Mountain Born by Elizabeth Yates

Author:Elizabeth Yates [Yates, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780890847060
Publisher: JourneyForth
Published: 1943-02-15T08:00:00+00:00

“How was it that night when you stayed alone?” Peter asked Benj. He had heard the story a hundred times but he had never heard it enough.

“It was as still as most nights are, and there were as many stars in the sky or maybe a few more,” Benj began, “and I sat on the stone and I sat. Now and then I’d feel the gun to see that it was all right, or I’d reach for Biddy to make sure she was still there.”

“Didn’t you get sleepy?”

“Maybe I did, but when need be, a man can sleep with his eyes open. Some of the stars went down and new ones rose. A wind came blowing over the hilltops, shaking out cold. The sheep stirred a bit, and then I knew—as sure as your eyes are on me now—that he was looking at me.”

“What did you do?”

“No different than what I’d been doing for hours past, sat and waited. I figured patience could outlast greed any time. Just before the dawn, when you could have heard the dew forming it was so still, he came from behind the rocks. I let him get just so near the flock, the warm smell of them tickling his nostrils—then I let go. The noise sent the sheep scattering, but the bullet got him clean.”

Peter shivered with the thrill of it. He remembered the next part of the story. How, when they were sitting at breakfast that morning, Benj had come in and nodded to them. Andrew smiled, and it was good to see the hard lines driven from his face.

“Got him,” Ben said.

“What was it?” Andrew asked.

“Wolf,” Benj said.

He hung the gun up and went to wash his hands. A look of relief came over him. He hated the gun, but when he had to use it he could. He had no heart for killing, but if it was to save life that was another matter. Benj sat down at the table and ate his breakfast, then went to his day’s work as if he had not kept an all-night vigil.

Since that time the flock had been guarded. Peter and Benj had spent the whole summer up in the hills, and Andrew had hired another man to help him in the fields. They had made a camp for themselves and once a week Benj had gone down to the valley to fetch back supplies. Peter had felt safe with Rollo to help him when he was left for a long day alone with the sheep.

That was the way they talked during the long days up in the hills, remembering things, putting them together, listening and thinking and imagining.

“You must have read books and books to know so many stories,” Peter would say admiringly.

“Books?” Benj echoed, and his soft eyes grew misty; “we had a Book in our home and my father read to us every night after the supper.”

“A book?” Peter could not imagine a household with only one book. After all, even their little farmhouse had several, and there were houses down in the valley which had many books.

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