Newspaper Page Text
from camp until our return, and to keep
a close watch over the horses, as we
were now very near one of the main
routes travelled by the Indians, when
going to and from the settlements below.
The country in the vicinity, with the
exception of a narrow belt of timber
bordering both sides of the creek, was
principally prairie, interspersed with
frequent patches of chaparral and dense
thickets of cactus. Thinking that I
would stand a better chance to get a
deer by keeping close under cover of
the timber, and that I would avoid in
this way all danger of getting lost or
bewildered among the thickets of cactus
and chaparral, I followed the stream,
turning with its crooks and meanders,
until I supposed I had got at least a
mile and a half from camp, though, as
I ascertained afterwards, I was not a
third of the distance in a direct line.
I had passed several small droves of
deer on my way, but from some
they were unusually wild, and in sp?M
of all my care and caution in stalkUlM
them, I failed to get in shooting
tance of any of them. At length I came
to a broad trail running from a dense
timbered bottom into the open prairie,
and as it was literally cut up with deer
tracks, I concluded that the bottom was
a favorite resort for them, and that by
concealing myself near by the trail,- I
should probably stand a better chance
to get a shot than I would by walking
around. So I took a seat at the root of
a tree, just within the edge of the tim
ber, and waited patiently for whatever
might turn up.
But nothing came within sight of my
hiding - place, except a solitary gray
squirrel, who popped out of his hole in
the tree against which I was leaning,
and scuffling down within a few feet of
my head, began to bark at me in the
most impudent and provoking manner.
He kept up his chattering incessantly
for at least half an hour, and then all
at once he scampered up the tree, ana
parently in the greatest alarm, and dis
appeared in his nest. Looking around
to see what it was that frightened Mr.
Nutcracker so badly, to my horror I
perceived a huge Mexican lion, creeping
stealthily towards me, and not more than
thirty paces from where I was sitting.
The instant he saw that I had disco
vered him, he stopped suddenly, and,
giving a low deep growl, he commenced
lashing his sides with his tail, anddraw
his feet up under him, as a cat does
when preparing to spring upon a mouse.
I saw there was no time to lose, and
hastily levelling my rifle upon him, I
took as steady aim as I could (for I
must confess that I was considerably
“ fiustrated,” as Uncle Seth would have
said, by the menacing attitude of the
formidable looking animal), and fired
at his breast. At the report of the gun,
he gave a terrific scream, and dashed
towards me. My hair rose upon my
head, and for a moment (supposing that
I had missed him) I gave myself up for
BURKE’S WEEKLY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
lost, but to my astonishment, as well as
to my great joy, he suddenly stopped
when within a few feet of me, and
crouching down, began to lick the
blood from the wound, which I then
perceived had been made by my bullet
exactly where I had aimed it.
Now, thought I, is the time to beat a
hasty retreat from such a dangerous
locality; but the instant I made a mo
tion to rise, the lion rose to his feet
again, growling savagely, and gave me
plainly to understand that if I didn’t
keep quiet he would make a finish of
me in short order. I took the hint, and
remained quietly seated at the foot of
the tree. The lion then resumed his
crouching attitude, but kept his great
fierce eyes steadily fixed upon me, and
whenever I made the slightest move
ment, he would growl andshow his white
teeth in the most threatening manner.
Finding that he was bent on cutting
Hfettkgay retreat, I thought I would cau
llM'sly load my gun, and give him an
■HJPHot, but the instant I attempted
to draw the ramrod, he growled savagely
and began beating the ground with his
tail, as much as to say, ‘‘None of that,
old fellow, or I’ll have my claws into
you, before you can say ‘Jack Robin
son.’ ” And there I sat like a statue —
it seemed to me for hours, with the
huge beast in a few feat of me, glaring
fixedly upon me with his piercing eyes,
and growling and beating the earth with
his tail whenever I made the slightest
movement.
What to do I knew not, and yet I felt
sure if I remained where I was until
dark that I would be torn to pieces by
the ferocious animal. The perspiration
broke out on my forehead in large drops,
as I perceived that the shadows of night
were already thickening around me. I
had given up all hope, and was trying
to resign myself to my horrible fate as
well as I could, when I heard a faint
in the distance. I listened atten
tively, and presently I heard the sound
of horses’ hoofs coming rapidly towards
me, and in a few moments I saw through
an opening in the timber the whole par
ty, with Uncle Seth in the lead, gallop
ping towards the spot where I had been
kept so long in durance vile. As soon
as the lion saw them, he rose up slowly
and trotted off into the thickest part of
the bottom.
I drew a long breath of relief as he
disappeared from view, and just then
Willie caught sight of me, and shouted
out, “Here he is boys, I have found
him at last; ” and soon the whole party
were around me, making eager inquiries
as to what had happened to me, and
what had kept me so long from camp.
