116 
For Forest and Stream. 
THE FALSE FEJEE. 
——_+——_ 
NCE I loved a Fejee maiden, 
Kee-wah-nee-wah-ya-hoo-hay, 
“pe Ever-blooming Forest Flower”— 
She translated it that way— 
Though it might mean “Speckled Cow,” or 
“Stmped Bug,” or “Whiskey Sour,” 
For aught.that I can truly say. 
She was young and not ungraceful, 
And had rigid raven hair, 
Which, with wonderful precision, 
Fell across her forehead square; 
And the angle of her vision 
Gave alook of indecision 
To her orb’s uncertain glare. 
Golden amber was the hue on 
Kee-wah-nee and-so-forth’s cheek, 
Golden amber, haply varied 
By a sanguinary streak 
Of red earth that had been ‘carried 
Over,’’ as it were, or tarried 
From the toilet of last week. 
How we joined the chase together, 
In the forest, in the dell;; 
How the grasshopper we followed, 
With our spirit stirring yell; 
How in banquetting we wallowed, 
As the spoils of chase we followed, 
It were bootless here to tell. 
*Tis enough that I was happy 
In that primitive retreat, 
And when dark forebodings filled me, 
And the camp was out of meat, 
Even then the proud thought thrilled me, 
‘““When her people shall have killed me, 
She will find me good to eat.” 
Fool, to hug the idle fancy ! 
Ah, that anguish-laden day, 
When a bark from o’er the ocean 
Bore a stranger to our bay— 
A stranger with Quixotic notion, 
That the savage, at his motion, 
Would abandon prey for pray. 
He was young, and plump, and rosy; 
J, alas, was dry and spare, 
And Kee-wah-nee was all a woman, 
Fickle as the summer air. 
I was more or less than human, 
With my dearly bought acumen, 
Had I tarried longer there. 
Good ship, bear me quickly onward ! 
South sea simoons, kindly blow ! 
Wafting from that tropic Aiden, 
Balm for all my bitter woe: 
For with barbecue "tis laden, 
And I know the faithless maiden 
Now is lunching off my foe ! 
J. J. RocHE. 

+ 
ELK HUNTING IN NEBRASKA. 
eres 
ab O the sportsman, as well as to the enthusiast in the 
beauties of nature—and what true sportsman is not 
the latter as well—the country west of the Missouri river 
presents attractions of the most inviting description. 
The broad plains of Nebraska, Kansas, Wyoming and 
Colorado, thelofty peaks of the Rocky Mountains, and the 
rugged Sierras of California offer the former every induce- 
ment in the shape of ‘‘fur, fin, and feather,” while to the 
lover of natural scenery they unfold a panorama un- 
equalled for grandeur and varied beauty by anything in 
the world. The locality to which I desire to call your at- 
tention presents, however, little to attract those who cross 
the Plainssimply as sight-seers. But to the votaries of rifle 
and shot-gun it is a very paradise. Fifty miles to the south- 
ward flows the Republican river, the banks of which are 
still the feeding ground of countless numbers of buffaloes 
and the hunting ground of the brave Pawnee, the treacher- 
ous Sioux, and many other smaller tribes of Indians. Fifty 
miles to the northward lies the Loup Fork, once the undis- 
puted home of the Pawnee, and now a sort of debatable 
ground between their Reservation and that of their deadly 
enemies, the Sioux. Onthe banks of this river browses 
the mighty Elk, (Cervus canadensis). A little further to the 
west among the sand hills feed the watchful antelope. 
