116 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



THE FALSE 



For Forest and Stream. 

 FEJEE. 



ONCE I loved a Fejee maiden, 

 Kee-ivah-nee-wah-ya-hoo-hay, 

 "The Ever-bloorning Forest Flower" — 



She translated it that way — 

 Though it might mean "Speckled Cow, 1 ' or 

 "Striped Bug," or "Whiskey Sour," 

 For aught that I can truly say. 



She was young and not ungraceful, 



And had rigid raven hair, 

 Which, with wonderful precision, 



Fell across her forehead square; 

 And the angle of her vision 

 Gave a look of indecision 



To her orb's uncertain glare. 



Golden amber was the hue on 

 Kee-wah-nee and-so-forth's cheek, 



Golden amber, haply varied 

 By a sanguinary streak 



Of red earth that had been "carried 



Over," as it were, or tarried 

 From the toilet of last week. 



How we joined the chase together, 



In the forest, in the dell: J 

 How the grasshopper we followed, 



With our spirit stirring yell; 

 How in banquetting we wallowed, 

 As the spoils of chase we followed, 



It were bootless here to tell . 



'Tis enough that I was happy 



In that primitive retreat, 

 And when dark forebodings filled me, 



And the camp was out of meat, 

 Even then the proud thought thrilled me, 

 "When her people shall have killed me, 



She will find me good to eat." 



Fool, to hug the idle fancy ! 



Ah, that anguish-laden day, 

 When a bark from o'er the ocean 



Bore a stranger to our bay— 

 A stranger with Quixotic notion, 



That the savage, at his motion, 



Would abandon prey for pray. 



He was young, and plump, and rosy; 



I, alas, was dry and spare, 

 And Kee-wah-nee was all a woman, 



Fickle as the summer air. 

 I was more or less than human, 

 With my dearly bought acumen, 



Had I tarried longer there. 



Good ship, bear me quickly onward 1 

 South sea simoons, kindly blow J 



Wafting from that tropic Aiden, 

 Balm for all my bitter woe: 



For with barbecue 'tis laden, 



And I know the faithless maiden 

 "Now is lunching off my foe ! 



-+♦>- 



J. J. Roche. 



ELK HUNTING IN NEBRASKA. 



T, O the sportsman, as well as to the enthusiast in the 

 beauties of nature — and what true sportsman is not 

 the latter as well — the country west of the Missouri river 

 presents attractions of the most inviting description. 

 The broad plains of Nebraska, Kansas, Wyoming and 

 Colorado, the lofty peaks of the Kocky Mountains, and the 

 rugged Sierras of California offer the former every induce- 

 ment in the shape of "fur, fin, and feather," while to the 

 lover of natural scenery they unfold a panorama un- 

 equalled for grandeur and varied beauty by anything in 

 the world. The locality to which I desire to call your at- 

 tention presents, however, little to attract those who cross 

 the Plains simply as sight-seers. But to the votaries of rifle 

 and shot-gun it is a very paradise. Fifty miles to the south- 

 ward flows the Republican river, the banks of which are 

 still the feeding ground of countless numbers of buffaloes 

 and the hunting ground of the brave Pawnee, the treacher- 

 ous Sioux, and many other smaller tribes of Indians. Fifty 

 miles to the northward lies the Loup Fork, once the undis- 

 puted home of the Pawnee, and now a sort of debatable 

 ground between their Reservation and that of their deadly 

 enemies, the Sioux. On the banks of this river browses 

 the mighty Elk, (Gervus canadensis). A little further to the 

 west among the sand hills feed the watchful antelope. 

