A MOUNTAIN LULLABY. 



417 



comotives. We came in sight of him at 

 about my favorite distance, 39 feet and 1 1 

 inches. He had just got up and was about 

 to sneak off. I fired first and struck a 

 large knot on a bush. George fired and 

 punched both the animal's cars, making 

 him shake his head. It was then up to me, 

 and I reckoned it was time to quit fancy 

 shooting and get that meat; so I held on 

 his shoulders and he was ours. Then we 

 sat down to get our wind. 



The caribou was a bull, with large, sym- 

 metrical horns in the velvet. Part of his 

 old hair was clinging to him in patches, 

 giving him a seedy appearance. The new 

 hair was glossy black, and as short sathat 

 of a horse. We found the bullet in his pine. 

 We cut him in 2 just North of the dia- 

 phragm, leaving the hide on. 



While I was preparing lunch George was 

 annoyed by a small animal in the slide 

 rock just above him, which gave a " fell 



screech" at frequent intervals. He shot it 

 and 1 was able to tell him that it was a 

 little chief hare. I had never seen one, 

 but remembered a photograph of one in 

 RfeCREATiON some time before. 



We had a packstrap and slung the hind- 

 quarters of the caribou, heels up. It was 

 a heavy pack, about 125 pounds, and we 

 relieved each other every mile, reaching 

 camp in about 3 hours, dead beat. 



The fat on that buck's rump was fully 

 1%, inches thick, and ran up his back in a 

 pad about 10 inches wide. There was so 

 much of it that we used nothing else for 

 frying the meat while it lasted, which was 

 a week. The meat we dusted with pepper 

 to keep off the blow flies, and it proved 

 efficacious. 



We built a bake oven and had a famous 

 roast; we fried the meat, we broiled it; we 

 ate it as often as we could find room for it, 

 and it was the finest meat I ever tasted. 



A MOUNTAIN LULLABY. 



HATTIE H. LOUTHAN. 



Over the range in the shadowy West, 

 Bringing you rest, 

 Safe in your nest, 

 Dream-birds come droning you here on 

 my breast, 

 Hush-a-bys soothing and strange. 

 The sun has rolled over the rim high 



and steep, 

 Star-eyes with baby are playing bo peep, 

 Wide-awake cares are beginning to 

 creep 

 Over the range, far over the range. 



Over the range, in her snug silver nest, 

 Sinking to rest, 

 Low in the West, 

 Softly the moon, with her hands on her 

 breast, 

 Joins in the songs sweet and strange. 

 The wind tucks the clouds round the peaks 



cold and bare, 

 Sleepily kisses the colombine fair, 

 Then drifts the day with its trouble and 

 care, 

 Over the range, far over the range. 



Over the range, at the Night Queen's be- 

 hest, 



Dark'ning the crest, 

 Far in the West, 

 Old Mother Sleep, in her slumber-robe 

 dressed, 

 Comes, bringing Shadow and Change. 

 Softly they smother the sunset so bright, 

 Slowly the candles of heaven they light, 

 Sweetly they beckon the lingering night 

 Over the range, from over the range. 



