Bull Hunter | Page 8

remained crushed against the wall, his legs
falling in the odd position in which they were put down by Bull. It was
illustrative of his character that, even in this crisis, not one of the three
dared venture an expression of sympathy, a question, a suggestion.
Crumpled against the wall, his head bowed forward and cramped, the
stern old man still controlled them with the upward glance of his eyes
through the shag of eyebrows.
"Gimme my pipe," he commanded.
Three hands reached for it--pipe, tobacco, matches were proffered to
him. Before he accepted the articles he swept their faces with a glance
of satisfaction. Without attempting to change the position which must
have been torturing him, he filled the pipe bowl, his fingers moving as
if he had partially lost control of them. He filled it raggedly, shreds of
tobacco hanging down around the bowl. He bent his head to meet the
left hand which he raised with difficulty, then he tried to light a match.

But he seemed incapable of moving the sulphur head fast enough to
bring it to a light with friction. Match after match crumbled as he
continued his efforts.
"Here, lemme light a match for you, Dad!"
Harry's offer was received with a silent curling of the lips and a glint of
the yellow teeth beneath that made him step back. The old man
continued his work. There were a dozen wrecked matches before the
blood began to stir in his numbed arm and he was able to light the
match and the pipe. He drew several breaths of the smoke deep into his
lungs. For the moment the savage, hungry satisfaction changed his face;
they could tell by that alteration what agonies he had been suffering
before.
Presently he frowned and set about changing his position with infinite
labor. The left leg was helpless, and so was the right arm. Yet, after
much labor, he managed to stuff a roll of the blankets into the corner
and then shift himself until his back rested against this support. But his
strength deserted him again. His pipe was dropped down in the left
hand, his head sagged back.
Still they dared not approach him. His two sons stood about, shifting
from one foot to another, as if they expected a blow to descend upon
them at any moment, as if each labored movement of terrible old Bill
Campbell caused them the agony which he must be suffering.
As for Bull Hunter, he sat again on the floor, his chin dropped upon his
great fist, and wondered for a time at his uncle. It was the second great
event to him, all in one day. First he had discovered that by fighting a
thing, one can actually conquer. Second, he discovered that great
fighter, his uncle, had been beaten. The impossible had happened twice
between one sunrise and sunset.
But men and the affairs of men could not hold his eye overlong.
Presently he dropped his head again and was deep in the pages of his
book. At length Bill Campbell heaved up his head. It was to glare into
the scared faces of his sons.

"How long are you goin' to keep me waiting for food?"
The order snapped them into action. They sprang here and there, and
presently the thick slices of bacon were hissing on the pan, and the
clouds of bacon smoke wafted through the cabin. When they reached
Bill Campbell he blinked. Pain had given him a maddening appetite,
yet he puffed steadily on his pipe and said nothing.
The tin plate of potatoes and bacon was shoved before him, and the big
tin cup of coffee. The three younger men sat in silence and devoured
their own meal; the two sons swiftly, but Bull Hunter fell into musings,
and part of his food remained uneaten. Then his glance wandered to his
uncle and saw a thing to wonder at--a horrible thing in its own way.
The nerveless left hand of the mountaineer, which had barely possessed
steadiness to light a match, was far too inaccurate to handle a fork; and
Bull saw his uncle stuffing his mouth with his fingers and daring the
others to watch him.
Something like pity came to Bull. It was so rare an emotion to connect
with human beings that he hardly recognized it, for men and women, as
he knew them, were brilliant, clever creatures, perfectly at home in the
midst of difficulties that appalled him. But, as he watched the old man
feed himself like an animal, the emotion that rose in Bull was the
sadness he felt when he watched old Maggie stumbling among the
rocks. There was something wrong with the forelegs of Maggie, and
she was only half a horse when it