I mind once I was out among the Adirondacks, trappin' martin and
sable. I shantied for a week with Crop, under the shadow of Mount
Marcy. It was twenty odd year ago, and that old mountain stood a good
deal further from a clearin' than it does now. Crop and I had a good
many hard days' work that trip; but we got a full pack of martin and
sable skins, and two or three wolf scalps, besides a bear and a
painter, and we didn't complain. Wal, one afternoon, we put up a
shanty in an open spot two miles from our regular campin' ground, and
built our fire for the night. There was no moon, and though the stars
shone out bright and clear, yet in the deep shadow of the forest it
was dark and gloomy enough. We had eaten our supper, and I was smokin'
my last pipe before layin' myself away, when all at once the forest
was lighted up like the day. It was all the more light from the sudden
glare which broke upon the darkness, and there, for an instant, stood
the old woods, lighted up like noon, every tree distinct, every
mountain, every rock, and valley, as perfect and plain to be seen as
if the sun was standin' right above us in the sky. Crop was as much
astonished as I was, and he crept to my feet and trembled like a
coward, as he crouched beside them. I looked up, and flyin' across the
heavens was a great ball of fire, lookin' for all the world as if the
sun had broke loose, and was runnin' away in a fright.
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