“Wal, they ain’t exactly wild; but they were pretty nervous till I tamed ’em.”
“How did you do it?”
“Kindness, girl, kindness. Most wild creatures wouldn’t be wild if their enemies didn’t make ’em so. And man is the worst enemy they hev—white man. He’s never satisfied unless he’s killin’.”
Fred winced. “You’re not scolding me, Uncle Dave?”
“No, boy, of course not; I didn’t mean anybody in perticler. There’s no harm in killin’ a few chickens when they’re needed. It’s this killin’ jest fer the excitement of killin’ that riles me. But come up to the cabin and rest a spell. This girl’s tired, and I want to hear some more about the old Buckeye country. Maybe she’d like some huckleberries to eat. I was jest pickin’ some when I heard you shoot. There’s a heap of them in this brush now.”
“Oh, isn’t this a picture!” exclaimed Alta, as they came to the brow of the hill that looked down upon the cabin. “You have chosen a delightful place to live in, Uncle Dave—I beg pardon—I—” she checked herself.
“No pardon needed, Miss, that’s the name I like best. Jest use it.” The remark put Alta completely at her ease. She, too, made him feel completely at home with her. He was rather uncomfortable around women. All his life he had avoided them; but Alta was so spontaneous, so natural, that the old mountaineer forgot any embarrassment he might have otherwise felt in her presence. They chatted on as if they were old acquaintances.
“What jolly mountain fun we’ve had to-day!” exclaimed the happy girl, as they struck the trail toward home, after a pleasant hour at Uncle Dave’s cabin, enjoying mountaineer memories and a feast of huckleberries. “Why, he’s just a natural old man! I like him.”
“Yes, and he likes you, too; that’s what makes me happy. But then, I knew he would.”