140 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
Frazer was rather put out over the incident. 
“You ought to know better than that, Bert,’’ he 
exclaimed. ‘‘I simply can’t stand for any killing 
of game out of season. I’ve got to fire the first man 
that does it, no matter who it is.’’ 
‘Well, why can’t them turkeys keep away an’ 
leave me alone,’’ grumbled Bert. ‘‘I wasn’t both- 
erin’ them none when they came right up to the cook 
tent and started joshing me. I don’t suppose if I 
was to meet one in th’ road an’ he run up an’ bit 
me I’d have a right to defend myself.’ 
Thereafter, though our appetites increased daily 
and the turkeys were as thick as ever, no one at- 
tempted to molest them. 
We were helped out of our predicament by old 
man Reed, known as the ‘‘Hermit of Black Can- 
yon,’’ who brought us from his ranch, a short half. 
mile away, a welcome supply of potatoes, string 
beans, cabbage and other vegetables which flourished 
there. 
He was called a recluse, but his attitude toward 
us was most un-hermitlike. He came over to camp 
every evening, his daily offering of eatables in a 
gunnysack over his shoulder. We were always glad: 
to see him and that not altogether on account of the 
addition to our stores his arrival meant. Each 
night he sat and talked with us a while before leav- 
ing and his graphic stories of early days in the 
hills, of Indian fighting and adventures with big 
game, were absorbingly entertaining. 