Beaver and otter are in every stream. The open prairie fur- 
nishes chickens (Oupidonia cupido), sharp tailed grouse 
(Pediacetes phasianellus,) and upland plover (Acticurus bar- 
tramius), while the river bottoms teem with quail (ortyx 
virginianus), and occasionally we find a drove of wild tur 
keys (Meleagris gallipavo), deer, both black tail (C. columbia- 
nus) and Virginia, (C. virginianus) abound both in’ the 
rivers and along the creeks. In short, whether you carry 
your rifle or shot-gun, or both, you will find work enough 
todo. Starting at a point on the Central Pacific Railroad, 
about one hundred and fifty miles west of Omaha, a party 
of three, we pulled out on the afternoon of the last day of 
August, on amarch toward the Loup. A bad Indian country 
is that along the Loup Fork, for upon its banks lies the 
trail which the Sioux follow on their horse-stealing expedi- 
tions to the Pawnee village. We were not without appre- 
hensions that we might encounter some small band who 
would try to run off our horses; but we wanted game more 
than we feared the Indians, and therefore we decided to 
take the risk. 
Jack Robinson, our teamster, an excellent and amusing 
fellow, sat in the wagon containing our provisions and bed- 
ding, behind his rattling team of sorrels, that trotted along 
at a pace that promised well for aspeedy arrival at the hunt- 

FOREST AND STREAM. 
ing ground. Lute—my guide, philosopher, and friend, 
ah, how shall I describe you? what fitting words can I find 
to convey an idea of your genial spirit, your kind heart 
and generous disposition? We are old friends, Lute and 
I; together we have hunted buffalo on the Republican, and 
antelope on the sand hills; have shot wild turkeys on the 
Beaver, and been chased by a rascally band of Minne- 
coujas, between that stream and the Republican, and now 
we are going to hunt elk on the Loup. 
He has said to me: ‘‘I can promise to give you, at 
least, a shot at the elk, but don’t know whether you'll kill 
or not. They’re pretty goodgame. Not many men around 
here can say that they’ve killed an elk. My spirits fall at 
this, forI have dreamed of elk for weeks and fear a miss. 
We traveled about twenty miles the first day and camped 
on a small creek where we found wood and water. A little 
fried bacon, some biscuits hastily cooked, and a cup of cof- 
fee constituted our first meal in camp, and after smoking a 
quiet pipe we lie down by the fire, Lute’s last observation 
is, ‘‘ We'll have game to-morrow night, boys.” My heart 
gives a throb, and J secretly pray that I may be the one to 
kill it. 
We started with the sun the next morning and had a 
long day’s march. Lute and myself hunted through the ra- 
vines, while the wagon kept on the divide. We saw no game 
except three deer, which jumped up about seventy-five yards 
from Lute. Shooting from his horse he touched one of 
them in the hind leg, but not seriously, as we watched it for 
a long distance and though it fell behind the others it kept 
up a gait we knew would carry it away from our ponies, 
fast though they were. 
We had traveled all day, and were hot and tired when 
we came toa creek where there was good camping ground. 
The sun was only about two hours above the western hori- 
zon, and we decided to camp as soon as a place could be 
found where we could get the horses down to the water. 
In looking for such a place Lute rode toward the top of a 
little ridge to get a wider view. Suddenly I saw him bend 
down over the neck of-his horse and wheeling round gal- 
lop toward us. ‘‘ There they are, boys,” he cried, “‘ elk, 
about twenty of them.” In a moment we were all excite- 
ment, and were hastily following his hurried directions. 
The horses were unhitched and unsaddled, and picketed out. 
Fire arms and knives were examined, and we descended 
into the bed of the creek, whence the elk had just 
emerged about half a mile further up. But who can des- 
cribe the labor of our advance on that band of elk? Not 
I, indeed Ican only say that the bed of the creek was full 
of water and very miry, that the sides were nearly perpen- 
dicular, and were almost everywhere covered with a thick 
growth of nettles, briers, and creeping plants; where bare 
they were wet and very slippery; that the sun was blazing 
down asonly a Nebraska sun can blaze, and that we ran 
ahead when we could, and fell ahead when we could'nt 
run. Fortunately ‘there was no wind; I say fortunately, for 
the elk’s sense of smell is so acute, that it is more to be 
feared by the hunter than its powers of vision. 
