San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1923-09-02

Il haven't been on a horse Tor flf-
teen years." he answered cheerfully.
Did he like trout fishing?
Client, candor itself, did not know
never having tried it. But he liked
to fish.
All, yes; where did he do his fish
ing?
Client mentioned northern Wiscon-
sin and black bass, but his remarks
were received coldly. Bait-casting for
black bass, he began to perceive, was
distinctly lower-class. Some one, to
save the situation, carelessly referred
to sea bass weighing four hundred
and twenty-one pounds which he had
caught off the Catalina Islands after
eleven hours of desperate battle.
Did he shoot?
Well, yes-in a sort of a way.
What did he fancy in the line of
shooting? Grouse? Wild turkey
Deer, elk, bear? They were to be
found hereabouts in abundance. ana
Paradise Peaks knew no game
seasons.
Client could not specify his choice
of wild creature for killing, and Mr..
Chandler saw fit to talk in a large
manner about the snow-leopards he
had shot in the Himalayas, the sum
mer of 1914, with his friend Lieut.. Col.
Apmadoc Jones of the Bengali Lane
ers. The war had ended big game
shooting, Mr.. Chandler continued. but
it was beginning again with the coE:.
ing of peace, and man who wanted
adventure could now go out and have
some sport.
Client then knew that his instinct
to hate Mr.. Chandler was a just anu
true emotion.
The talk of guns and kills ran
around the table until Client wantc,l
to shrek. He managed to silence the
banker at his elbow who was tellins
of his great massacre of ducks last
November on the Bear River marshes
in Utah.
Il find as / grow older" said
Client, with a world-weary air, "tha,
the pleasure of hunting, for its own
sake, dies out. / have come to believe
that a man has right to kill eacn
day only enough for that days food"
The man who had spoken of seven
teen dozen ducks in one mornings bag
thought of eating them all within
three meals, and considered himself
snubbed as a game hog.
Then Columbine began to talk Of
books to Client. Kenneth Angus, Col
umbine's brother, a few years older
who had been wrapped in moody 81
lence, pricked up his ears and Joined
in their conversation intelligently.
Kenneth, who had been blighted IT,
love while at Yale, was in the habit
of wandering from one hunting lodge
TO another, with only an old guide for
companion.
After dinner Columbine took Chen.
out TO corner of the veranda TO see
what she called her demi-tasse view
He began to feel lyric and exalted.
Was it because a poem was coming
on-or because Columbine. in a pll-
tonic sort of way, was letting him
hold her hand?
With heavy feet that gave satisfac-
tory warning Angus and Mr.. Chandler
bore down along the long veranda to.
ward them.
Chandler had sensed foe in Client
He did not rate him as a rival, but
as an annoyance. So he adroitly
proceeded to poison the wells of this
wayfarer. q.
"Ah, Mr.. Client" he asked in his
most chubby fashion, "are you getting
an inspiration for a poem from the
sunset?"
Angus, in whose code poets were
third and lamentable sex, srunted al
this, and Client knew that he had been
betrayed.
He became nervous and therefore
stupid. His throat became dry; he
sneezed violently. and followed it wiir
hacking little. cough. Although he
didn't know it, this was a high-alti-
tude, dry-climate reaction from the
respiratory tract of lowlander.
But Mr.. Chandler seized his oppor-
tun;ty.
you're not catching cold. are you,
Mr.. Ghent?" he asked fondly.
Client felt himself branded as an
invalid.
Bright and early the next morning
Columbine sought out Jim Ripley, bet
ter known as old Rip, foreman of the
guides, to give him certain confident
ial instructions. For the benefit of the
visiting fasteners old Rip dressed
himself like the hero Of Wild West
film; however, he was a simple, gentle
soul. master of the craft of mountains
and plains.
"Well, Miss Columbine," he SAID
after she had confided in him. "he
must be some tenderfoot. but I'll see
that he don't come to no harm. Me
and him will just play around quiet
like"
81 don't think he is very strong.