JERRY POLAND AND THE GRIZZLY. 



REV. FRANCIS HOPE. 



This is a true story of early days in 

 California, and this is how Jerry tells it: 



"In '50 I went to Cachville, in El Do- 

 rado county, prospeetin' ; and strikin' pay- 

 in' dirt decided to stay a bit. Others 

 come and purty soon we had quite a settle- 

 ment and even a preacher. Then the folks 

 built a little sort of a church. One Sun- 

 day mornin' 6 of us men and one wom- 

 an — for women was mighty scarce round 

 minin' camps in them days — was at 

 church. The preacher had got well into 

 his sermon.! roarin' and tearin' in the 

 Methody style, when up comes a feller 

 and pokes his head in the door and says, 

 'There's a b'ar.' Sech a scatterin' you 

 never seen. In 2 seconds there warn't 

 a man left 'cept the woman and the 

 parson, but he kept right on exhortin' wus 

 than ever. It did seem kinder mean to 

 leave like that, but when them other chaps 

 cleared out I had to make a break too; 

 and it warn't every day a b'ar come around 

 on Sundays. So I jest wiggled out in the 

 purlitest way I could. 



"By the time I got to my shanty and got 

 my shootin' iron the rest was goin' over 

 the hill on the dead run. I followed them, 

 and the last thing I heard was the preacher 

 layin' down the law and the prophets, 

 tryin' to get that woman saved anyhow. 



"As the other fellers had the start of me 

 I took it purty easy down the trail till I 



come to the mouth of a deep canyon full 

 of thick brush and mansanita bushes and 

 rocks. I went in, and the furder I went 

 the less I liked it. While I stood deliber- 

 ate' whether I'd better go on or quit, 

 suddenly there was a rush just above me, 

 and with a bawl you could have heard 5 

 miles off, old EpLraim was on me. I hadn't 

 time to do nothin'. He came with his 

 mouth open and his ears clapped 

 down tight agin' his head. Jest as 

 he lit on me I managed to grab them 

 ears and down I went, with him atop 

 of me. What with the hillside bein' steep 

 and him a-comin' so fast, the old feller 

 went clear over me. As he was goin' I 

 put my feet to his belly and give him a 

 h'ist that was a considerable help to him, 

 and as I was a holdin' his ears at the same 

 time he turned a clean somersault and 

 landed on his back below me. He was the 

 most surprised b'ar you ever seen; didn't 

 know what struck him. 'Peared to think 

 somebody had hit him with a sandbag and 

 he was bound to find out who it was. He 

 ups and looks this way and then that, in 

 a stupid sort of fashion. I laid low and 

 said nothin' but you bet I did a power of 

 thinkin'. Finally he comes up the hill a 

 bit, sniffs the air, shakes his head once 

 or twice and trots off; and mighty glad I 

 was to get back again in time to help the 

 parson out with the doxology." 



THE GOOD CHAP. 



THEODORE ROBERTS. 



I met a chap in the woods one day 



With a gun, a pack an' a bearded chin, 

 An' hands that was hard, an' a "well-met" 

 way, 

 An' a guide who smelt of rawhide an' 

 gin. 



We shared our bread an' pork an' tea ; 



He smoked my 'baccy, I sang a song. 

 I was looking for spars, an' he 



Was stalking whatever might come 

 along. 



I come to Noo York to work. One day 

 I met a gent with a shaven chin. 



He hadn't no guide, but he knew his way, 

 An' he knew me too, an' he says, "Come 



in. 



The waiters stared, but I didn't care; 



An' I et his oysters an' drunk his wine. 

 Oh, he is a choke-bore sport for fair, 



An' he writes wolf stories — a scad a 

 line ! 



He's shot in the West, an* South an* East. 



He's taken his liquor in every clime. 

 By jinks, I'll buy his books some day 



An' read 'em, too, if I get the time. 

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