Sandy

Sandy By J. A. Washburn "Ah, come on, Sandy. They can get along. Your dad'll let you go. Come on!" "It's no use," the boy replied, shaking his yellow head emphatically. "It's no use. I can't go now. The foreman has brought one of the herders in, sick, and I've got to help with the sheep till he can find another. It's duty before pleasure, you know, fellows.'' And what good Scout can deny that? So, Troup 9 with Scoutmaster Mac, began their journey toward the canyon. They were a glum lot, the members of troup 9, as they moved away. The joy of the trip was gone, for Sandy was the life of the crowd. "Maybe I'll come later," he called to them. "The herd is not far from the lake, and, if I can, I'll come over in a few days," he waved with little enthusi- asm, and they were gone. To see them go without him was a test not given in the hand book. You never can tell what is in the future. The best laid schemes of mice and men often go wrong. The poet who suggested that didn't mention Scouts but they were included just the same. And, so, it hap- pened that Sandy had to stand on the street corner and see the boys leave for their late summer camp at Granddaddy Lake. But, sometimes, fate is not unkind. A catastrophe may breed blessings. Jonah was swallowed by a whale only to be coughed up on dry land. Jacob, fleeing from the wrath of his brother, found a sweet- heart by the well of Haran. The crisp September breeze whistled through the pines as Sandy and the fore- man jogged single file along the winding trail. Just before sundown they reached the top of the high ridge. The air had become cooler, and in the north fleecy clouds were drifting across the sky. Away to the east might be seen the Uintah Basin with its scattered villages nestling among the hills. The mountain on the opposite side of the canyon was dotted with patches of purple and gold, marking the early path of Jack Frost, while the Bah! Bah! Bah! of the flock wa9 wire- lessed across as the sheep sauntered to the bed ground. Sandy breathed deeply of the bracing air as he scanned the scene. "What a wonderful old world!" he thought. "Blue skies, and mountains, and trees, and — ," "Hey, Sandy," yelled Rass from half way down the mountain. "That aint camp, its down by them sheep. It was dark when they reached camp. Old Spooks, the sheep dog. greeted them with a succession of bark9 and whines. "How have ya minded the flock ya noisy houn'?" asked Rass. "Did ya leave the varments to look after 'em? Sandy, you start a fire while I walk around a bit." He disappeared into the darkness to return a few minutes later. "Good work, Spooks!" he commended. "The bells is all here anyhow: but it's too dark to be sure about the black's." Twice during the night Rass crawled out to investigate troubles on the bed ground. The sheep were restless and he had to fire several shots before they finally settled down. "Prowlers," growled the man as he rolled in for the last time. "They're troublesome these nights." Next morning they were up and had breakfast early. One of the black sheep was missing which meant that any number might be gone with it. "You f oiler 'em, Sandy," said Rass, as the last of the herd left camp. "Just stick 'round where ya can see 'em. About noon they'll settle down, then you can come and get some dinner. I'm goin' to look for the strays and call on herd No. 1 down the canyon yonder; but I'll

SANDY 867 be back before night." Then he rode out of sight among the trees. Sandy spent the day as directed, watch- ing the sheep, climbing mountains, build- ing fires (which he was always careful to put out), surveying the country through field glasses, and, on the whole, having a most enjoyable time. Soon after sun- down, Rass returned but brought no sheep. Together they counted the "markers." All the bell sheep were there, and strange to say, all the blacks — he had picked up the runaways during the day. The second night passed with little trouble. Next morning Ras9 left for town for provisions and to bring back the new herder. Sandy spent the day much as be- fore. Toward evening he noticed Spooks intently sniffing the ground. A careful examination revealed a track. It was like a dog's track, but larger. The animal had recently gone along the ridge just above camp. "There's no dog can make a track as big as that, Spooks," he said. "Of course not, but I know what it is. I'm sure he was near camp last night — its a mountain lion." Spooks doubtless agreed, but he just sat there and sniffed the air. Sandy wasn't afraid, but he was glad Rass would be back before night. By sundown the flock was at camp. Sandy counted the "markers" and was re- lieved to find all present. He built a fire and prepared supper, but Rass failed to appear. He became a little nervous, not that he was afraid, for he had camped alone before — but it was different tonight. He ate a few bites and meted out a gen- erous portion to Spooks. It was pitch dark and Rass had not come. But, of course, he would come before long — de- layed a bit in finding the new herder. Sandy replenished the fire, whistled, sang a little — though his voice seemed somewhat cracked, talked to Spooks, and tried to think; but his think-box was out of commission. He wondered what his pals were doing over at Granddaddy Lake. He surely would have liked to be with them. It seemed that hours had passed, and, still he was alone. Alone with Spooks, the sheep, and — those pesky tracks! They were everywhere; on the ground, in the fire, the tent, he simply could not get them out of his mind. He had never seen a cougar; but he had heard his father tell about them; how they could carry off sheep, calves, and