THE DUCK SHOOTER'S COMPLAINT. 



277 



of such a proceeding just yet? She pre- 

 ferred to remain free a while longer, but 

 if Algie would find a gold mine or an oil 

 well, or distinguish himself in some way 

 she might accede. In the meantime she 

 begged to assure him she had recently re- 

 fused 3 offers from men of unquestioned 

 social standing. 



Then, of course, there was a P. S. added, 

 even longer and more important than 

 usual. 



"I have just tumbled across an Ameri- 

 can railway guide and in a description of 

 Rocky mountain sport read the following : 

 'The pursuit of big game is no child's 

 play, especially if the quarry harmens to be 

 a grizzly bear. Right well did the Indian 

 hunter know what tested manhood, when 

 first he wrenched the great scimitar shaped 

 claws from the broad forepaw of the dead 

 grizzly, and strung them round his neck 

 to prove himself a man. Time has changed 

 many things, but the grizzly is yet king of 

 the woods, and his skin the most valued 

 trophy of the sportsman.' 



"Perhaps, Algie, if you will send me a 

 skin of your own taking we can wait 

 a while for the gold mine and the oil well." 



Algie's heart gave a joyous bound. Here 

 was his chance. He purchased 2 Senti- 

 nels, one telling of the deaths of Cultus 

 Jack and Klondyke Jim and the other re- 

 lating the tragic meeting of Hank Gra- 

 ham with the grizzly's ghost. These he 

 posted to Gladys with a brief note : 



"My promised wife: 



"I thank you for the precious hope you 

 have given me. I send you papers contain- 

 ing marked paragraphs which will interest 

 you. To-morrow morning I start to earn 

 for myself the boon you are willing to 



bestow. I vow I will remain in those 

 rock-strewn and timber-covered moun- 

 tains until either my life or that of the 

 grizzly's ghost has paid the price of your 

 inestimable love. Yours ever, Algie." 



That was the last communication Miss 

 Gladys Garmoyle ever received from her 

 would-be husband. 



His body was found near Peterson's. 

 He died with his face to the foe and had 

 apparently never flinched. His face bore 

 a smile of confidence and triumph, mingled 

 with mild surprise. On his breast were 3 

 downward slashes. The rent in his Nor- 

 folk jacket revealed, lying over his heart, 

 the photograph of a charming young girl in 

 evening dress. The doctor said death was 

 due partly to shock, but mainly to loss of 

 blood, and added, cynically, that if Algie 

 had had pictures of 4 or 5 other sweet- 

 hearts in his breast pocket, his life might 

 have been spared for one ; but virtue is its 

 own reward. 



Beside the boy's body lay that of the 

 much dreaded grizzly's ghost. It had re- 

 ceived a ball through its lungs and heart 

 and a charge of shot in its face. It was 

 absolutely sightless when it struck the 

 blow that killed poor Algie. There was 

 considerable discussion as to what kind of 

 a bear the animal really was. Many 

 hazarded the conjecture that it was a stray 

 polar bear that had found its way South- 

 ward. A learned zoologist pooh-poohed 

 such notions and remarked with dogmatic 

 decision : "No, it was an albino, undoubt- 

 edly rare, but by no means supernatural." 



Somehow Algie was hardly discussed at 

 all. One trapper did remark, "Waal, a 

 £ri;zly ain't fit meat for a tenderfoot no- 

 how, an' he shouldn't a' tried to bite off 

 more'n he could chaw." 



THE DUCK SHOOTER'S COMPLAINT. 



A. M. H. 



wily Widgeon, prithee tell to me 

 Why squattest thou on yonder lump of ice? 

 Why spurnest thou my proffered company? 



1 know thy seat is cold and far from nice. 

 Vainly I praise thy beauty and thy craft, 

 Still thou approachest not my ice-bound 



raft. 

 For hours within this hole have I lain low, 

 Attired in night shirt and a cap of white ; 

 My duck-boat decks I've strewn with ice 



and snow — 

 Thy tardiness is neither fair nor right. 

 Ever and oft thy cackling laugh is heard, 

 Why mockest thou my plight, offending 



bird? 



Hark! what is that? A whirr of wings 

 o'erhead ! 



With trembling hands I raise my gun and 

 shoot ; 



Hard hit ! the victim of my shot falls dead — 



A little pee-wee, good-for-nothing coot ! 



Ah, yes ! I can imagine well thy glee, 



Thou hast thy web foot to thy bill at me. 



And here I sit, from head to foot con- 

 gealing, 



Because of thy most willful frame of mind ; 



My form so numb 'tis past all sense of 

 feeling — 



Dost thou consider this, thy conduct, kind? 



But this it is that most displeaseth me: 



That I've outwitted been by such as thee. 



