses, which is an odor pleasing to those who love horse flesh, the cruiser enjoyed seeing the glimmer of lanterns from the horse barns and the welcome lights from the shanties. There was a bustling preparation for the evening meal.
As he jostled with members of the crew in washing up for the evening meal, a fragrant odor of cooking meat and vegetables greeted him. All took their places at the long table. Supper over, they trooped to the bunkhouse to await the stories of the evening. In all ages, there have been those whose natural gifts singled them out as performers.
53
|
|
