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Updated: May 13, 2025
It was all very strange, very wonderful, the working of those mysterious things which make it certain that no page in a human creature's life can be turned once and for all. Yes, it was all very wonderful. The hand of Fate had begun to move against him when he had greeted that starving fragment of humanity at the trail-side, more than twenty years ago.
Each step was deliberately protected with a timber facing securely staked against "washouts," and though the workmanship was rough it was evidently the handiwork of men who thought only of endurance. It rose from the trail-side in a slanting direction, and, adopting the easiest course on the slope, wound its way to the very crown of the hill, over the top of which it vanished. "Well?"
Yes, he was rather anxious to see and talk with this girl who had set the boy's heart on fire. Yet it seemed strange. Buck had never been anything but a boy to him. He had never really grown up. He was still the small, pathetic figure he had first encountered on the trail-side. And now here he was hopelessly, madly in love with a girl.
Nor, in those moments, could he help feeling glad for that day when he had found the hungry wayfarer at the trail-side. "Ther's more than twenty years between us, sure," Buck cried with intense feeling. "Nuthin' can alter that, an' ther's sure nuthin' can make us see out o' the same eyes, nor feel with the same feelin's. Ther's nuthin' can make things seem the same to us.
It was simply the heavy flapping of slow-moving wings. Two enormous crows launched themselves upon the air from the topmost branches of a distant tree, and perched on the crest of another at the trail-side. They sat there in solemn, unmoving silence, but with eyes alert and watchful, and who might tell the thought passing through their unwholesome minds!
But here and there they worked with nervous haste, and the stark corpses by the trail-side attested dumbly to their labor. A few hundred yards beyond, the work of the rush went on uninterrupted. Men rested their packs on jutting stones, swapped escapes whilst they regained their breath, then stumbled on to their toil again. The mid-day sun beat down upon the stone "Scales."
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