colts. Anyhow, just the name and the tracks were enough. It must have been near midnight when he gave up hopes of Rass. The sky was dark with clouds, and the jerky light of the campfire threw dismal shadows among the trees back of the tent. He took the rifle, threw a shell into place, filled the magazine and buckled the belt around him. "He'll never get a lamb, Spooks, as long as these bullets last!" he said confidently to his companion. "I guess we're doomed to stay alone, so here goes." Screwing up his courage, he walked along the hillside above the sheep. They were resting peace- fully. There was not a sound save the sighing of the wind through the trees and an occasional tinkle of a sheep bell. Re- turning to the tent, he fixed the fire and rolled in, boots, gun and all. He finally fell asleep still clutching the gun. How long he had slept, didn't mat- ter, for something had happened. He was not sure just what, but Spooks was making the night hideous with his yells and the sheep were stampeding up the hill. The first Sandy could remember, he was trying to round them in, shooting in all directions and yelling louder than the dog. An hour passed and most of the sheep were back on the bed ground again. Re- filling the magazine, he prepared to en- circle the herd. Below camp, a hundred yards or so, was a small patch of willows. As he neared the spot something attracted his attention. It proved to be a dead sheep. Near it were many more. It was getting light and he had no trouble finding the tracks of the invader. Sure enough, there they were — the big dog tracks. Returning to the tent, he prepared and ate a hasty bite; then, sat down to think. For some cause Rass had been delayed and might not be back before night. What should he do, follow the beast, or wait

868 IMPROVEMENT ERA until someone came? If he waited, chances were in favor of the lion — he might soon be out of reach. If he followed im- mediately, there was a possibility of at least seeing him. While he had no par- ticular hope of killing the animal, a few random shots' would probably scare him away. Another thrilling thought was tak- ing shape — what an adventure to relate to his brother Scouts when he met them again! "Tough luck, Spooks," he remarked to the dog. "All these sheep killed and the murderer at large." "So it is," wagged Spooks. "If you had shot at the lion instead of at everything else, you might have got him." The last of the sheep were leaving the ground, so, shouldering his gun, he fol- lowed. He observed that the cougar had gone down the canyon, the tracks were plain enough now. More than that, there were lines along the trail first on one side, and then on the other. He had actually carried off a sheep. Sandy felt his heart hammering against his fifth rib. Spooks sniffed the air and whined. A quarter of a mile below, the gulley narrowed to a deep gorge about seven feet wide with perpendicular sides. The lion had gone straight across. Sandy detoured and came out in a little ravine some dis- tance below. He soon found the trail again which wound hither and thither among brush and over rocks. Half an hour passed and he reached the top of a ridge. The tracks headed down the other side toward a bluff. He examined the gun to be sure that everything was ready. "Thump! thump!" his heart pounded and a freezy feeling ran up and down his back. The trail became dangerous as he proceeded along the ledge among great boulders. "Woof! woof!" The knock at his fifth rib suddenly stopped and his hair went straight up. He whirled and threw the gun to his shoulder. It was only Spooks coughing up a spear of grass which had lodged in his throat. "Don't do it again," gasped Sandy, "or you'll surely get shot." A little farther on the trail suddenly ended and he found himself in front of a hole leading back among the rocks. Spooks growled furiously and Sandy step- ped back to a safe distance. The hole proved to be a small cave caused by a fault in the mountains. The animal's tracks were plainly to be seen in the little patches of sand, as he had taken refuge in the cavern. What was to be done? Sandy could never wait until the lion came out, for it might be hours and the sheep must be looked after. On the other hand, it would never do to take a chance on leav- ing without him — it might mean the loss of more sheep. "There is no time like the present," he thought. The next moment he was peering into the cave. Spooks growled and showed his teeth. Sandy threw a rock into the dark- ness, but there was no sound save the echo. Cocking the gun, he edged his way into the hole, the dog close at his heels. There was not a sound and nothing in sight. The cavern grew darker and darker, as he advanced. A little further, his foot struck something soft — his knees smote to- gether and a sickening feeling possessed him. It proved to be the remains of the dead sheep. He was about to move on, when, "G-r-r-r-r-r!" the darkness and terror of the cave roared at him. His head struck the stones and he was nearly blinded, while his whole frame shook from top to toe. Spooks turned demon and filled the cave with his barks and yells as he dashed up and down past the terror-stricken boy. Out of the darkness peered two green eyes not fifteen feet away. Automatically, Sandy raised his gun and fired. The tumult increased and the stifling air became thick with dust. Stiff with terror, he leaned against the wall, and felt his strength give way as he slipped to the floor. * * * * Soon after sun-up Rass rode into camp with Bill Sweaney, the new herder. To- gether they unpacked the animals, pre- pared and ate breakfast. "What's that down by the willers, Bill?" asked Rass.

