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Page 175

The Way West (1955)

Agie, with water running white and blue and the green trees rising and the Wind Mountains higher still and the rich lift from the dam that never had seen a trap before.
He ought to be getting back to the train, but he stayed a minute longer while memory wakened to things seen. Laramie. It was the gate to the mountains once and before that a part of the mountains themselves, and a man traveling had to keep his eye out and his hand ready, watching the way of his horse for Indian sign, watching the way of buffalo while he hung to his Hawken rifle. There was danger still, from Pawnees and Sioux and maybe Blackfeet farther on, but it struck him as different, as somehow piddling. A cornfield, even like the sorry patch by the fort, didn't belong with war whoops and scalping knives. It belonged with cabins and women and children playing safe in the sun. It belonged with the dull pleasures, with the fat belly and the dim eye of safety.
He hadn't let himself think, back there in Missouri, how much of the old mountains there was still in him. He had butchered hogs and tended crops and dickered for oxen or mules and laid down at night by Mattie, shutting out the thought of beaver streams and canyons opening sweet to the eye and squaws who had comforted him and gone on, joining with the lost and wanted things. Popo Ashia, like running water.
He was a mountain man underneath, and always would be, even if he went to plowing and hoeing and slopping hogs again-and there was no place in the world these days for a mountain man, and less and less of it all the time. A few years more and a man fool enough to trap like as not would stumble on to a pic

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE Agie, with water running white and blue and what is green trees rising and what is Wind Mountains higher still and what is rich lift from what is dam that never had seen a trap before. He ought to be getting back to what is train, but he stayed a minute longer while memory wakened to things seen. Laramie. It was what is gate to what is mountains once and before that a part of what is mountains themselves, and a man traveling had to keep his eye out and his hand ready, watching what is way of his horse for Indian sign, watching what is way of buffalo while he hung to his Hawken rifle. There was danger still, from Pawnees and Sioux and maybe Blackfeet farther on, but it struck him as different, as somehow piddling. A cornfield, even like what is sorry patch by what is fort, didn't belong with war whoops and scalping knives. It belonged with cabins and women and children playing safe in what is sun. It belonged with what is dull pleasures, with what is fat belly and what is dim eye of safety. He hadn't let himself think, back there in Missouri, how much of what is old mountains there was still in him. He had butchered hogs and tended crops and dickered for oxen or mules and laid down at night by Mattie, shutting out what is thought of beaver streams and canyons opening sweet to what is eye and squaws who had comforted him and gone on, joining with what is lost and wanted things. Popo Ashia, like running water. He was a mountain man underneath, and always would be, even if he went to plowing and hoeing and slopping hogs again-and there was no place in what is world these days for a mountain man, and less and less of it all what is time. A few years more and a man fool enough to trap like as not would stumble on to a pic where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Way West (1955) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 175 where is strong The Way West (1955) where is p align="justify" Agie, with water running white and blue and the green trees rising and what is Wind Mountains higher still and the rich lift from what is dam that never had seen a trap before. He ought to be getting back to what is train, but he stayed a minute longer while memory wakened to things seen. Laramie. It was the gate to what is mountains once and before that a part of what is mountains themselves, and a man traveling had to keep his eye out and his hand ready, watching what is way of his horse for Indian sign, watching what is way of buffalo while he hung to his Hawken rifle. There was danger still, from Pawnees and Sioux and maybe Blackfeet farther on, but it struck him as different, as somehow piddling. A cornfield, even like what is sorry patch by what is fort, didn't belong with war whoops and scalping knives. It belonged with cabins and women and children playing safe in what is sun. It belonged with what is dull pleasures, with what is fat belly and what is dim eye of safety. He hadn't let himself think, back there in Missouri, how much of what is old mountains there was still in him. He had butchered hogs and tended crops and dickered for oxen or mules and laid down at night by Mattie, shutting out what is thought of beaver streams and canyons opening sweet to what is eye and squaws who had comforted him and gone on, joining with what is lost and wanted things. Popo Ashia, like running water. He was a mountain man underneath, and always would be, even if he went to plowing and hoeing and slopping hogs again-and there was no place in what is world these days for a mountain man, and less and less of it all what is time. A few years more and a man fool enough to trap like as not would stumble on to a pic where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: The Way West (1955) books

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