The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1886-10-20
A FORTUNATE ANGLER.
The Best Catch Of Young
Mans Life. m3 Z

They were summering in the Santa
Cruz mountains. the most delightful
place in the most delightful State in
the Union. The days were long. but
full of the interest that extended ram.
blcs and sylvan discoveries confer A
fine stream, in which one could wade
or battle to hearts content, kept up its
ceasclcss conversation, like the hum of
near and tar voices. How beautiful in
the early morning was the light falling
on the ranks of giant redwOods; and
surely there never was bluer, purer
sky than that bent above it all!
Amy Desart, bookin hand, sauntered
down a leafy path, on which faint rays
of light from the far sky sifted down
through the redwoods' odOrous branch
es. glinted on their SCARED trunks, and
fell like silver arrows into the rich
shade of the forest. The book she car
ried was pretext. The day was for
dreaming, and what printed page could
charm the eye, when there were a
thousand distractions tempting the
curiosity and challenging. the admira-
ton of a healthy nature? If abumbling
bee, vagrant bird, cl,,mp Of yellow
violets or broad golden back' were
enough to speak to a poetic soul, or
charm an artists eye, who could tire of
watching the grander beauties of a red
wood forest, or weary Of the sudden
glimpsos through opened boughs of
the sublime blue mountainsp SO a
book was quite useless thing to Miss
Amy Desart, but at the same time) her
habitual companion. sl.t tE Isl p
She was aroused from her lazy
dreaming by loud halloo. Indeed,
she was not Immediately aroused, for
the hallooing had been going on for
quite respectable length of time be-
fore her drowsy consciousness stirred
to the effect of something unusual; for
hallooing, save for owls, was by no
means common in those silent depths.
Once aroused from hersummery stupor,
she listened with growing interests.
The calls continued at intervals, paus-
ing, seemingly in expectation or hope
of some reply. Miss Desart concluded,
as she heard no responsible halloo from
any other part of the forest, that the
call was from some one lost in the viii
derne>S As soon as her half somno-
lent brain had formed this conclusion,
her voice took up the idea, and when
another desperate and far away shout
came to her ear, she answered with i
musical call from her vigorous young
lungs. at the same time going in the
evident direction of the sound.
She was heard, for q responsive call
came in slightly louder tones, SO she
knew that whoever it was. he was
approaching her voice. Making a
trumpet of her hands, she cried:
"LOstT
The answer came quite distinctly,
evidently trumpted in the same man.
ner: "Yes."
She lost all her languor. Here was
something of lively interest to occupy
her time. "Who are you?" she called.
John Westwood," came the answer.
'Of San Francisco" he continued.
Unhesitatingly she plunged into the
underground and trackless way of the
woods. her guide the voice, which KEEP,
up a rather One-sided conversational
that can be called Conversations
she only answered occasionally to show
him that she was coming She had nc
fear of being lost herself, for she had,
time and again, roamed in the deepest
and widest parts Of the forest. which
was full of landmarks for her.
Out hunting and lost anyway
came slowly and detachedly to hel
ears.
She stopped and said to herself
"l've mind to leave him to his fate
The idea of Decorating this sacred
place with a shot-gunr'
However, she proceeded to the res
ere, determining to give Mr.. Johr
Wcstwood a caustlc piece of her mine
when once she had discovered him. Q
is safe to say here, in parenthesis, thai
She forget her cruel intention long be
tore She came up to him. She picket