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Show fa-tte. 3-S" The Bull • Near the edge of a pine forest, around their cold and blackened camp fire, three men slept in die early morning darkness. The hired man was the first to awaken, die sun still only a promise in die east and he awakening as easily as always, quiedy opening his eyes to the brightening air. But he did not get up for a few minutes, warm in his bedroll except for his nose and as comfortable on the spruce boughs he had cut as on an innerspring mattress, the odor of the boughs spicing the odor of his bedroll, a strong smell of canvas and old wool blankets and himself. Above him the sky was turning pale blue and about him the air was incredibly still: the pine tree above him rose immobile to the last top needle; neither animal nor bird nor insect sounded. Stretching to savor better the warmth of his bed, he felt as tranquil as the world looked. Then a cow lowed and he rolled out. A squirrel chattered, die tops of the pines moved in a breeze. He sat up on his bed and pulled on his jeans and his highheeled boots, rubbed his stubbly face, combed his fingers back through his curly tawny hair, put on his hat and stood up, stretching like a cat. He did not make a sound and the other two did not stir, the boss and the boss's son, the man's head turned almost fiercely away from the brightening east, the boy's head hardly visible, only a black tangled patch of top showing, and both of them sunk down into their bedrolls as if detennined to remain, as if they might pull their heads in and curl up and refuse this day. Of course it was cold - frost on the coffee pot, ice on die water bucket - and he shivered getting into his jeans jacket, itself stiff from the cold. But he was moving now, wanning. He walked back |
