"Rufe," he said, "ye see I can't git away from the mill, 'kase I'm
'bleeged ter stay hyar whilst the old mule grinds. But ef ye'll go
over yander ter Nate Griggs's house an' tell him ter come over hyar,
bein' ez I want to see him partic'lar, I'll fix ye a squir'l-trap
before long ez the peartest old Bushy-tail on the mounting ain't got
the gumption ter git out'n. An' let me know ef Nate ain't thar."

Rufe was disposed to parley. He stood first on one foot, then on
the other. He cast calculating eyes at the bark-mill and out upon
the deep forest. The exact date on which this promise was to be
fulfilled had to be fixed before he announced his willingness to set
out.

Ten to one, he would have gone without the bribe, had none been
suggested, for he loved the woods better than the woodpile, and a
five-mile tramp through its tangles wearied his bones not so much as
picking up a single basketful of chips. Some boys' bones are
constituted thus, strange as it may seem.

So he went his way in his somewhat eccentric gait, compounded of a
hop, and a skip, and a dawdle. He had made about half a mile when
the path curved to the mountain's brink. He paused and parted the
glossy leaves of the dense laurel that he might look out over the
precipice at the distant heights. How blue--how softly blue they
were!--the endless ranges about the horizon. What a golden haze
melted on those nearer at hand, bravely green in the sunshine! From
among the beetling crags, the first red leaf was whirling away
against the azure sky. Even a buzzard had its picturesque aspects,
circling high above the mountains in its strong, majestic flight.