At last we were within three hundred yards of the place 
where the game was supposed to be, and it behooved us to 
move cautiously. Lute carefully ascended the bank and 
looked about him. For along time he gave no sign, but 
at length I saw him lower his head and creep rapidly 
toward us. ‘‘ They are moving,” he whispered, ‘ feeding 
along toward the bluffs; we must hurry.” As fast as pos- 
sible we hastened up the creek, and soon, after another 
look by our leader, turned up a ravine. The utmost cau- 
tion was now neccessary. We crawled along, not on our 
hands and knees, but flat on our faces for some distance. 
Lute first, myself next and Jack last. Presently we turned 
and commenced to ascend the side of the ravine, and as 
we neared the ridge Lute stopped and motioned me up be- 
side him. ‘‘They’re just over the ridge, crawl up and 
take the first shot.” I feebly resisted, but he reiterated the 
order, and I complied. On reaching the top I cautiously 
raised my head, and there within a hundred yards of me 
I saw the ears of anold cow elk. The sight was almost 
too much forme, and I sank back a moment. Then steady- 
ing my nerves by a violent effort, I raised my old Sharpe. 
Carefully with finger on trigger, I full-cocked it, and 
sighted where Lute had told me to, about eight inches be- 
hind the fore shoulder and low down. For a moment I 
could not hold well on her, for the flies troubled herand she 
kept moving, but at last she stood still and I pulled. The 
smoke hid her from me, and I sprang forward just as 
Lute ran by me, to get a shot at the herd as they fled. 
In a moment I was at his side, and we stopped just about 
where my cow had stood when I fired. The elk were run- 
ning briskly off about half a mile away; none of them 
seemed to be wounded, and I could see nothing of the one 
at which I had fired. At that moment I felt particularly 
small. Suddenly Lute shouted, ‘‘There she is,” and fol- 
lowing the direction of his glance, I saw a movement in 
the short prairie grass. We rushed to the spot, and there 
lay the cow, kicking in her death agony. My ball had 
passed through her heart, and she had run about fifty yards 
before falling. That was for me the supreme moment. As I 
stood over her, all the trouble and annoyance of the trip; 
all the worries and cares of every day life were forgot- 
ten, and I was absorbed in the proud contemplation of 
the graceful creature lying before me. 
Lute was cordial in his congratulations. ‘‘I knew that 
you hit her,” he said, ‘‘for I crawled up behind you and 
saw that you held steady as a rock.” 
After bleeding and butchering our game we started for 
camp. It was now almost dark, for it had taken us quite 
two hours to reach the place where we then were. Strik- 


ing off over the prairie we arrived at our camp in about 
fifteen minutes, and after a delightful supper spent an hour 
or two talking over the incidents of the day, and listening 
to Lute’s stories of hunts and Indian fights. 
’T were a pleasant task to narrate to you a score of his 
tales. To tell you of battles with the Sioux on the Mis- 
gouri, and with the Arrapahoes in Kansas; of how Frank, 
Lute’s brother, killed Tall Bull on the Loup, and how, on 
another occasion, with one white men and seven Pawnees 
he fought for five hours against one hundred and fifty 
Sioux under old Turkey Leg, and finally drove them off. 
But lack of space forbids, and I must hasten to the end of 
my tale. 
Early next morning we were afoot, and before night the 
flesh of the elk, neatly stripped from the bones, was in 
process of being jerked. For five days we hunted with 
most satisfactory results. Elk were found and killed on 
several occasions. Finally, forced to it by “the terror by 
night,” viz., mosquitoes, we turned our faces homeward. 
