62 



RECREATION. 



SEEN BY THE GREAT HORNED 

 OWL. 



SHERMAN A. PADDOCK. 



The dense, all-pervading gloom of a 

 summer night settled slowly over the for- 

 est, wrapping it in black as if in mourning 

 for the day just dead. The contented 

 little forest birds gave a goodnight chirp, 

 the saucy red squirrels one last chatter, and 

 the stately ruffed grouse tucked his tufted 

 head beneath closely folded wing to await 

 the dawn. The cautious rabbit hopped si- 

 lently from his grassy retreat, the buck 

 stamped on the resonant earth as he went 

 forth with his harem, and the great 

 horned owl, with a soft, euphonious swish- 

 swishing of his mighty wings, sailed grace- 

 fully from his hiding place in a monster 

 spruce, startling the tiny sawwhet into ut- 

 tering its old "queech - quench - queech - 

 queech." 



The great horned owl wings his easy 

 flight through the solitude, looking with 

 watchful eyes for his evening meal. Sud- 

 denly he pauses in his onward flight, curves 

 to the left, hovers, then swoops downward 

 with the speed of an arrow, dodges under- 

 neath a log and rises with a disappointed 

 shake of the tail, for bunny has escaped 

 him. The next attempt is more successful. 

 An unfortunate . rabbit, grasped in cruel 

 talons, gives a shrill scream as a blunt 

 beak is driven with the force of a hammer 

 into the base of his skull. The great 

 horned owl, lifting his limp burden, flies 

 heavily to a distant pine, and there, en- 

 sconced in its highest branches, places the 

 dainty feast upon a bough and breaks his 

 fast. His great, honey colored eyes glance 

 toward the roots of the old pine and a cu- 

 rious fire burns within them when he sees 

 2 youths slumbering there, their -guns at 

 their heads, a dog at their side. One the 

 great horned owl has never seen ; the other, 

 though he has not seen him for many years, 

 he recognizes as the trapper's son. Proba- 

 bly the boy is home on a visit and the one 

 beside him is undoubtedly his college 

 friend. The great horned owl remembers 

 having heard the proud old trapper tell 

 how he had saved the proceeds of 10 years' 

 trapping that the boy might attend college. 



The wind toys with the leaves of the 

 silver birch and plays sweet music among 

 the redolent pines. From far away and 

 faintly comes the wailing cry of a lynx, 

 but the boys slumber on. The great horned 

 owl picks at the inanimate flesh before him, 

 a silent sentinel. From the South comes 

 the sound of a crackling stick, then all is 

 still. The great horned owl watches ; the 

 dog below cocks an ear attentively forward, 

 opens his eye and listens. A ray of light 

 appears, dances about on the hoary tree- 

 trunks, and brings into view 2 shadowy 

 forms The great horned owl is experi- 

 enced. He knows the shadowy forms are 

 deer hunters, with guns and one with a 

 bull's-eye lantern strapped on his head. 

 The sentinel sends forth his challenge, 

 "Whoo-whoo-who-who." No answer. The 



dog growls softly and his eyes burn like 

 coals in the advancing light. Nearer and 

 nearer draw the figures. They see the 

 gleaming eyes, stop, lift their guns, aim, 

 fire. The buckshot hurtles true to the 

 mark, the eyes disappear, and there comes 

 a sound as of something struggling. 



"We've got him !" cries the man with 

 the light. 



"Yes," chorused the great horned owl, 

 "you've got him — the trapper's son." But 

 the men, not understanding owl language, 

 pay no heed. A wild human cry breaks 

 from where the eyes had been. The cow- 

 ardly hunters, realizing their awful mis- 

 take, dash the light to the ground, mutter 

 startled exclamations, turn on their heels 

 and flee madly through the forest. The 

 companion of the trapper's son lights a 

 match and gazes at 3 black spots on his 

 friend's face and forehead ; sees, also, that 

 the dog is dead. Then, jumping to his 

 feet, he runs like a frightened deer toward 

 the West. 



"Queech-queech-queech queech," says the 

 sawwhet. The great horned owl devours 

 his victim and waits. The moon appears, 

 tints the treetops with delicate silver, and 

 is 2 hours high before the sound of crack- 

 ling brush is again heard. The sound ap- 

 proaches and soon the boy comes into view 

 accompanied, by an old man with flowing 

 beard and hair of snowy whiteness, bare- 

 footed and hatless, dressed only in trousers 

 and buckskin shirt. He sinks beside the 

 body stretched at the foot of the pine, lights 

 a match, eagerly scans the features and 

 then, clasping his hands and sinking back 

 on his knees, breaks into sobbing lamen- 

 tation : 



"He's dead! my son! my last and only 

 hope ! For 10 long, weary years I worked 

 and struggled and saved that he might 

 amount to more than his poor old father ! 

 And this — this is the end. This is my re- 

 ward !" 



"Queech-quench-queech-queech !" says the 

 sawwhet. The great horned owl, with a 

 last mournful hoot, launches himself from 

 his lofty perch and is lost in the recesses 

 of a cedar swamp. 



A German immigrant sought to obtain 

 citizenship in the United States. 



"You have read the Constitution of this 

 country?" asked the judge to whom appli- 

 cation for naturalization was made. 



"No, your honor," responded the Ger- 

 man ; "no, I haf not read der Constitu- 

 tion;! but my frent Krause he haf read it 

 to me, und I like it fery much. It is fery 

 nice, your honor, und I am much bleased 

 mit it!" 



The judge granted the necessary papers. — 

 Saturday Evening Post. 



I would not be without Recreation. It 

 is the cleanest and best sportsman's maga- 

 zine published. Game hogs are thick here 

 and I wish you could come down and ring 

 a few dozen of them. 



Frank Dettman, Gait, 111. 