SANDY 869 "Sure, and it's some dead sheep," an- swered Bill, and the two men hurried to the spot. In an instant the trained eye of the foreman detected the source of trouble, and, at the same moment, noticed that Sandy's tracks were on top of the cougar's trail. "The fool kid has follered him," ex- claimed Rass. "Bring the guns, quick. We must overtake him before he gets hurt." The men hurried down the canyon. They had little trouble keeping the trail, so lost no time in the chase. In half the time Sandy had used, they reached the cave just as Spooks came bounding out. Rass took in the situation at a glance, and plunged in, followed by Sweaney. Choked with dust and their eyes unac- customed to the darkness, they were com- pelled to wait a moment. All was as silent as the^ tomb. By the aid of matches they grouped their way farther in. At last they came to Sandy. He looked be- wildered as the men turned his face to the light. "Ya blunderin' blatherskite of a know- nothin'!" roared Rass. "What in thunder ya doin' here? Didn't I tell ya to mind the sheep? Instead of that, ya go fol- lerin' lions down their hole. I've a good mind to leave ya here, for ya ain't safe to turn loose in town. No one but a luner- tick would do a fool thing like this." "He killed some sheep," groaned Sandy. "Sure, and it's a wonder he didn't kill you, too," said Bill. Sandy crawled out of the cave while the two men followed dragging the cougar. A beauty he was-, too, nearly seven feet, tip to tip. * * * * "Rass," said Sandy as they were eating dinner. "I think I'll go over to Grand- daddy Lake this afternoon, now that Bill has come to stay with the sheep." "Any ole time ya like," was the an- swer. "I'm at your service. Ya can take the hull camp if ya want to." "I just want you and a fresh mutton." continued the boy. "Do you think you could stuff that lion hide with something and make it stand up like it was alive?" Bill looked at the boss and winked. "Can we? begosh, an' I can make him walk. Just you leave it to me," he laughed. At four o'clock p. m., Rass and Sandy started for Grandaddy Lake, driving a pack mule. In every direction spread the great forest of pines yet untouched by the hand of man; while above them towered the snowcapped peaks of the Wasatch range. After an hour and a half's ride, they halted on a flat just above the timber line. Taking out his glasses, Rass sur- veyed the country. To the north, were streams tributary to Bear River, which found their way to Bear Lake and, thence, to Great Salt Lake, America's Dead Sea. On the south, were the waters which helped to form Duchesne, Green, and Colo- rado rivers, flowing toward the Pacific. Below them, and a quarter of a mile to the west, spread the crystal surface of Granddaddy Lake. Dismounting, they took off part of the pack, after which Sandy continued the journey alone leading the pack mule. "Listen!" cried Lynn Jones suddenly, as half a dozen boys strolled in. The Scouts were all attention. From far up the mountain side among the pines came the shrill yelp of a coyote. Immediately, it was answered by another along the shore of the lake. "Who's out?" asked Lynn, surveying the crowd. "Only Mac," answered George Powell. "That might have been him down by the lake, but who is it up in the timber?" "Most likely it's Sandy," suggested Tad Andrews. "Listen, I'll answer them!" and he pro- ceeded to imitate the call of a coyote. From somewhere in the distant moun- tain top, came the faint but clear answer. The boys held their breath. This was a third one, but farther away. "Try it again!" urged Lynn. This time it was answered from a few hundred yards up the mountain. 'He's coming, whoever it is," said

870 IMPROVEMENT ERA George as Sandy appeared in an opening among the trees. "That's the most excitement we've had since we came up here," said Tad as they all greeted Sandy. "I'm just dying for something to happen." "I'll bet you would die if something did happen," observed Mac, who came in carrying a string of trout. "Ha, ha," laughed Lynn, the torment. "Did you see him grow white around the gills, and his knees shake?" "Oh, shucks," retorted Tad, "who'd be scared of a coyote? Didn't I catch one in a trap list winter?" "Of course, nobody would be afraid of a coyote in a trap," jeered George. "Hello, what's that?" Mac stopped suddenly. It was the call from the top of the mountain again. "That's a real coyote," he continued. "Sounds pretty lonesome, don't it?" Sandy smiled. He was sure it was Rass, not a coyote, that they heard. The supper that night was no small spread; crisp, brown trout fried in butter; roast potatoes, and fat, tender mutton, spitted on sticks before the fire. Every fellow did his duty. "Saw a cougar track today," informed Mac. "He crossed the stream at the north end of the lake not more than two days ago." "Gee, I'd like to see one." The im- petuous Tad was all excitement. "The track'd be enough for you, all right," laughed