On the last day but one of our return march we camped 
early and rode out to take a last look for game. As we de- 
scended the slope of a high bluff Lute’s eye, which was 
constantly roving along the horizon, caught sight of some 
moving objects just appearing over the top of another bluff 
a few hundred yards off. Crouching low in our saddles we 
galloped down into the ravine, and, leaving our horses, as- 
cended the next ridge, whence the elk could be seen feed- 
ing slowly toward us. We had only to wait until they 
came within shot. Very deliberately they advanced. The 
leaders, two fine bulls, stopping every now and then to look, 
smell, or listen, and then boldly stepping forward, as if to 
encourage the more timid females and young. Had we 
waited I am confident that they would have come up within 
ten yards of us. It would have been little else than mur 
der, however, to have shot them so near, and I was glad to 
see Lute look round at us and signal us to be ready, while 
they were still more than a hundred yards distant The 
three rifles cracked almost simultaneously, but to our cha- 
grin only one animal fell. It was Lute’s bull. Jack and I 
had fired too hastily, and had missed. As the herd swept 
round the hill, in full flight, we fired again, but with no 
better result. A third shot from Jack as they were ascend- 
ing the bluffs brought down a large bull, and as they were 
about to disappear I raised my two hundred and fifty yard 
sight and carefully fired ata large cow which ran a little 
behind the other. As I lowered my rifle I saw her stagger, 
and then, turning off to one side, move down a ravine on 
three legs. Running back to the horses I sprang into the 
saddle and urged forward my pony with whip and spur. 
I was soon within sight of the cow, which, although on 
three legs, ran very fast, and I had ridden nearly two miles 
before I got close enough to shoot from the saddle with 
any certainty of killing. At last, however, I fired while on 
a run and brought her down, but it took another shot to 
finish her. It was an exciting chase, and I did not realize 
until I passed over the ground on my return what a mad 
gallop it had been. I had ridden through sloughs so miry 
that on reaching them again I was fain to pick out a better 
crossing; had descended on a full run the sides of cahons 
so steep that I now preferred leading my horse up to rding 
him, and had given the little animal such a breather as 
would have thoroughly exhausted an American horse. 
We had now plenty of work on hand. The heads and 
skins were prepared for mounting, the meat jerked, 
and with a wagon heavily loaded we, started for the rail- 
road. 
Thus ended my hunt of 1878. Successful and eminently 
satisfactory in all respects, I can only hope for as pleasant 
a one next year. ORNIS. 
or 
THE GRASSHOPPERS’ FLIGHT. 

a bie would be no earthly joy ina grasshopper’s life 
did he not trust in Providence. Last fall the weary 
mothers came over the mountains and began laying their 
eggs in the grass. But it rained and hailed, and thousands 
of birds went out.to gather them up. Then great fires swept 
over the plains, and; when cold weather came the grass- 
hopper could hardly find a place to cast his horoscope. 
There is not a woman in Colorado who would have been 
willing to trust her offspring to the mercy of a Rocky 
Mountain winter. But the grasshopper was full of faith, 
and when the final hour came she folded her fragile wings 
and sank into the dust of the wilderness. ‘The winds blew 
and the storm howled, and it did seem as though all grass- 
hopper life would perish from the earth. But after a while, 
when spring came and the grass peeped up from the earth, 
myriads of little specks began hopping about, and many 
doubted if they were really grasshopper babies. They 
looked like little grains‘of black tea, and nothing could be 
more helpless and insignificant. A child could kill a mil- 
lion of them. Wagons and horses and remorseless boots 
trampled them into the earth. Still they grew and increased 
and multiplied, and in a few weeks strong men trembled, 
for their crops were disappearing before the silent mowers. 
There was no relief, and for once man and his inventions 
had found their master. A long sweeping train left the 
depot with the speed of a racehorse, but an army of these 
little insects mounted the rails, and the power that tunnels 
mountains and defies the ocean storms became as helpless as 
a babe. For atime it was thought that the crops would be 
entirely ruined, and to tell the truth many were. The weak 
little fly of earth formed his second wings—with his first 
ones he could not move any distance—and away he went 
towards the clouds. Billions and sextillions of them filled 
the air; in fact the entire space between the earth and the 
sun seemed literally alive with them, and from the shady 
side of a house one could see miles of them upon miles 
among the clouds, with the sun flittering down through their 
transparent wings. They were no longer despised insects 
of earth, but having waited patiently for their ascension 
robes they were free at last, joyously winging their way to 
other climes. —G@reeley (Col.) Tribune. ; 

