Spencer's Mountain Read Online Free Page A

seared through his body that filled him with awe and terror.
    Clay-Boy turned away, reeled back toward the stump where he had been sitting, and vomited. When his retching stopped he looked up and saw his father crashing through the underbrush.
    â€œI heard a shot,” called Clay. “You all right, boy?”
    Clay-Boy nodded, and pointed to the body of the deer.
    â€œOh my God, son,” exclaimed Clay. He pointed his gun into the sky and fired three shots, a signal to the other brothers to come in from their positions.
    Clay examined the deer wonderingly, and then he looked again to his son.
    â€œYou’re tremblen,” said Clay.
    â€œI was thinking about what Grandpa said,” answered Clay-Boy, “about whoever killed the white deer would be marked someway.”
    â€œWhatever you’re marked for, boy, you’ll stand up to it,” said Clay.
    Someone was approaching down the snowy wood trail; when he turned the bend they saw that it was Virgil. He walked over to the deer, and when he saw that it was the white deer, he turned to Clay and said, “I’m kind of sorry you got him, Clay. It’s a burden on a man to be marked.”
    â€œThe boy got him,” said Clay. “Not me.”
    Virgil went to where Clay-Boy, to hide his trembling, had knelt and was cleaning his knife in the earth and snow. Virgil knelt beside Clay-Boy, and though he spoke to Clay, his eyes were on Clay-Boy’s eyes. “It wasn’t no boy killed that deer, Clay,” he said. “It took a man to do it.”
    It was a gracious thing for Virgil to say, and the remark had a calming effect on the boy. The trembling began to leave him and he was able now to squat alongside the carcass with his other uncles as they arrived, each one expressing his astonishment and admiration at what he had done, making guesses as to the deer’s weight and counting the antlers.
    When all the men were gathered they began to prepare the deer for the triumphant march home. Slits were made inthe fore and hind legs and then the strong tendon pried through so the carrying pole might be inserted.
    Anse, the eldest, and Clay, the strongest, shouldered the carrying pole and led the way out of the forest. When the men had come up the mountain, Clay-Boy had trailed at the end of the line, but now when Clay stepped forward, his uncles motioned for Clay-Boy to step in the line behind his father.
    Snow had begun to fall again on Spencer’s Mountain, and as it settled thickly over the place where the deer had received its death, the stain of the blood changed from vermilion to red to pink to white, and there was only the white stillness, the falling snow and the quickly vanishing outlines of the steps of men.

Chapter 3
    After Thanksgiving the winter turned severe. Snow fell all through Christmas and New Year, blotting out the horizon from the boy who at odd times during the day would stop in his chores and gaze absently off toward the barn where the antlers of the great deer were mounted over the door. As the months passed and nothing extraordinary happened, he became less of a curiosity in the community, and this was a relief to him. But in his own mind he would reconstruct what had happened on the mountain, marvel at the event, and wonder what it could mean.
    One day the icicles which had grown on the eaves of the barn began to glisten in the sunlight and melt. Each following day brought some new sign of spring. Olivia’s crocuses along the front walk seemed to burst into blossom overnight. The earth began to dry and the only sign of winter that remained was the crusted patches of snow that lingered in shady corners beside the house. Soon, along every path through the hills the redbud and dogwood were in blossom, and the edge of every wood was filigreed with redbud pink and dogwood white.
    One Saturday morning Clay-Boy woke at dawn andlistened to the sounds of the house as it awakened to morning. The morning was