 Beaver and otter are in every stream. The open prairie fur- 

 nishes chickens (Gupidonia cupido), sharp tailed grouse 

 (Pediceceles phasianelhis,) and upland plover {Actieurus bar- 

 tramius), while the river bottoms teem with quail (ortyx 

 virginianus), and occasionally we find a drove of wild tur 

 keys {Meleagris gallipavo), deer, both black tail (G. columbia- 

 nus) and Virginia, (G. virginianus) abound both in the 

 rivers and along the creeks. In short, whether you carry 

 your rifle or shot-gun, or both, you will find work enough 

 to do. Starting at a point on the Central Pacific Railroad, 

 about one hundred and fifty miles west of Omaha, a party 

 of three, we pulled out on the afternoon of the last day of 

 August, on a march toward the Loup. A bad Indian country 

 is that along the Loup Fork, for upon its banks lies the 

 trail which the Sioux follow on their horse-stealing expedi- 

 tions to the Pawnee village. We were not without appre- 

 hensions that we might encounter some small band who 

 would try to run off our horses; but we wanted game more 

 than we feared the Indians, and therefore we decided to 

 take the risk. 



Jack Robinson, our teamster, an excellent and amusing 

 fellow, sat in the wagon containing our provisions and bed- 

 ding, behind his rattling team of sorrels, that trotted along 

 ,at a pace that promised well for a speedy arrival at the hunt- 



ing ground. Lute — my guide, philosopher, and friend, 

 ah, how shall I describe you? what fitting words can I find 

 to convey an idea of your genial spirit, your kind heart 

 and generous disposition? We are old friends, Lute and 

 I; together we have hunted buffalo on the Republican, and 

 antelope on the sand hills ; have shot wild turkeys on the 

 Beaver, and been chased by a rascally band of Minne- 

 coujas, between that stream and the Republican, and now 

 we are going to hunt elk on the Loup. 



He has said to me: "I can promise to give you, at 

 least, a shot at the elk, but don't know whether you'll kill 

 or not. They're pretty good game. Not many men around 

 here can say that they've killed an elk. My spirits fall at 

 this, for I have dreamed of elk for weeks and fear a miss. 



We traveled about twenty miles the first day and camped 

 on a small creek where we found wood and water. A little 

 fried bacon, some biscuits hastily cooked, and a cup of cof- 

 fee constituted our first meal in camp, and after smoking a 

 quiet pipe we lie down by the fire. Lute's last observation 

 is, " We'll have game to-morrow night, boys." My heart, 

 gives a throb, and I secretly pray that I may be the one to 

 kill it. 



We started with the sun the next morning and had a 

 long day's march. Lute and myself hunted through the ra- 

 vines, while the wagon kept on the divide. We saw no game 

 except three deer, which jumped up about seventy-five yards 

 from Lute. Shooting from his horse he touched one of 

 them in the hind leg, but not seriously, as we watched it for 

 a long distance and though it fell behind the others it kept 

 up a gait we knew would carry it away from our ponies, 

 fast though they were. 



We had traveled all day, and were hot and tired when 

 we came to a creek where there was good camping ground. 

 The sun was only about two hours above the western hori- 

 zon, and we decided to camp as soon as a place could be 

 found where we could get the horses down to the water. 

 In looking for such a place Lute rode toward the top of a 

 little ridge to get a wider view. Suddenly I saw him bend 

 down over the neck of his horse and wheeling round gal- 

 lop toward us. "There they are, boys," he cried, "elk, 

 about twenty of them." In a moment we were all excite- 

 ment, and were hastily following his hurried directions. 

 The horses were unhitched and unsaddled, and picketed out. 

 Fire arms and knives were examined, and we descended 

 into the bed of the creek, whence the elk had just 

 emerged about half a mile further up. But who can des- 

 cribe the labor of our advance on that band of elk? Not 

 I, indeed I can only say that the bed of the creek was full 

 of water and very miry, that the sides were nearly perpen- 

 dicular, and were almost everywhere covered with a thick 

 growth of nettles, briers, and creeping plants; where bare 

 they were wet and very slippery; that the sun was blazing- 

 down as only a Nebraska sun can blaze, and that we ran 

 ahead when we could, and fell ahead when we .could'nt 

 run. Fortunately there was no wind; I say fortunately, for 

 the elk's sense of smell is so acute, that it is more to be 

 feared by the hunter than its powers of vision. 



