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Show Deer HuHT 3 two strands of barrier. And then the highway, ugly now, that slipped down Johnston's Hill in unreflecting dullness black and grey. Not long ago the road stretched rough and gravelled up Johnston's Hill into the canyon mouth of mountains endless green and great. For there I felt the fear of finding fear as once or twice in green of yellow pine, blue spruce, and douglas fir I knew not where I was, but knew the prickly panic grasping every nerve, the barely tears that small boys have to fight. The worst defeat-a loss of courage rather than a loss of self. And the wonder, the thrill and fear of being mountain-lion stalked up that gently muddy logging road. I won't forget too soon those paw prints behind mine-not paws, of course, but proper boots of some cow's hide. Nor shall I soon forget the family outings up that rutted road to Shingle Creek when eight of us alive and well but jostled in Dad's old Hudson car forded Shingle Creek-really forded-right through the stream to spend a picnic day. But now we picked up heavy clods of earth sending them sailing high, high then screaming down exploding in puffs of dust on pavement. I think I wished those clods of earth would rescue Johnston's Hill from suffocating waves of asphalt. A road, however, now, just a road to cross, a spring-sun road warm through my slightly wornout sneaks. But just across the road, the mountain stretched toward us. Up the center, in a slight ravine, lay the junkyard. Mountain mounds extending down on either side like large and shapeless arms. Normally the junk held unsurpassable allure. Today, however, other matter hovered in the spring-new air. Throughout the bitter winter, the deer had moved slowly, ever gently, close to the valley floor. In sympathy, our fathers took their hay up to the foothills hoping to hold starvation's pangs at bay awhile. But wild deer need wild food. They couldn't seem to cross that barrier of nature, a law that |