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He would sit by the camp-fire, an' first fall to musing; then he would cover his face with his hands, an' I could see the big, scalding tears trickle through his fingers, an' his big frame would quiver and shake like a tree in a gale of wind; then he would pull out his long, heavy huntin'-knife, an' I could see that he had several notches cut in the handle.
Then it tore a big piece out o' the calf of his leg, an' devoured it. Think of it, boys! Them's the sort o' dangers that the fust settlers an' lumbermen in these woods had to face. "Wal, dad reckoned he was a goner, sure. But he managed to cut a limb from the tree with his huntin'-knife, an' tied the knife to the end of it.
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