At last we were. within three hundred yards of the place 

 where the game was supposed to be, and it behooved us to 

 move cautiously. Lute carefully ascended the bank and 

 looked about him. For a long time he gave no sign, but 

 at length I saw him lower his head and creep rapidly 

 toward us. " They are moving," he whispered, "feeding 

 along toward the bluffs; we must hurry." As fast as pos- 

 sible we hastened up the creek, and soon, after another 

 look by our leader, turned up a ravine. The utmost cau- 

 tion was now neccessary. We crawled along, not on our 

 hands and knees, but flat on our faces for some distance. 

 Lute first, myself next and Jack last. Presently we turned 

 and commenced to ascend the side of the ravine, and as 

 we neared the ridge Lute stopped and motioned me up be- 

 side him. "They're just over the ridge, crawl up and 

 take the first shot. " I feebly resisted, but he reiterated the 

 order, and I complied. On reaching the top I cautiously 

 raised my head, and there within a hundred yards of me 

 I saw the ears of an old cow elk. The sight was almost 

 too much for me, and I sank back a moment. Then steady- 

 ing my nerves by a violent effort, I raised my old Sharpe. 

 Carefully . with finger on trigger, I full-cocked it, and 

 sighted where Lute had told me to, about eight inches be- 

 hind the fore shoulder and low down. For a moment I 

 could not hold well on her, for the flies troubled her and she 

 kept moving, but at last she stood still and I pulled. The 

 smoke hid her from me, and I sprang forward just as 

 Lute ran by me, to get a shot at the herd as they fled. 

 In a moment I was at his side, and we stopped just about 

 where my cow had stood when I fired. The elk were run- 

 ning briskly off about half a mile away; none of them 

 seemed to be wounded, and I could see nothing of the one 

 at which I had fired. At that moment I felt particularly 

 small. Suddenly Lute shouted, "There she is," and fol- 

 lowing the direction of his glance, I saw a movement in 

 the short prairie grass. We rushed to the spot, and there 

 lay the cow, kicking in her death agony. My ball had 

 passed through her heart, and she had run about fifty yards 

 before falling. That was for me the supreme moment. As I 

 stood over her, all the trouble and annoyance of the trip; 

 all the worries and cares of every day life were forgot- 

 ten, and I was absorbed in the proud contemplation of 

 the gracef ul creature lying before me. 



Lute was cordiaMn his congratulations. "1 knew that 

 you hit her," he said, "fori crawled up behind you and 

 saw that you held steady as a rock." 



After bleeding and butchering our game we started for 

 camp. It was now almost dark, for it had taken us quite 

 two hours to reach the place where we then were. Strik- 



ing off over the prairie we arrived at our camp in about 

 fifteen minutes, and after a delightful supper spent an hour 

 or two talking over the incidents of the day, and listening 

 to Lute's stories of hunts and Indian fights. 



'Twere a pleasant task to narrate to you a score of his 

 tales. To tell you of battles with the Sioux on the Mis- 

 souri, and with the Arrapahoes in Kansas; of how Frank 

 Lute's brother, killed Tall Bull on the Loup, and how, on' 

 another occasion, with one white men and seven Pawnees 

 he fought for five hours against one hundred and fifty 

 Sioux under old Turkey Leg, and finally drove them off. 

 But lack of space forbids, and I must hasten to the end of 

 my tale. 



Early next morning we were afoot, and before night the 

 flesh of the elk, neatly stripped from the bones, was in 

 process of being jerked. For five days w r e hunted with 

 most satisfactory results. Elk were found and killed on 

 several occasions. Finally, forced to it by ' 'the terror by 

 night," viz., mosquitoes, we turned our faces homeward. 

