The snow is plenty deep out from onder the pines, but I keeps on.
Final, jest in the mouth of a canyon, over the other side where the
pines begins ag'in, up jumps a black. tail from behind a yaller-pine
log, and I drops him.
"'My pony's plumb broke down by now, so I makes up my mind to camp.
It's a 'way good site. Thar's water comin' down the canyon; thar's a
big, flat floor of rocks--big as the dance-hall floor--an' all
protected by a high rock-faced bluff, so no snow don't get thar
none; an' out in front, some twelve feet, is a big pitch-pine log.
Which I couldn't a-fixed things better if I works a year.
"'I sets fire to the log, cuts up my deer, an' sorter camps over
between the log an' bluff, an' takes things as ba'my as summer. I
has my saddle-blanket an' a slicker, an' that's all I needs.
"'Thar ain't no grass none for the little hoss, but I peels him
about a bushel of quakin'-ash bark, an' he's doin' well 'nough.
Lord! how it snows outside! When I peers out in the mornin' it
scares me. I saddles up, 'cause my proper camp is in the pines
t'other side of this yere open stretch, an' I've got to make it.
"'My pony is weak, an' can only push through the snow, which is five
feet deep.
Pages:
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310