Woodcutter's Revival (8 page)

Victoria responded, “Oh, it's not the gift that matters. It's the idea of honoring my father for all he does for the miners.”

Soon Mr. Thomas returned from his “walk” and Raymond thanked the Thomases again for dinner. He bid them “Good day,” and returned to his room. On the way there, in the deserted street, with the autumn sky hanging overhead, he detected traces of winter in the dark clouds. With the afternoon turning to early twilight, and the hints of winter in the air, he felt as if he had been beaten up with nobody even laying a hand upon him.

Chapter Eight

S
tewart looked forward to the days when he and Michael would put everyday concerns aside and the two could spend time talking. The fact that neither man had an outside fulltime job did not mean the two could sit and talk as they would have preferred. Michael slept in short intervals. He was on no schedule so he could sleep as he chose. When he could not sleep at night, he could read as many hours as he liked. His lamp was not so bright that it disturbed Stewart's sleep. The room was arranged in such a manner that the two had semi-private areas, as Michael had fashioned a type of partition from animal hides between the bed and the hammock. Stewart also laid his head toward the partition, so he was not facing the light.

Stewart spent most of his time working. He had to prepare for winter and take care of Michael's needs. Stewart had to use the daylight to his advantage, and as winter neared, the number of daylight hours diminished greatly. His initial hope was to spend some extra time in the mountains. This experience surpassed his wildest dreams. He also spent time tanning hides, working with leather and making riggings for his own travel. So far, in addition to the items he made or repaired for Michael, he made a utility sheath for his pocket knife, a “possible” bag or courier to carry his lunch and small items, and a binder like the one Michael used for his writing.

Some evenings, when Michael would take a long nap, if he did not fall asleep himself, Stewart explored Michael's book collection. He knew it would be some time before he would have this many books in one place without having to visit a library. He was very thankful Michael valued books and took the extra efforts to cart them up on Clementine. Inside the front cover was a printed label much like you found in a library book. The printed portion said, “Return this book within two weeks or pay ___________. (The blank had penciled in $1.00.) If you damage the book, never ask to borrow another.” In cursive was written, at the top of the label, “Michael Thomas.”

This morning, Stewart opened the cover of one book by Alfred M. Mayer, entitled,
Sport With Gun and Rod,
dated 1883. There was no label inside this book. In cursive, it simply said, “This book belongs to Michael Thomas. Do not ask to borrow this book.” On the page across from the label was an inscription, “To Michael, a good soldier and a man of courage. Your friend, T.R.”

Stewart opened the book and began reading a paragraph that had been underlined in pencil:

The love of the chase is deeply imbedded in man's nature. During the untold centuries of his savage condition he followed it of necessity. We now revert to our primitive employment for our pleasure and recreation, pursuing with ardor, sports which often involve much bodily fatigue and always require skill and training. An impulse, often irresistible it seems, leads a man away from civilization, from its artificial pleasures and its mechanical life, to the forest, the fields, and waters, where he may have that freedom and peace which civilization denies him. If this be not so, then why is it that a man of affairs as well as the man of leisure feels again the joy of his youth as he bids farewell to his office or his club, and seeks the solitudes of the woods and the plains?

He will meet there some old familiar face in a guide, or fellow-sportsman, and welcome it with the ardor of good-fellowship. He will undergo all sorts of bodily discomfort — course food and rough bed, the wet and the cold — and yet be happy, because for a little spell he is free. In other words, he has, for a time, become a civilized savage. If, with gun and rod, he goes into the recesses of the great woods, and lives there for weeks or months, or mounts his horse and traverses the western plains and mountain passes, relying on his rifle for his sustenance, he is made to realize that there are many things to be learned outside of cities and away from usual occupations.

He will find food for philosophy in the behavior of his hunting companions; he will see who is manly and unselfish, who endowed of his pluck and self-reliance; for three weeks' association with a friend in the wilderness will reveal more of his character than a dozen years with him amid the safe retreats and soothing comforts of civilized life. He will learn how few are the real wants of a happy life in the midst of uncivilized nature. His troubles, if he carried any with him, will vanish; time will seem of as little value to him as to the savage, and like all true sportsmen and “honest anglers,” he will return to his home with a calmed spirit and a contented mind.

Stewart closed the book, taking a deep sigh and attempting to drink in everything he had just read. As he reflected the words in relation to his own recent experience, he said, “Amen!”

Michael was beginning to stir from his morning nap. Thanksgiving Day had come and Stewart set the whole day aside so he and Michael could celebrate. “Something sure smells good!”

“It is all ready to go. I was just waiting for you to wake up from your nap.”

Stewart served the meal. The two ate quietly and pensively. Michael did not have much of an appetite yet as he did not get any physical activity. Since he finished eating first, he began the conversation. “That was a mighty fine meal.”

“Thank you. I never thought I'd get any good at cooking. I'm actually enjoying it. Gramps used to say, ‘The things you do to make you happy are not as important as the things in which you choose to be happy.'”

“Sounds about right. What books were you looking at when I woke up?”

“The hunting book. That book describes in a nutshell exactly what I have experienced. Who is T.R.?”

Michael smiled pleasantly as he thought back over the several fond memories. “T.R. is Teddy Roosevelt.”