Lynn. "I didn't mean a track," corrected Tad. "I mean a real, live cougar." "Believe me, I ain't lost any cougars," ejaculated George, "and what's more, I'm not hunting any with a twenty-two." "Pshaw," scoffed Tad, "there's noth- ing to be afraid of about cougars. They'll not fight unless you get 'em cornered." "It's about bed time," remarked Sandy, after they had discussed plans for the mor- row. "Wonder what our neighbor is doing up there in the mountains. Believe I'll give him a call!" Cupping his hands around his mouth, he uttered a succession of shrill yelps ending in a prolonged howl. This he repeated several times, then all listened. From somewhere near the snow- banks, far above them, came a dismal an- swer followed by one half way up the mountain in another direction. "Two of 'em," cried Mac. "I wonder how many more? I'll bet they make a raid on some sheep camp before morning." An hour or more passed and everybody was in bed and quiet. Assuring himself that the boys were all asleep, Sandy care- fully crawled out, collected all the guns and removed them to a safe place; then started toward the timber. Some distance from camp, he heard the hoot of an owl. He answered it and received another in return. In a few moments he and Rass were planning together. "Say, he looks like a real, live lion. Bill sure made a good job of it!" ex- claimed Sandy as he again viewed the stuffed hide of the cougar he had killed that morning, and which Rass had brought with him. "Now, we must get it down near camp where they can find it. I hope Tad sees it first!" He chuckled at the thought. Carrying the monster down, they placed him in a little clearing not more than twenty-five yards from the fire. "Now, kid, you hike back to bed," ordered Rass, "and when things get lively around camp, be sure there ain't no shootin'." "Don't worry about that, I've already hid the guns," assured Sandy. "Remem- ber, Rass, you are to make it hot for Tad. He wanted to see a live cougar, and we got to show him one, see?" The boy hurried back to bed to await developments. Rass Marshall was a pure-bred moun- taineer. Early in life he had become a shepherd, and for a number of years past had been the foreman of Andrew Phillips' herd. His life had, therefore, been spent in the mountain, and unconsciously he had become acquainted with the calls and habits of every animal native to that section. He had taken a great liking to Sandy because of the boy's courage and dependability, and after the stirring events of the morning had fallen whole-heartedly into the scheme

SANDY 871 for providing some excitement for the boys camped at Granddaddy Lake. Tlje cougar skin stuffed with weeds and grass, and with sticks to hold it up, was a perfect though harmless specimen. It was sure to create a stir in camp when dis- covered. Expectant as a boy, Rass took his station near the cougar, and immediate- ly things began to happen. Several times he emitted the cougar's shrill cry, the echoes vibrating across the lake and end- ing in the distance. Sandy, watchful in camp, saw Mac turn over in bed, while Tad sat up and stared into the darkness. "Sandy, Sandy," whispered George, his bed-fellow, as he nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "Sandy, did you hear that noise?" "What noise?" Sandy yawned and rubbed his eyes. Tad had lain down and covered up his head. By this time most of them were awake and some were sit- ting up. Again they heard the sound which seemed farther away and in another direction. "What is it?" asked George. "I don't know," answered Mac. "It sounds almost like a child's scream. It's pretty close whatever it is." "I've heard 'em say," informed Rob Smith, "that a mountain lion sounds like a child crying." "Where is Tad?" asked Lynn. "He wanted to see a live cougar and now's his chance." "There he is, in bed with his head covered up," someone said, and the boys proceeded to drag him out. Once more the screams rent the air — this time not more than fifty yards away. Tad jumped across the fire nearly knocking Mac over. "It seems to me," remarked Sandy, "we better get dressed and prepare for a scrap. I guess he's after the mutton." "Throw it out to him," suggested Lem Wilson. "If he gets that, maybe he'll vamose." "Every fellow into his clothes!" com- manded Mac, and there was a general scrambling. At that moment Sandy saw a special opportunity. Tad and Lem slept under a pine just back of a bunch of willows. Creeping unobserved toward them, he got within a few feet of the boys as they were pulling on their shoes. Shaking the willows, he growled ferociously. Tad landed ten feet away, while Lem said some unbecoming things. Just then the cougar's cry was repeated on the opposite side of camp which brought everybody back around the fire in various stages of dressing. "The woods are full of 'em," groaned Tad. "Where's the guns? A twenty-two'd be better than nothing." "Yes, where are they?" asked George. But