“ Why, Cousin Jack,” said Willie,
“we thought you had certainly been
kidnapped by the Indians ; or else that
some varmint had made his supper off of
you ; and here we find you comfortably
seated at the root of a tree, enjoying
your otium cum dignitate, I suppose.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Seth, “you gin
us all a purty good scare, certain ; for
when we heard you shoot, and the sun
went down, and still you didn’t come,
we made sure something had happened
to you. I shill have to put you on
double duty to-night to punish you fer
kicking up sich an onnecessary rumpus
in camp.”
“All right, Uncle Seth,” said I; “I
shan’t grumble at any duty you may
put on me, siuce you have saved me
from being chawed up by a Mexican
lion.” And I then told them how I had
shot the lion, and how he had stood
guard over me, and kept me a close
prisoner until they came up.
“Well, well,” said Uncle Seth, “you
was in a purty tight jflace, it’s a fact;
and it was lucky you didn’t move. I
knows the ways of them varmints very
well; and if you had got up, or tried
to back out, the rascal would have
‘bounced’ you, sure. But do you think
hit him?” asked the old man.
“Yes,” said I; “my bullet struck
him in the breast, for I saw the blood
running from the wound.”
“Then,” said Uncle Seth, “we’ll
have the gentleman in the morning,
certain ; for I kin trail him up by the
blood, if he doesn’t go clean off.”
Mounting behind Willie on his pony,
we all rode back to camp, where we
arrived just as Cudjo was preparing to
dish up supper.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
A SHORT MOON LESSON.
BY AN EX-BOY.
intend to take up the Moon
f some day as the subject of a
lesson or two. But our pur
pose this week is to give the learners
a little help in following her for one
week, beginning Monday, October 3d.
At 8 o’clock on that evening, she will
be a little past her first quarter, that is,
a little over one-half of her face will be
bright. She will be then in the constel
lation Capricornus, about thirty degrees
South of Job’s Coffin. At 8 o’clock on
Tuesday evening, she will be entering
Aquarius, about twelve degrees North
west of the bright star Fomalhaut. On
Wednesday evening, she will be farther
Eastward in the same constellation. By
Thursday evening, she will have passed
over to the North-east of Fomalhaut,
and will be entering Pisces, just South
of the great square of Pegasus. On
Friday evening, she will be almost due
South of the Eastern side of the Great
Square, about eighteen degrees South of
the lower corner. On Saturday evening,
she will be several degrees Eastward, in
Pisces. It is not a good time to study
the stars when the Moon is as bright as
this week. But it is well to watc 1
closely, and find out for yourselves that
it does move Eastward among the stars.
On Wednesday, October 12th, it will
be just below the Seven Stars.
Speak Kindly to Him,
once saved a very
poor boy from drowning. Af
ter his restoration he said to
him, “What can I do for you, my boy?”
“Speak a kind word to me some
times,” replied the boy, as the tears
rushed from his eyes. “I ain’t got a
mother, like some of them.”
A kind word ! Think of it. That far
mer had it in his power to give that boy
1 money, clothes, playthings; but the poor
fellow craved nothing so much as a kind
word now and then. If the farmer had
ever so little heart the boy must cer
tainly have had the wish granted.
A kind word 1 Think of it. You have
many such spoken to you daily, and
you don’t think much of their value;
but that poor boy in your village, at
whom everybody laughs, would think
he had found a treasure if someone
would speak a kind word to him.
Suppose you speak it! The next
time you meet him, instead of laugh
ing at him, speak kindly to him.
Then watch him and see how he looks.
See if his eyes do not brighten and his
lips smile.
Kind words ! They are blessed things.
Speak them, children, everyday. Scatter
them like sunbeams everywhere. They
please others, and then return to bless
your own hearts. Kind words forever 1
*
ILeadlMe Gently.
WRITTEN BY A LITTLE GIRL.
fEAD me gently, Father, gently,
For the pilgrimage is long;
And a loved one, weak and weary
\. CV'eXO Longs to join the heavenly throng,
pcjy Longs to quit this world of sorrow,
< Longs to be in heaven with thee ;
Gently, softly, sweetly, Father,
Lead me day by day to thee.
Lead me gently, like a mother
Leads her little one along,
Who, too weak to stand without her,
Needs her care till she i3 strong:
Thus, 0 1 Father, dost thou lead me,
Leave me not to stand alone,
F'or my wicked, sinful nature
To depart from thee is prone.
Lead me till I learn, my Father,
To leave all and follow thee,
For I cannot give, 0 ! Father,
Half that thou hast given for me.
For thou gavest thy Son a ransom,
To deliver me from sin—
Stood and waited to receive me,
Ope’d thy doors and let me in.
And, 0! Father, if in sorrow
I do raise my heart to thee,
Bend thine ear and listen, Father,
Howe’er poor my prayers may be;
Give me blessings that thou knowest
Best for my condition here —
And withhold from me all others,
Though they be to me most dear.
And when here my days are ended,
And I reach the river’s brink,
Let the waters not dismay me,
Let me not beneath them sink ;
Place thy arm around me, Father,
Till the dangers all are past;
Gently, softly, sweetly, Father,
Lead me into heaven at last.
Observer and Commonwealth.
107