THE POCKET HUNTER 



Pocket Hunter. He wanted nothing of 

 you and maintained a cheerful preference 

 for his own way of life. It was an excellent 

 way if you had the constitution for it. The 

 Pocket Hunter had gotten to that point 

 where he knew no bad weather, and all 

 places were equally happy so long as they 

 were out of doors. I do not know just 

 how long it takes to become saturated with 

 the elements so that one takes no account 

 of them. Myself can never get past the 

 glow and exhilaration of a storm, the wrestle 

 of long dust-heavy winds, the play of live 

 thunder on the rocks, nor past the keen 

 fret of fatigue when the storm outlasts 

 physical endurance. But prospectors and 

 Indians get a kind of a weather shell that 

 remains on the body until death. 



The Pocket Hunter had seen destruction 

 by the violence of nature and the violence 

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