Stewart was stunned for a moment as in disbelief. “How did you know him?”

“I told you I fought in Cuba with T.R.”

“Yeah, but I thought you meant you were in Cuba at the same time.”

“I was a Rough Rider. He had written his own book by the time of the war, but gave me a personal copy of this book. I have never met anybody like him. His books were
Hunting Tips of a Rancher
and
The Wilderness Hunter
. Let me read two of Teddy's paragraphs. I want to show you something about his beliefs and the difference in his writing style to Mayer's:”

Hunting in the wilderness is of all pastimes the most attractive, and it is doubly so when not carried on merely as a pastime. Shooting over a private game preserve is of course in no way to be compared to it. The wilderness hunter must not only show skill in the use of rifle and also the qualities of hardihood, self-reliance, and surroundings, the fact the hunter needs the game both for its meat and for its hide, undoubtedly adds a zest to the pursuit.

Among the hunts which I have most enjoyed were those made when I was engaged in getting in the winter's stock of meat for the ranch, or was keeping some party of cowboys supplied with game from day to day.

“Here is another selection:

We need, in the interest of the community at large, a rigid system of game laws rigidly enforced, and it is not only admissible, but one may almost say necessary, to establish, under the control of the State, great national forest reserves, which shall also be a breeding grounds and nurseries for wild game; but I should much regret to see grow up in this country a system of large private games preserves, kept for the enjoyment of the very rich. One of the chief attractions of the life of the wilderness is its rugged and stalwart democracy; there every man stands for what he actually is, and show himself to be.

“You see, Mayer talks about the ethereal, the ephemeral, and the philosophy behind hunting. He talks about building relationships. T.R. talks about action, personal challenge, necessity and, of course, “how can we legislate this into being?”

“Yes, I see.”

Stewart poured them both some more coffee and settled in for what he hoped was a long story.

“Teddy, ever since he was a young man, loved the outdoors and nature. He always preached and lived the ‘rugged life.' He had asthma as a child and believed he cured it by going outdoors, and exerting himself in hiking and hunting. His philosophy was, “Live life one day at a time and live each day to the fullest.”

“How did you get into the Rough Riders?”

“Teddy wanted a special group. As Secretary of the Navy, he had latitude other people did not have. Most of us were cowboys, miners, western bad men, eastern dandies and sportsmen. Hamilton Fish was on the Harvard rowing team and a close personal friend of T.R.

In training to go to Cuba and all during the war, if you watched him closely, you would have thought you were involved in a huge sporting event. His slogan was, ‘Get action; do things; be sane; don't fritter away time; create; act; take a place wherever you are and be somebody; get action.'

“He offered praise and encouragement all the time. Morale was always high simply because we were serving with him. Most ranking officers, in leading a charge, would say, ‘Go up' and lead from behind. He would get in front and say, ‘Come up.'

When we were in the heat of battle, he refused to take cover if his men were uncovered. It was a miracle and a huge dose of grace, that he never got shot. It was almost as if he knew destiny was hanging on his head. Remind me later and I will tell you a couple of stories about the war.”

Stewart took this opportunity to clear the table after he removed Michael's lap tray and refilled the coffee cups. He helped Michael recline a little in bed so they could talk more easily while Stewart worked. When he finished he got a big boyish grin on his face. “I will be right back,” he told Michael.

Michael had a surprised expression as he wondered what Stewart might be up to. Steward came back into the cabin holding something behind his back. “What are you hiding?”

“Only this.”

Stewart pulled a crutch from behind his back. He had fashioned it from a limb, hand carved it, and finished it.

“Hey that looks like a good one. Let's try it out!”

“Are you sure you are ready?”

“I had better get on my feet soon. You can't stay around here forever.”

Stewart contemplated Michael's statement. He realized he had not really thought much about leaving. He could put contemplation off until some future time. Now he was reminded of how he wanted to go to Wellspring and learn. He was also not sure how soon Michael would be able to walk, or at least get around unassisted.

Stewart took the crutch over to Michael. He held the crutch in one hand and gently but firmly took Michael by the arm. ”Are you ready?”

“Yes. I don't think I can't walk yet, but we have to start somewhere.”

Stewart worked to swing Michael's legs around to the side of the bed. He placed the crutch under Michael's arm. Slowly, leaning on Stewart, Michael stood on his good leg and balanced himself on the crutch.

“How does it feel?”

“Strange, but I don't plan to be on it forever.”

Stewart began walking Michael around the room. “I have been thinking about our conversation we had a few weeks ago – the one about the railroad. I want to build my tracks in this wilderness we call life, but I don't even know where to begin planning.”

“That's understandable. You seem to be more focused than I was at your age. We can never really plan the events which we undergo. We have to be in constant preparation so we will be ready when the opportunity presents itself. T.R. always said, ‘Keep your powder dry.' He was not talking about war, as we no longer loaded our own muzzles. We used manufactured cartridges. He meant, ‘Be prepared. You never know what opportunity will present itself.

“One year after Teddy graduated from Harvard, he was elected to the new York State Assembly. That is where he became a leader of the GOP as a “Reformer.” In those years he wrote several of his books, including the
Navel War of 1812.
In 1884, his wife and mother both died on the same day. He left politics and the public life for a spell to become a rancher in the ‘Badlands.'