A FOX IN THE MERAMEC VALLEY 



speech and deed which tells of real nobility 

 of character, unspoiled and still unspotted by 

 the world. 



In the late October or early November days 

 a man can lie on one of these slumbering hills 

 and dream away the time, wrapped in an 

 Indian-summer haze which envelops the land 

 in a mantle of surpassing beauty. And if he 

 is fortunate enough to be near by to a fox- 

 chase he will have a variety of music and 

 color and conjecture to keep all his senses 

 keenly alive for hours. They hunt the fox 

 along the bluffs, and even down into the 

 thickets and woods which stand on the steep 

 banks below. Bold riders they certainly are, 

 taking risks which would appall the ordinary 

 sportsman. And on such a day, and with 

 such an opportunity, I once whiled away a 

 long October afternoon among the Meramec 

 hills. 



The river wound past amid tall and abrupt 

 rises, dense timber covering each bank, with 

 the autumn sun streaming down on its cur- 

 rent as it went by. Where the light had full 

 sweep on the water a flood of molten gold 

 glittered, and where the leaves beat back the 

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