a thorough search failed to bring them to light. "That's strange about the guns," re- marked Mac. "They were all here when we went to bed, for I saw some of them standing against that tree. I wonder if somebody from — ," he was saying, thoughtfully, when he caught an unmistak- able wink from Sandy's eye. "Spooks, spooks, as well as cougars, they've carried off the guns," he finished. The discussion was suddenly interrupted by the yelp of a coyote not more than a hundred yards along the shore of the lake. "Cougars — spooks — coyotes ! ' ' gasped Lynn. "What else, I wonder? Where did the blamed things come from all at once? We're completely surrounded by 'em." "We'd better build up the fire," sug- gested Sandy. "Tad, I'll bet you're afraid to go out and bring some wood!" he bantered. "Not on your life," agreed Tad. "Thought you wanted to see a cougar," Rob. "I do, but I ain't hankering to meet him in the night," answered Tad. "Come on, now, come on," taunted Sandy, "I'll go with you!" The wood was not more than twenty feet away, and, as they were picking it up, there was a sud- den scrambling and scratching in the brush almost within reach. Tad rent the air with a yell as he rushed to the fire, leaving Sandy to bring in the wood "I tell you what, boys, that son-of-a- gun's getting entirely too familiar to suit

872 IMPROVEMENT ERA me! I could almost touch him," gasped Tad. "Touch nothing," said Sandy, as he threw the wood on the fire. "I didn't see anything." "See! see!" roared Tad. "Neither did I see, but I heard and felt. Guess I can hear and feel, can't I?" "Say fellows," said Lynn, "this thing is getting past a joke. We've got to find out what's the matter. Let's take blazing sticks for torches and scatter out. If some one is playing a joke, we'll catch him, and, if it's an animal, maybe it'll skidoo. Come on, what do you say to that?" "W-h-o! w-h-o-o-o-o!" came the mel- ancholy query of an owl from a tree near by. "A whole menagerie!" whispered Sandy. "Cougars, spooks, coyotes, owls. Anyhow I'm ready for the torch parade," he continued selecting a good brand from the fire. Each one did likewise and stood ready for further orders. "I'll go along the shore toward the coyote," offered Sandy. "All right," assented Mac. "Each one of you choose your own route and report your findings." "Report is right," murmured Tad. "If I see him, they'll hear me in town, you can bet on that." "All this time, Rass was exceedingly busy hurrying through the brush from place to place, imitating cougars, coyotes, and owls. The night was dark, so it was an easy matter for him to watch the ac- tivities of the boys around the fire without being seen himself. He was a little puzzled, however, when he saw the torch brigade leave. It might mean discovery before he was ready. Hurrying back to the cougar, he took refuge under a bush near by. On came the boys, nearer and nearer. Two of them were headed straight toward him. At last, they were just op- posite the bush not five steps away. Sud- denly they stopped, and held up their torches. It was Tad and Rob — they dis- covered the cougar. Rass uttered a ter- rible growl. Flinging their torches, they bounded back to the fire where they met all the others. "Cougar! cougar!" shrieked the terri- fied boys together. "He's right there in the brush, not twenty yards away! We saw and heard him." "Trust Tad for seeing and hearing things. I'll bet they saw a stump," laughed Lynn. "Who'll go with me after their torches?" asked Sandy. "I will," offered Mac with a sly wink. "I'll go over the top with you." They cautiously made their way to the torches, but there was. not a sound or any- thing to be seen. "They're bugs," said Lynn, as the two boys returned with the sticks. "I don't believe they saw anything. Let's try the round-up again, it's like playing run- sheep." They disappeared in various directions as before. All went well for a few min- utes, when, at the usual warning shriek, they all gathered quickly at the fire. It was Lynn who returned this time without his torch. "Bugs, bugs," jeered Tad. I'll bet he saw a stump." "I'm whipped, Taddy boy!" said Lynn. "You saw him all right, so did I. Be- lieve me, he's ten feet long or more. Oh, no, Mac, it's no joke! It's a sure enough cougar." "I'll tell you what, boys," said Mac. "We'll all go after Lynn's torch and look for tracks. That'll settle the question." "Great idea," they all agreed as they moved away, each one trying to keep to the center. But, there were no tracks — not a thing to suggest the presence of a ferocious animal. Twenty minutes at least, had been spent without results, dur- ing which time Rass had not been idle. "I'm beginning to think the place is haunted," said Lynn. "It must be the spirit of — ," but he didn't finish for the terrifying scream came again, this time from the direction of the camp. They all stood breathless. "What's to be done?" whispered George. He'll devour everything in camp.

