GOD'S LANGUAGE. 



191 



2 of them to come with me. One was 

 armed with a 40-82-260 Winchester re- 

 peater. The other had a 44-40, of the same 

 make, and I had a 45-90-300. 



They mounted their horses and over 

 we went. They were to go around and 

 station themselves in the swamp, on the 

 other side, while I went through the patch 

 of timber. I had no faith in one of the men, 

 as he would lose his head, and the other 

 didn't appear to have any. When I entered 

 the timber I smiled to think that if they 

 met " Old Ephraim," they would break 

 their necks to get out of there. Everything 

 was as quiet as nature could make it. I 

 hadn't got much more than well tangled 

 up in the fallen timber when " bang! bang! 

 bang! " and such a banging! I stood still; 

 I almost felt that Indians were at us. I 

 never thought 2 men could kick up such 

 a row. The woods seemed full of them. 

 I was doing the best I could to get 

 around to them; but it was impossible to 

 make any headway in that mass of fallen 

 timber. Still that banging kept up. I ex- 

 pected when I got to them to find enough 

 meat to last all winter. What a sight! Two 

 horses feeding quietly; one man hat in 

 hand and tearing around as if a swarm of 

 bees were after him, yelling all the time, 



" I hit him! I hit him! I saw him stag- 



ger!" 1 was staggered. The other might 

 have been taken for a parson on his 

 " bended marrow bones," a position I am 

 sure was new to this man. You see what 

 even the dumb animals can do. I am sorry 

 to say he wasn't struck with religion, he 

 was struck with a desire to find blood. He 

 was only doing what the good book says, 

 " Seek and ye shall find." Seek as hard as 

 we could we could find no blood. I then 

 asked, " How many shots did you fire? " 

 They had fired one magazine of 44's and 2 

 of 40-82's and nothing down. Who gets 

 the buck fever? It was point blank range, 

 in a swamp, not a twig or bush in the way, 

 clear, open ground. Then one of these 

 buck fevered men got on his horse and 

 went to camp for more ammunition to 

 hunt elk that must have been at least 2 

 miles up in the hills. 



Verily one meets with some queer things 

 in the woods. Where he showed me he 

 had hit the bull, I found a drop of blood, 

 and following it up found the bull dead 

 enough behind a rock, and cut his throat. 

 There were no more signs of blood, though 

 we hunted the wood for a mile around. 

 Talk about a battlefield. You should have 

 seen that pile of shells. I believe it was 

 just by the merest chance that the bull was 

 hit. 



GOD'S LANGUAGE. 



EDWARD G. ALLANSON. 



I've climbed the Sierra Madres — 

 I've seen the big horn's leap — 

 I've fought the mighty silver-tip 

 In canyons wild and deep. 



I've gone to rest at evening, 



In lonely silent glens, 



Where dark pines lift their towering crests, 



And gray wolves seek their dens. 



Where light the perfumed zephyrs 

 Cool on my brow would play, 

 Until the sun came up at morn 

 And chased the dawn away. 



The tall firs towered above me; 

 I hear them whispering still; 

 I see the velvet lawn beneath 

 Laced with the mountain rill. 



The grandeur of those grand old hills, 

 How infinite — how sublime! 

 'Tis God's own language to the soul — 

 The impress of the Divine! 



