That Which Should Not Be Read Online Free PDF

back to when my ancestors came from the old country.  They were Huguenots, they were.  Fled from one persecution to the next.  I guess it was only fitting they should find a home in the woods and the wilds. 
    I had learned the trade from my father, but this was to be my first time on my own, as much as I ever would be.  You may not know this, but a fur man never travels alone.  We work in teams, you see.  Trackers and trappers, a man who is handy with a pot and some pans and, if he is worth anything, a hammer and saw.  Even a doctor if, per chance, we could find one. 
    I was in Monterey in those days, a wild bit of country in the Birkshires. There were to be five of us on that trip. The leader was Tom, a big man who looked like he was cut from marble.  Tom was a friend of my father’s from back in their wilder days, and he had agreed to take me on that trip as his apprentice. 
    Then, there was Dr. Stanley.  We never knew if he was a real doc or not, but he had a reputation in the hill country as a man who could be counted on and knew how to treat a fever or a sickness.  And, he could fix a wagon.  We hauled one behind us as we went.  We’d skin the animals as we caught them and, then, line that thing with as many pelts as we could carry.  Once the supplies ran out and the wagon was full, we’d make our way back to the outposts along the rivers.  But that was always the worst part of the trip.  Wheel would break, wagon would get stuck.  Without a man who knew his way around some carpentry, we would be lost.  I had some of that knowledge, but the doc was the best with a knife, whether he was cutting on a man or a pine board. 
    Andrew was another trapper, a skinny fellow, that one.  He struck me as a bit skittish straightaway, and I marked him as a man you couldn’t trust.  Joe was our scout.  He was a bit of a mystery.  He was a tracker by trade, though he could probably trap better than the rest of us, too.  They said he was part Indian; I never learned the truth of that.  He died too soon.  And he was quiet.  Spoke barely a word. 
    And then there was Travis.  Travis was an experienced hand.  He knew the woods, knew the secret paths, the dark places where the best fur would hide.  There was something about that man, something missing from his eyes.  I know that sounds strange.  But that's what I felt.  Like he was empty somehow.  But Tom wanted him.  Between Tom and Andrew, Travis, and me, we had a pretty good team goin'.  There were no doubts we would make good coin on that trip.  And so I guess we got a little wild, as men like us were wont to do.  On the night before we were supposed to leave, the wine, the whiskey, and the rum flowed hard and fast. 
    Tom had a rule on the trail — no liquor, no exceptions.  It bein' the last night in town, I guess we drank a little more than we should.  There was a girl who worked the bar that evening, an Indian girl.  Travis watched her all night long.  She was shy and a tiny bit of nothin'.  Dark haired and dark skinned.  Young, no more than 16, I’d wager.  Every time she’d walk by, Travis would grab her, pull her to him, tell her she was “a pretty little thing.”
    It boils my blood to even think about it.  There was a sickness in his voice then, a nasty, godless quality.  Depraved, he was.  Just depraved.
      Anyway, she obliged him at first, as any good girl in that trade would.  But then it was too much even for someone who made her money off men like Travis.  She began to struggle, to try and get away.  Andy told him — that’s what we called Andrew — Andy told him to leave her alone.  Travis just glared at him.  He scared me, then, with that look.  I wanted no part of that. 
    I left the bar and found Tom outside, smoking his tobacco.  There was the hint of coming snow that day, but it wasn’t cold. 
    “You ready for tomorrow?” he asked between puffs.  I wasn’t really sure.  I had only gone with my