 On the last day but one of our return march we camped 

 early and rode out to take a last look for game. As we de- 

 scended the slope of a high bluff Lute's eye, which was 

 constantly roving along the horizon, caught sight of some 

 moving objects just appearing over the top of another bluff 

 a few hundred yards off. Crouching low in our saddles we 

 galloped down into the ravine, and, leaving our horses, as- 

 cended the next ridge, whence the elk could be seen feed- 

 ing slowly toward us. We had only to wait until they 

 came within shot. Very deliberately they advanced. The 

 leaders, two fine bulls, stopping every now and then to look, 

 smell, or listen, and then boldly stepping forward, as if to 

 encourage the more timid females and young. Had we 

 waited I am confident that they would have come up within 

 ten yards of us. It would have been little else than mur 

 der, however, to have shot them so near, and I was glad to 

 see Lute look round at us and signal us to be ready, while 

 they were still more than a hundred yards distant The 

 three rifles cracked almost simultaneously, but to our cha- 

 grin only one animal fell. It was Lute's bull. Jack and I 

 had fired too hastily, and had missed. As the herd swept 

 round the hill, in full flight, we fired again, but with no 

 better result. A third shot from Jack as they were ascend- 

 ing the bluffs brought down a large bull, and as they were 

 about to disappear I raised my two hundred and fifty yard 

 sight and carefully fired at a large cow which ran a little 

 behind the other. As I lowered my rifle I saw her stagger, 

 and then, turning off to one side, move down a ravine on 

 three legs. Running back to the horses I sprang into the 

 saddle and urged forward my pony with whip and spur. 

 I was soon within sight of the cow, which, although on 

 three legs, ran very fast, and I had ridden nearly two miles 

 before I got close enough to shoot from the saddle with 

 any certainty of killing. At last, however, I fired while on 

 a run and brought her down, but it took another shot to 

 finish her. It was an exciting chase, and I did not realize 

 until I passed over the ground on my return what a mad 

 gallop it had been. I had ridden through sloughs so miry 

 that on reaching them again I was fain to pick out a better 

 crossing; had descended on a full run the sides of canons 

 so steep that I now preferred leading my horse up to riding 

 him, and had given the little animal such a breather as 

 would have thoroughly exhausted an American horse. 



We had now plenty of work on hand. The heads and 

 skins were prepared for mounting, the meat jerked, 

 and with a wagon heavily loaded we started for the rail- 

 road. 



Thus ended my hunt of 1873. Successful and eminently 

 satisfactory in all respects, I can only hope for as pleasant 

 a one next year. Oenis. 

 «*♦♦- 



THE GRASSHOPPERS' FLIGHT. 



THERE would be no earthly joy in a grasshopper's life 

 did he not trust in Providence. Last fall the weary 

 mothers came over the mountains and began laying their 

 eggs in the grass. But it rained and hailed, and thousands 

 of birds went out to gather them up. Then great fires' swept 

 over the plains, and'wheu cold weather came the grass- 

 hopper could hardly find a place to cast his horoscope. 

 There is not a woman in Colorado who would have been 

 willing to trust her offspring to the mercy of a Rocky 

 Mountain winter. But the grasshopper was full of faith, 

 and when the final hour came she folded her fragile wings 

 and sank into the dust of the wilderness. The winds blew 

 and the storm howled, and it did seem as though all grass- 

 hopper life would perish from the earth. But after a while, 

 when spring came and the grass peeped up from the earth, 

 myriads of little specks began hopping about, and many 

 doubted if they were really grasshopper babies. They 

 looked like little grains of black tea, and nothing could be 

 more helpless and insignificant. A child could kill a mil- 

 lion of them. Wagons and horses and remorseless boots 

 trampled them into the earth. Still they grew and increased 

 and multiplied, and in a few weeks strong men trembled, 

 for their crops were disappearing before the silent mowers- 

 There was no relief, and for once man and his inventions 

 had found their master. A long sweeping train left the 

 depot with the speed of a racehorse, but an army of these 

 little insects mounted the rails, and the power that tunnels 

 mountains and defies the ocean storms became as helpless as 

 a babe. For a time it was thought that the crops would be 

 entirely ruined, and to tell the truth many were. _ The weak 

 little fly of earth formed his second wings — with his first 

 ones he could not move any distance — and away he went 

 towards the clouds. Billions and sextillions of them filled 

 the air; in fact the entire space between the earth and the 

 sun seemed literally alive with them, and from the shady 

 side of a house one could see miles of them upon miles 

 among the clouds, with the sun flittering down through their 

 transparent wings. They were no longer despised insects 

 of earth, but having waited patiently for their ascension 

 robes they were free at last, joyously winging their way to 

 other climes. — Greeley (Gol.) Tribune. 



