An Embarrassment of Riches by James Howard Kunstler

Woodsman said. “But there is an herd of seven Virginia deer at about a quarter mile, one elk at an half, several foxes, raccoon, and ’possum aplenty, two, no, three badgers, and rodents innumerable.”
    We heard a flapping of wings overhead.
    â€œAlso many bats,” the Woodsman added, “and, perforce, an owl.”
    â€œNo Indians?” Bilbo pressed.
    â€œNot a one,” the Woodsman declared with confidence. Suddenly, another terrifying cry issued from the darkness. “There is now one less squirrel. A fox has et him.”
    â€œCan thee tell all these things by a mere snuffling of the breeze?” Uncle inquired in wonderment.
    â€œO, yes,” the Woodsman replied. “Why, the forest air is an open book. Were I, by some misfortune, struck blind, I would yet know my exact surrounding.”
    â€œâ€™Tis an amazing art,” Uncle said, and we all agreed.
    â€œPshaw,” the Woodsman scoffed. “Anyone can develop the faculty. Merely spend five thousand nights in the darkling woods. Avoid the towns and especially the taverns, as nothing so muddles this ability as the stench of tobacco—what ho!” he drew himself erect again, his delicate nostrils aquiver. “Gentlemen,” he said, “a bear has just lumbered across the margin of my scent range.”
    â€œWhat distance?” I asked.
    â€œA mile and a quarter—hold! Wait a minute! He has shifted direction and is retreating.”
    â€œDo you suppose he smells us?” I asked.
    â€œNot a chance, for he is upwind.”
    â€œWhy is he retreating then?” Bilbo inquired.
    â€œHow should I know?” the Woodsman replied. “Bears have their own reasons for going where they will. My faculty permits me to locate the beasts, not to read their minds—ho ho ho!” he rocked with mirth while the rest of us traded dumb, marveling glances. “I am most grateful for your hospitality, friends, but I am constrained by my noble mission to press on at once.” He licked both spoon and cup, replaced them in his necessaries pouch, and stood up.
    â€œWhat is your mission?” I asked.
    â€œWhy, to render aid to the unfortunate.”
    â€œAh ha. What if I told you that we were at this very moment in the clutches of a treacherous and unregenerate villain?”
    The Woodsman burst into another paroxysm of laughter.
    â€œThis has been a most diverting encounter,” he told us. “I can’t tell you when I’ve had better company of the human sort. Bears, as you know, are humorous critters, and wolves enjoy a roguish sort o’twitting, but we are in the main a melancholy race, don’t you agree?”
    He bowed and doffed his skunkskin cap.
    â€œWhat if I told you that the gentleman to my right were holding a pistol in my ribs this entire while?” I said.
    Bilbo now erupted into a fit of counterfeit hilarity whilst Bessie honked and Neddy yipped. It struck me that the scoundrel had entered the wrong profession after all; had he taken to the stage, he would have made a fortune by now, so superb was his flair for the sham; while his talent as a pirate seemed merely ordinary.
    This provoked yet another outburst of laughter in the Woodsman. He gripped his side and staggered over to lean against a tree trunk, so incapacitating was his jollity.
    â€œReally,” he protested, “this is too much. I must be on my way … ho ho ho ho ho … ha ha ha ha ha … hee hee hee hee hee….” And with his final farewell he backed out of our firelit glade and disappeared into the lugubrious darkness, his laughter subsumed into another sudden and freakish blast of warm wind that rattled the treetops.
    â€œBilbo,” said I, “you are an obdurate wretch.”
    â€œThou art a cloaca incarnate,” Uncle added.
    â€œWhat a way to speak to your partner,” Bilbo replied.
    The next several days, in fine weather, we floated down the Ohio