The tin plate of potatoes and bacon was shoved before him, and the big
tin cup of coffee. The three younger men sat in silence and devoured
their own meal; the two sons swiftly, but Bull Hunter fell into
musings, and part of his food remained uneaten. Then his glance
wandered to his uncle and saw a thing to wonder at--a horrible thing
in its own way.
The nerveless left hand of the mountaineer, which had barely possessed
steadiness to light a match, was far too inaccurate to handle a fork;
and Bull saw his uncle stuffing his mouth with his fingers and daring
the others to watch him.
Something like pity came to Bull. It was so rare an emotion to connect
with human beings that he hardly recognized it, for men and women, as
he knew them, were brilliant, clever creatures, perfectly at home in
the midst of difficulties that appalled him. But, as he watched the
old man feed himself like an animal, the emotion that rose in Bull was
the sadness he felt when he watched old Maggie stumbling among the
rocks.
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