Dead At His Post

Now doth the wily hunting man

     From office cares cut loose,

And stalk into the forests depths

     To slay the deer or moose.

He steals along the rocky cliff,

     As stealthy as a cat;

He hears a noise across the swale

     And fires a shot thereat.

No mighty game falls with a thud,

     Altho’ he shoots again;

And so he creeps along the trail

     Into the silent glen.

Aha! He sees an object move

     He shoots once, twice and thrice;

He hurries forward, and he finds –

     His guide has paid the price.

Oct. 3, 1904