THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 49 



THE HUNTEKS 



By Orley E. Gray 



The autumn sun shone redly 



Through the blue October haze, 

 And the autumn wind sang gladly 



To the finest of fine days. 

 The maple 's leaves of crimson, 



And the willow's leaves of gold, 

 Filled all the air with visions 



Such as artists never told. 



Two boys stout clad in homespuns. 



With dogs well trained to trail, 

 Set out, with bags and shotguns, 



To hunt the whirring quail. 

 Through the back lot pastures, 



Across the close cut meads, 

 Across the rill and up the hill 



To a field o'ergrown with weeds. 



Here, the trailing dogs stood steady, 



While each boy, with throbbing heart, 

 Grasped close his gun — the quick wings hum-»- 



From the weeds the beauties start. 

 Then they poured from their single barrels 



The rain of leaden hail; 

 And faithful Ned brought in the dead — 



A solitary quail. 



Then they followed up the stragglers, 



And flushed them one by one, 

 Till all were fled or fallen dead 



At the crack of the single gun. 



On a fallen log, at noontime, 



They ate their frugal lunch, 

 Invoiced their game and lived again 



Each act of the morning hunt. 

 Their hearts were filled with gladness, 



Their lives were filled with joys; 

 They knew naught of a world of madness, 



For they were only boys. 



They worried not of war times, 



Nor the price of needful things, 

 Of subjects' woes, nor kings and foes — 



For they themselves were kings! 

 Kings of the world about them — 



The forests, fields and streams'; 

 Kings of blameless consciences, 



And futures filled with dreams. 



