THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 123 
open doorway. My father shouted to her to close the door, while we 
children in fear and trembling drew the bed clothes over our heads, 
but all danger was past for the monster beast fell dead when about 
half way to the house, shot through the middle of its body. 
The next morning we stood around the big creature in awe while 
father divested it of its beautiful coat, which he preserved in some 
way known to himself, and kept it in an attic room upstairs where he 
had the skins of a big black bear and a large gray wolf, such as are 
never seen here since the ‘‘white man’’ has made this a civilized coun- 
try, and the small farmers have brought the ‘‘jungles’’ into cultiva- 
tion. But that little old attic was a horror room to us small children, 
and we always felt when we entered it that those terrible claws 
protruding from the four corners, were ready to tear us into bits. 
This all happened over forty years ago, and to travel over that 
road and note the changes makes one feel that it must have happened 
in some previous existence. No more is seen the big bear and cougar 
tracks in the dust of that road, but instead there is a beautiful boule- 
vard in constant use by the modern automobile. 
THERE’S WHERE THE CAMPERS GO 
By WALTER S. CHANSLER 
Out where the skies are a little bluer 
Where comradeship is a little truer, 
There’s where the campers go. 
Out where the sun shines a little brighter, 
Where the cares of life are a great deal lighter, 
Where the bonds of truth are a wee bit tighter, 
There’s where the campers go. 
: 
Out where heart-throbs are a little stronger, 
Where the sands of life run a little longer, 
There’s where the campers go. 
Out where character is in the making, 
Where there’s more of giving and less of taking, 
Where there are more hearts joyful and fewer hearts aching, ° 
There’s where the campers go. 
Out where the breeze is softly blowing, 
Where the murmuring stream is gently flowing, 
There’s where the campers go. 
Out where life is much less trying, 
Where there’s more of laughing and less of erying, 
Where there’s more of living and less of dying, 
There’s where the campers go. 