SANDY 873 I wish we'd thrown the mutton out to him to begin with." "Come on, all of you," urged Mac. "We'll get to see him, at least." They rushed forward, but suddenly stopped near the fire. Sure enough, there he was inside Mac's tent with his head poking out through the flaps. At sight of the crowd, he quickly withdrew inside. After a breathless pause, Mac said, "We've got to get him out of there some way. How shall we begin?" "Throw the mutton in," suggested one. "Set fire to the tent," urged another. "Send Tad in with a torch to run him out," offered Sandy. "There's nothing to be afraid of about a cougar." "Not by a darn sight! I've had all I want of him," opposed Tad. "Go in your- self, if you're so brave. Come on, now, go on in! Daniel went into a lion's den and it didn't hurt him." "Tell you what I'll do," said Sandy, "I'll go in if you will all stand by the door and get him when he comes out." There was some hesitating about the proposition; but something had to be done, and this seemed the easiest way out of it. "That's fair enough," said Mac, trying to look serious. Sandy secured the best torch he could find, while each of the others armed him- self with torch or club. They could hear the beast inside and see the tent shake as he switched his tail against its sides. Cautiously, they moved forward, but stop- ped near the door while Sandy plunged in. What a battle! Once inside, the terrible beast — Rass Marshall — trapped in the strong walls of the tent, uttered blood- curdling cries, and refused to be driven forth. Round and round they fought, now on the ground, now in the air. Three ProL'o Utah. times, the cougar's long tail switched under the tent, almost touching the feet of the braves outside, who immediately scattered with a commotion rivaling that within. By accident, Lynn dropped his fire-stick which fell across the back of Rob Smith's neck as he was stooping to recover a lost club. Rob doubled up on the ground, his language unbecoming to a Scout of good standing. In some unaccountable way, George had set fire to the seat of Tad's trousers which sent that worthy Scout flying through the air like a sky- rocket. Mac, almost bursting with sub- dued mirth, pounded the trunk of a tree with his fire-brand as if to frighten the monster away. Altogether, the exterior presented the appearance of a Fourth-of- July fire works. All the time activities inside the tent increased. Groans, growls, and shrieks be- came deafening, while smoke and dust poured from every opening. At last, the tumult subsided and quietness prevailed within. At this point, Rass crawled under the back of the tent and took refuge in the brush nearby, unseen by any of the boys. Mac threw back the flaps and seven Scouts gazed upon the ghastly scene. In the middle of the arena stretched the moun- tain lion, and upon his dead body Sandy sat, pale and panting. Mohammed never had more ardent wor- shipers than the hero of this scene. Four of them dragged the monster out, when, lo, by the light of the fire, they saw the green grass and weeds protruding between the stitches which held his hide together. Putting his fingers to his mouth, Sandy blew a long shrill blast which was an- swered from behind the tent, and Rass Marshall suddenly appeared, grinning from ear to ear. We go to sleep with our secrets, We take with us joys and woes And who on earth is the wiser For things we have done- knows? Hartford, Conn. Secrets Yet, see that those thoughts you've cherished Be thoughts which enhance the soul, -who Those secret thoughts you are holding Will aid you to find your goal. CAROLINE PARKER SMITH