The Land of Strong Men

Excerpt

LOST AND FOUND

It was light, but not yet day. The shadows of the night seemed to linger, to retreat with reluctance; and as they were beaten back by the sun, still far below the eastern curve of the earth and further blockaded by giant mountain ranges also to the eastward, the clinging, gray morning mists of early Fall came to replace them. In the pallid light, a-swim with vapor, objects loomed gigantic and grotesque.

The house which stood among the mists was of squared timbers, mortised and fitted. It was unpainted, and the interstices were neatly filled with plaster. The main part was two stories in height, but back of this and joined to it was another log building, long and low. Evidently this had been the original dwelling, to which the more pretentious structure had been added. From one window of this rear building a light glimmered.

The house was surrounded and in summer would be shaded by trees, cottonwoods and soft maples; but these had shed most of their leaves and the ground was yellowed with them. Close beside the house ran an irrigation ditch in which clear mountain water purred and gurgled softly. To the south loomed the roofs of stables, sheds, high corrals and stacks of hay and straw. Beyond these were cleared, level fields. To the northward, protected to some extent by the buildings and trees, was a small orchard in neat rows.

Now, the light in the rear window went out, and a moment later a door opened and a boy emerged. He was apparently about eighteen, but unusually tall and long of limb. At a casual glance he seemed to run to legs and arms, but a second look would have shown that his chest was broad and deep, and that his apparent ungainliness was due to age merely. His face, naturally dark, was tanned to the color of an old saddle. The cheekbones were high, the nose prominent, the mouth straight and the boyish jaw firm. The eyes were dark, steady and sombre, shaded by black eyebrows which slashed straight across the face, meeting above the nose. The darkness of complexion, the heavy brows, the straight mouth conveyed an expression almost of grimness. The boy wore a battered felt hat, a fawn mackinaw coat, pants thrust into high socks and a pair of moosehide moccasins. In his right hand he carried a rifle, in his left a small cotton bag. The wooden handle of a knife stuck from a jam-sheath in his belt.

For a moment he stood sniffling the morning air like a dog, and then with a light swiftness which gave the lie to his apparent ungainliness, made for the stables. In a few moments he led out a brown pony. He tied the cotton bag to the cantle, thrust the rifle into a saddle holster and swung up.

As he did so there was the sound of running feet, and a girl sped toward him from the house.

"Angus! Wait a minute!" she cried. She was apparently a couple of years younger than the boy, slim, brown of hair, eye, and face, delicate of feature. She held out a paper-wrapped parcel. "Here's some doughnuts for your lunch," she said.

But the boy frowned down at her....