The Trail of the Lonesome Pine Read online

  II

  He had seen the big pine when he first came to those hills--one morning,at daybreak, when the valley was a sea of mist that threw soft clingingspray to the very mountain tops: for even above the mists, that morning,its mighty head arose--sole visible proof that the earth still sleptbeneath. Straightway, he wondered how it had ever got there, so farabove the few of its kind that haunted the green dark ravines far below.Some whirlwind, doubtless, had sent a tiny cone circling heavenward anddropped it there. It had sent others, too, no doubt, but how had thistree faced wind and storm alone and alone lived to defy both so proudly?Some day he would learn. Thereafter, he had seen it, at noon--but littleless majestic among the oaks that stood about it; had seen it catchingthe last light at sunset, clean-cut against the after-glow, and like adark, silent, mysterious sentinel guarding the mountain pass under themoon. He had seen it giving place with sombre dignity to the passingburst of spring--had seen it green among dying autumn leaves, greenin the gray of winter trees and still green in a shroud of snow--achangeless promise that the earth must wake to life again. The LonesomePine, the mountaineers called it, and the Lonesome Pine it always lookedto be. From the beginning it had a curious fascination for him, andstraightway within him--half exile that he was--there sprang up asympathy for it as for something that was human and a brother. And nowhe was on the trail of it at last. From every point that morning it hadseemed almost to nod down to him as he climbed and, when he reached theledge that gave him sight of it from base to crown, the winds murmuredamong its needles like a welcoming voice. At once, he saw the secret ofits life. On each side rose a cliff that had sheltered it from stormsuntil its trunk had shot upwards so far and so straight and so strongthat its green crown could lift itself on and on and bend--blow whatmight--as proudly and securely as a lily on its stalk in a morningbreeze. Dropping his bridle rein he put one hand against it as though onthe shoulder of a friend.

  "Old Man," he said, "You must be pretty lonesome up here, and I'm gladto meet you."

  For a while he sat against it--resting. He had no particular purposethat day--no particular destination. His saddle-bags were across thecantle of his cow-boy saddle. His fishing rod was tied under one flap.He was young and his own master. Time was hanging heavy on his handsthat day and he loved the woods and the nooks and crannies of themwhere his own kind rarely made its way. Beyond, the cove looked dark,forbidding, mysterious, and what was beyond he did not know. So downthere he would go. As he bent his head forward to rise, his eye caughtthe spot of sunlight, and he leaned over it with a smile. In the blackearth was a human foot-print--too small and slender for the foot ofa man, a boy or a woman. Beyond, the same prints were visible--widerapart--and he smiled again. A girl had been there. She was the crimsonflash that he saw as he started up the steep and mistook for a flamingbush of sumach. She had seen him coming and she had fled. Still smiling,he rose to his feet.