know if you have read these confes- 

 sions, I would rather face a bear any 

 day than be left alone. 



It was a sweet time; this still 

 hunting was agreeably restful. Idly, 

 I reclined on the top of some thick 

 bushes, an old trick as the ground 

 gets uncomfortably hard. The bush 

 gives somewhat and one has a springy 

 seat. Sage brush makes an ideal 

 sofa, but this stunted willow was not 

 bad. The hours wore on. Nimrod 

 ceased exploring and took to scrib- 

 bling. His efforts enriched the pres- 

 ent for me at least : 



A SONG OF THE WEST 



"A meadow lark sang as the sun went 

 down, 



He sang in the dying glow, 

 He stirred up my heart with his artless art 



And his song of the long ago. 



"He sang me a song of the West, the 



West, 



He set all my feelings aglow, 

 He brought back the days of my youth 



with his song 

 His song of the long ago. 



"A coyote howled when the night was gone, 

 A voice on the wind from the East; 





