The Timber Wolf by Paul Hutchens

Author:Paul Hutchens [Hutchens, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-57567-755-2
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 1998-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Poor Barry!” Poetry said sadly, cutting in on Circus.

“She’s pretty, though,” I said. Poetry and I were the only ones of the gang to have seen her, when we were under the potted palm in the lobby of the hotel back in Minneapolis.

“Yeah, but she looks citified,” he countered. “Barry ought to have a girl who can rough it. I’ll bet she’d be as helpless as a kitten on a camping trip. Why—”

“Sh!” Big Jim chopped Poetry’s sentence off at its very beginning. “Don’t let him hear you!”

Barry was just outside the door, so that ended our talk about him and the kind of helpless, extrapretty, dainty girl he was going to marry next June, and who, the last of the week, was going to drive Barry’s station wagon up from Minneapolis. As you already know, we’d borrowed her car for most of the gang to drive up in.

Barry’s coming ended our talk, but it didn’t end our worries. It seemed all right for our camp director to have a special friend, and we supposed he had a right to get married, but what would we do for a camp director next time we wanted to come up here or go to some other place on a vacation? Barry wouldn’t belong to our boys’ world anymore but would be living in a married people’s world, which seemed to have a high wall separating it from our world.

Barry stopped whistling when he reached the shanty door. He knocked a cheerful knock and called out, “Little pig, little pig! Let me come in!”

Big Jim, who had an almost mustache on his upper lip, answered, “Not by the fuzz under my nosey-nose-nose.”

Well, we caught a few more medium-sized fish. Then all of us went back to camp, cleaned them, and took a drive in the Jeep with old Ed to see different winter scenes.

The days flew by too fast, and the weather kept on being what they called unseasonably warm. We liked the warmer weather, but it wasn’t best for fur, Ed said. He didn’t want nature to decide spring was here, and the “varmints” begin to shed, and their fur be worth a lot less.

Every day Barry worked on his special paper, and we had plenty of time for ourselves to do as we wished, except that we had to stay close to camp unless when Barry or the old-timer was with us.

We still hadn’t caught any real whoppers, and we hadn’t seen many large animals—only a few deer and once a red fox. Old Timber seemed to have left the country, as if he didn’t like human beings and the deer meat in the cache wasn’t fit for a fine wolf like him.

Too soon our vacation would be over. Too soon the girl who next June was going to rob us of our camp director would come driving up in the station wagon. “She may be the helpless type,” Big Jim said to us once when we were out by the

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