Life — December 4, 1897 — page 9: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

485 theatre was at hand, and I felt m; heart beat in my throat. atrampling in the sand not a hun dred feet away—and there, to my fevered imagination, s aurochs with flaming e pale form of Lyyia horns, “Quick, M’sieu, fir shouted Ursus, and to save the divine L, my eye and nerves became steady as a rock, and the first bullet went home to his heart, . “It's a five-year old buck,” shouted Xavier, “M'sieuw McKinnee could not ha shot him straighter in the heart”—and for Xavier that is the highest praise. There was git ye night the wide chimne the upper Club-house roared with big birch le The tired sportsmen had gathered round to talk over their day’s adventures and smoke the pipe of peace. Through the open door old vier could be seen wiping dishes and dramatizing the shooting of the caribou for the chattering guides. From his rapid patois we gathered that he consid- ered Monsicur a great hunter, be- cause he sat perfectly still for three hours, and when the big caribou came round the point he hit him the first tin just M'sieu McKinnee “And what do you think of ‘Quo as cool as the big canvas game pocket of my coat. It was a fair balance in weight to the heavy rifle with nine cartridges in the magazine, and I managed to walk the teetering logs over chasms which Xavier dignitied with the name of ‘‘one pretty good portag M’sieu.” When we arrived, steaming, at the shores of Brulé, after our Blondin-like journey, and had spread the poncho like a prayer-rug on a point that verlooked the lake, we squatted down for another day of watching. I waited till Xavier's hawk-like eyes were adjusted to a half-mile focus on the far end of Brulé, and then I pulled the ponderous story from its hiding place and reset my eyes at a twelve- inch focus, In five minutes the caribou hunt became exciting. The beautiful Lygia began to play hide-and-seek with little Aulus among the whispering balsams, The lapping of the ripples on the shore be- came the splashing of water in the gor- geous baths of /ttronius, A falling leaf or two bloomed into roses floating down avier frum the golden network in Nero's banquet hall, As for the broad back of which [ caught through the corner of my eye, there was no doubt that the giant Ursus shared the watch with me! Hunting caribou with a Lygian giant for a compan- ion became at once a romantic adventure Poor, trustful giant! He sat like a statu with his back to me, serene in the belief that I was as faithfully watching the oppo- site shore—for Lygia, Hour after hour we sat, and for me the gorgeous pageant of imperial Rome moved across the crystal surface of that lonely lake, Squirrels were chattering in the trees; the air was balmy with the odor of spruce; a loon called harshly and plunged its head into the gleaming waters, Surely this was the pond of Agrippa, and the floating raft, with Nero and the rosy nymphs playing on citharae and harps, was just around the headland! Then the giant shoulders of Ursus rose against the sky, He was craning his neck in expectancy. The crisis in the amphi- vier, Vadis’?” asked the last arrival, as he pulled the book from a pile of condensed-milk cans and leafed it over while he smoked. By this time the hunter had persuaded himself that he had shot the caribou with deliberation and skill, So he cynically an- swered : “Ob, it’s a good enough book to pass the time when nothing better is at hand. It is poorly constructed and the rhetoric is atrocious, As for the story, it is simply a conglomerate of Bar- num’s circus, the Seeley dinner and the Bradley-Martin ball.” Nevertheless, in his more honest intervals he has been heard to say that the best way to hunt caribou is with a 45-90 rifle and “Quo Vadis.” Droch, “eur wappy epic.” comicbooks.com