A Summer’s Outing and What Came of It

A Summer's Outing and What Came of It A Story for Boys, with Some Observations Which May he of Interest to Men By Hon. Anthony W . Ivins

Chapter V "Cheek that istanned to the wind of the north, Limbs that are eager and strong to go forth, Strength of the forests and health of the plains, Yearly to hark to the listening oaks These are the splendors the hunter invokes." The morning was beautiful; the sun rose warm and radiant: there was not a cloud in the sky. The mocking birds sang as they flew to and fro, carrying food to their young. The trout took the fly as they had never done before. As they fished down the stream, the friends disturbed a wild turkey hen, and her brood which were scratching on the river bottom, and they went scurrying up the mountain side,

Wild Turkeys at Close Range

and took refuge in the rocks. A little farther on a flock of parrots flew from where they were feeding on the cones, in the top of a pine tree, and were away with a great chattering and flapping of wings. A doe and two fawns ran out from the willows, and stopping on the mountain side looked back, their great hazel eyes staring in wonder at the intruders. As the day advanced the heat became oppressive. The trout ceased to bite, the birds to sing. The cattle left the river bottom and hastily trailed off into the side canyons. A flock of crows passed silently overhead and took refuge under a projecting cliff on the mountain side. All nature had suddenly become hushed and oppressed.

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"What does it all mean?" asked Frank. "It is the calm which precedes the summer storm," replied George. "We must hurry back to camp and prepare for it. See,

there is the proof of what I say!" As they turned back toward camp, clouds were rolling up popfrom behind the ridges to the south, like great piles of direction. corn, and a breeze was blowing from that When they reached camp the horses were already there, hacked up on the windward side of a grove of trees. They were hastily tied, and blankets thrown on them. The dogs whined

From a drawing by Jack Sears: The Storm

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and crept into the lent. I Ik* male mocking bird flew from his

perch on the juniper tree and took refuge under a shelving rock near l>y. There was hardly time to collect the camp equipage, put it iir the tent, and securely tie the door, when the storm broke in all its fury. The wind had increased to a gale, the clouds were blaek and ominous; the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled; rain came down in torrents; great hailstones fell, heating down the grass and flowers, and tearing the tender branches from the trees; a shaft of lightning struck the giant dead pine across the creek and tore it into a thousand pieces, scattering them all around the tent, and leaving the trunk, which was strongly impregnated with pitch, burning brightly as the storm raged. The creek, which a few moments before had been a clear mountain stream, was a raging torrent. Trees, torn up by the roots, floated past, and great boulders, loosened from the mountain sides by the rivulets which flowed everywhere came rolling down into the canyon, with a sound like thunder. Fortunately the storm was of short duration. It passed as unexpectedly as it had come. The clouds rolled away, the sun came out and looked complacently down upon the havoc wrought as if it had been an uneventful autumn d:.y. As the two friends stepped out into the sunshine the mocking bird flew from his shelter under the projecting rock and hopped among the branches of the juniper tree, uttering notes of alarm. The men approached the tree, and George carefully drew back the branches. There, upon the nest, was the mother bird —dead! True to the instinct of all flesh, she had protected her young while the storm beat out her life. The little birds were safe. They took the tiny body and, digging a grave near where Fleete rested, carefully buried it. The friends then returned sorrowfully to the camp to discuss this last tragedy of the woods, so much like the sorrows which come to human kind. On several occasions, as they fished down the creek, deer had been seen on the mountain slopes, feeding, or, startled from their beds in the willows, had dashed away as the men approached. Frank had waited impatiently for the promised hunt and was up early on the morning when it had been arranged to take it. The horses were saddled, cartridge belts and hunting knives buckled on, the dogs unchained, and, mounting, they started down the canyon. "We will kill a buck today," said George. "There are plenty of deer; it will not be necessary to shoot at a doe or fawn should we see one." His companion urged that the chance of failure was too great if one confined his shooting to buck alone; besides, he had

"As tliey passed tlirough the thicket, two deer came out?'

never killed a deer, and was not inclined to discriminate. Trees grew along the river bottom. The ground was soft and covered with grass, and the feet of the horses made scarcely a sound. As they passed through a thicket two deer came out

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into an open space below and walked directly toward tlinn. "It is a doe and fawn," whispered George, "watch them." The deer carafe on, stopping occasionally to crop the tender grass which grew along the shore of the stream. They were conscious of danger, but could not tell where it was. They sniffed the air, stamped their front feet, listened, with their long ears erect and necks extended, but continued to come on until they were only a few yards from where the men sat on their horses, when one of the horses shook his head, the bridle rattled, and away they went up the mountain side, where they stopped and looked back at the men below. It was a splendid chance for a shot, and Frank wanted to take it, but his companion restrained him. "We shall find others, soon," he said; "besides, it would seem cruel to shoot them under such circumstances. I have never known a deer to approach so near a man before. You will observe that there is a breeze blowing up the canyon; were it not for this, they would have smelled us and gone before we

had even seen them. The nose of the deer is exceedingly sensitive. He usually scents an enemy before he sees him." They climbed out from the canyon and started up a long ridge which terminated in the highest peaks in the neighbor hood. As they neared the summit, off to the right, on the side of another ridge, a deer arose from the grass and stood looking at them. "What a beauty," said Frank, as he hurriedly dismounted and raised his gun to fire. "Remember," remonstrated his companion, "no does today; she is a beauty, but we must not shoot her." "But," urged Frank, "the day is far advanced and we are not likely to get another such chance. I do not want to return without a deer. Let me try her." As he spoke, just below the doe, and a little to the right, another deer got up from the grass. His great horns appeared, and then his entire body, as he stood broadside, looking across the canyon. "Now you can shoot," said George. "Hold behind the shoulder and be steady." The rifle cracked, and both deer bounded off up the mountain. "As usual, you shot too high," said George. "Go on, you can get in several shots before he reaches the top of the ridge." Bang! bang! bang! went the Winchester, but the deer did not stop. i4 Do not hurry," said George. "Wait until he reaches the top of the ridge. He will stop a moment before passing out of sight to see wl.at it is all about." With rifle raised, Frank waited. When the ueer reached ,

