"You're crazier about hunting than I am."
"Wet bushes," Swan corrected carelessly. "I been tramping since
daylight. It's my work to hunt, like it's your work to ride." He had
swung into the trail ahead of John Doe and was walking with long
strides,--the tallest, straightest, limberest young Swede in all the
country. He had the bluest eyes, the readiest smile, the healthiest
color, the sunniest hair and disposition the Sawtooth country had seen
for many a day. He had homesteaded an eighty-acre claim on the south
side of Bear Top and had by that means gained possession of two living
springs and the only accessible portion of Wilder Creek where it crossed
the meadow called Skyline before it plunged into a gulch too narrow for
cattle to water with any safety.
The Sawtooth Cattle Company had for years "covered" that eighty-acre
patch of government land, never dreaming that any one would ever file on
it. Swan Vjolmar was there and had his log cabin roofed and ready for
the door and windows before the Sawtooth discovered his presence. Now,
nearly a year afterwards, he was accepted in a tolerant, half-friendly
spirit.
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