The old man trudged through the deep snow that was being driven by the stiff wind. He knew the blizzard would blow itself out by morning, so he was carrying more wood to the cabin for the long cold night. The woodshed was well stocked so he had no worry on that count.
He stamped off the snow from his boots and pushed open the door so he, and the large Chesapeake retriever following him, could get in out of the storm. The warmpth enveloped him from the woodstove that was in the corner of the cabin. He dumped his armload in the crib and took a piece of the firewood and put it on the small log chopping block next to the stove. Then he picked up the hatchet.
It was an old hatchet, part of the two piece kit he had picked up many years before. It had come with the sheath knife he now wore on his hip. The hatchet and sheath knife had the same stacked leather washer handle and aluminum birdshead pommel. The leather was now stained dark with age and use, and the steel was a soft grey from the years of cutting. The Case brand was stamped on the blade of the knife and hatchet. Now the old man used the hatchet to shive off slim pieces of wood from the larger piece, to feed into the wood stove. He used the hatchet with the easy motion of one who had done this so many times over many years, it was second nature. The man fed the wood to the fire and closed the door on the stove, and then set the large frying pan on top of the stove. The spoon of lard sizzeled on the heating cast iron. The old man took out the knife from the sheath at his waist and diced up a small onion, and then a potato. Dumping that into the pan, he listened to the sound of the frying food while he sliced up some venison from the cold well under the cabin floor. Soon the small cabin was filled with the aroma of frying hash to which the old man added some spices from the cupboard.
"So, tonight we eat well, huh old friend?" he spoke to the Chesapeake. The dog wagged his thick tail and kept rapt attention to his master.
The old man stired the frying mix and made sure the coffee pot was almost perking. Soon he was spooning out his dinner and he set some aside in the dogs bowl, mixing in some dry dogfood. Then master and dog were eating thier fill. Plates clean, he poured himself another mug of the fresh perked coffee. Leaning back in his chair he took out the pocket watch at the end of the brass chain.
"Whoa, don't want to miss the show, do we?" he asked the dog. The dog did not disagree, and old man crossed to the shelf and switched on the radio. The batteries were in good shape, and he fiddled with the dial and after a bit of static he found what he was looking for. He settled back in a comfortable rocker and filled his pipe with some dark air cured burley. As he smoked and listened to his favorite radio show, Gang Busters, he took out the grey bladed Case sheath knife and slowly stropped it on a piece of leather. He knew that The Shadow would be on next.
"Don't get much better than this, do it old buddy?" he said to the dog. The Chesapeake lay down on the oval rug and looked up at his master.
He didn't disagree.
He stamped off the snow from his boots and pushed open the door so he, and the large Chesapeake retriever following him, could get in out of the storm. The warmpth enveloped him from the woodstove that was in the corner of the cabin. He dumped his armload in the crib and took a piece of the firewood and put it on the small log chopping block next to the stove. Then he picked up the hatchet.
It was an old hatchet, part of the two piece kit he had picked up many years before. It had come with the sheath knife he now wore on his hip. The hatchet and sheath knife had the same stacked leather washer handle and aluminum birdshead pommel. The leather was now stained dark with age and use, and the steel was a soft grey from the years of cutting. The Case brand was stamped on the blade of the knife and hatchet. Now the old man used the hatchet to shive off slim pieces of wood from the larger piece, to feed into the wood stove. He used the hatchet with the easy motion of one who had done this so many times over many years, it was second nature. The man fed the wood to the fire and closed the door on the stove, and then set the large frying pan on top of the stove. The spoon of lard sizzeled on the heating cast iron. The old man took out the knife from the sheath at his waist and diced up a small onion, and then a potato. Dumping that into the pan, he listened to the sound of the frying food while he sliced up some venison from the cold well under the cabin floor. Soon the small cabin was filled with the aroma of frying hash to which the old man added some spices from the cupboard.
"So, tonight we eat well, huh old friend?" he spoke to the Chesapeake. The dog wagged his thick tail and kept rapt attention to his master.
The old man stired the frying mix and made sure the coffee pot was almost perking. Soon he was spooning out his dinner and he set some aside in the dogs bowl, mixing in some dry dogfood. Then master and dog were eating thier fill. Plates clean, he poured himself another mug of the fresh perked coffee. Leaning back in his chair he took out the pocket watch at the end of the brass chain.
"Whoa, don't want to miss the show, do we?" he asked the dog. The dog did not disagree, and old man crossed to the shelf and switched on the radio. The batteries were in good shape, and he fiddled with the dial and after a bit of static he found what he was looking for. He settled back in a comfortable rocker and filled his pipe with some dark air cured burley. As he smoked and listened to his favorite radio show, Gang Busters, he took out the grey bladed Case sheath knife and slowly stropped it on a piece of leather. He knew that The Shadow would be on next.
"Don't get much better than this, do it old buddy?" he said to the dog. The Chesapeake lay down on the oval rug and looked up at his master.
He didn't disagree.