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the top of the ridge he stopped, broadside on, and looked back. Frank fired, the deer lurched forward and disappeared, the doe bounded over the ridge. "A splendid shot," said George. "He was fully three hundred yards away." "But he has gone," said Frank. "I missed him again." "No, you hit him, and hit him hard. He will not go far," said George. They found him near where he had stood, a magnificent specimen of his kind. The deer was dressed, tied behind one of the saddles, and the men rode on. The following day was Sunday, and the friends had planned to visit the people at the settlement. George knew that a fat deer was always a welcome present, so the hunt was continued. There was no danger that the larder would be overstocked. They were nearly back to camp, and the sun was just getting when they saw a lone deer feeding upon the mountain side to their right. It was a long shot, but at the crack of George's rifle he came down and was carried on to camp. Both men and horses were tired when camp was reached, and after supper, which consisted of deer's liver and bacon, fried trout, potatoes, a little cheese placed on a tin plate and fried over the coals, with canned peaches and cream for dessert, they retired early to bed.

It was the first Sunday in October, and the last the friends would spend together in the mountains. Through the devoted care of the male bird the young mocking birds were grown. They hopped among the branches of the juniper, and tried their wings by short flights from tree to tree. Silently the old bird looked on. He had fed them by day, and kept them warm at night, but there had been no more singing; he had done his duty with a heavy heart, and would soon lead his brood away to their winter home in the south, where he would perhaps find another mate to take the place of her who had given her life that his offspring might live. As the friends sat silently contemplating the movements of the Inrds, Frank said: "How alike we are. The joys and sorrows and tragedies of life come to the wild things of the woods as they do to us. How much they sense and suffer by them, who can tell!" The drive to the settlement, past the fields of harvested hay and grain, was delightful. As they entered the town and saw troops of children, in their plain but neat attire, hurrying toward the meetinghouse, Frank An lerson thought of his own childhood, how solicitous his mother had been, when Sundav came, that he should attend Sunday school, and how she tried to impress him with the truth of the things taught there. As the two friends drove up to the building where the

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people were congregating, the children crowded around George, delighted to hoc and greet him, as were the older people who were present. An old couple from Scandinavia were particularly pleased to meet Frank. They had known his parents, in fact his father

Young Mocking Bird " 'Mamma,' she called in vain, for the mother who would never come."

had been the means of bringing them into the Church, and the pleasure they manifested at meeting his son was delightful in its earnestness and simplicity. The interval between Sunday school and Sacrament meeting was spent at the home of this old couple, after which all returned to the Church. The afternoon service was simple, but impressive. The Sacrament was administered, the entire congregation partaking. Fellowship was universal in the settlement. Brief remarks were made by many of those present, both men and women, each of whom bore testimony to the truth of the doctrines of the gospel and the divinity of the mission of the youthful prophet who had been instrumental in its re-establishment.

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Frank Anderson was an interested listener, and when the old Scandinavian arose and bore testimony to the sterling qualities of his parents, and recounted the circumstances undjer which they were converted to the truth, and their devotion to it,he was visibly affected. The services were about to close. There was a pause, a few moments of unoccupied time, the stillness was oppressive when Frank Anderson arose and began to speak. He referred to his parents with deep emotion, how they had taught him, when a boy, the doctrines of the gospel and he had believed. As he grew older, close application to business, constant contact with men, many of them not over-scrupulous in their business methods, had almost destroyed his faith; he had sought pleasure in the cities among men of like tastes, until he had become an unbeliever. Then came this trip to the mountains, to a new world, to meet new people, to be in an environment which he had never dreamed existed. He had gone into many churches, had visited the cathedrals of the old world, had hoped to find there the fraternal love and fellowship which he felt should exist among people professing faith in Christ, but had never found it, until he met these simple people of the mountains. Never had he felt near to the Lord until that night at the saw mill. Every day since, his faith and hope had increased. The grandeur of the mountains, the beauty of the flowers, the streams of pure water, the terrible grandeur of the storm, the — tragedy of the dog and the mocking bird in it all he had seen the majesty and glory of the Creator, and his heart had been turned to him. He had often looked at the mountains from afar, but had conceived nothing of their beauty and mystery. It was so with the gospel; he knew now that its blessings had always been within his reach, that the Lord is in temples built with hands, as he is here in the wilds, in the solitude, under the stars, but it had required their experience to awaken the latent spark of faith which was in his heart. Here, in the solitude, for the first time since he had been a man, he had humbled himself before the Lord, and his prayer had oeen heard and answered. He knew that his "Redeemer lived. As he had found a new world here in the mountains, so had he found in the gospel a world which he had never dreamed existed; henceforth his first duty should be to the Lord and his work. As he closed, tears filled his eyes as they did the eyes of many in the congregation. The last night to be spent in the canyon had come. Until a late hour the friends discussed the incidents of the outing, and when bedtime came, knelt together, for the first time, in thanksgiving to the Lord for his mercies. (The End)