The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1927-09-30
THE GIRL
HE DIDN'T
KNOW
% by d. ]. walsh.)

- slowly, gun at rest, but eyes
searching eagerly. A rabbit
crossed his path, but sped on its
way unnoticed. A partridge whirred
and in a wild spot turkey gobbled
warning to members of his flock.
But evidently they were not the
game Bartlett was after. A pheasant
IN his bag did not seem to awake en-
thusiasm, for another was heard drum
ming in the distance and the sports
man did not look that way.
Then, fully half a mile along the
slope, he saw a girl, and his eyes
frightened and his steps quickened-
only to dull and lag after few mo-
ments. A man had emerged from the
shadow of a rock. His head was bent
and he seemed to be winding some
thing. OF course. A camera. They
were taking pictures.
"JackasS; serves you right" accused
Bartlett to himself. "0nly one day be-
fore you go away TO do mans work,
and here you are like a lovesick kid.
climbing miles over rocks to see a
girl you don't know. What If you did
happen to meet her once on a hunt
ing trip among these very rocks and
help her down to the nearest house
because of a Sprained ankle? Did she
give you the least encouragement to
didn't she say she'd rather hobble on
alone? Didn't she dismiss you CURLY
when the house was reached? Moves
sure. Did you learn her name? No.
Didn't you try to say foolish things
to her without the least response?
Yes. Well, there you are. Yonder's
the girl. Look at her. Take your fill.
See how she's chatting with the man
now-her best ever-the only one, you
know. Can't you see it? There, her
hand is on his shoulder and her lips
turn away your head, you moke!
Don't you dare go q step farther in
that direction. He hasn't a gun, but
he'd crack you over the head with the
camera, and serve you right. Sure.
Don't you remember there's mother
crying her eyes out for an extra hour
or two before her son struts away to
glory-half a hundred friends waiting
10 say good-by with admiration in their
eyes-and a jolly sister, all pulled up
with pride over her hero? Pish!'
In his self-disgust, anger and dis
appointment, Bartlett spoke aloud,
though with full consciousness of no
listener within half a mile. He had
wheeled sharply at the words turn
your head" and now with ''One-twO-
three, one-two-three, face the firing
squad, you boob" he covered his
steps to the concealment Of big rocks
and soon after swung into a bit of
stunted growth that scantily patched
the mountain slope.
"One-two-three, on you march, you
boob" he ordered. Mind the paltry
excuse of going off for a little last
hunt among the rocks and the guile
less pheasant that perched on the
nuzzle of your gun and pleaded to be
shOt-sure, and you were so muddled
as to be uncertain whether the de-
voted bird didn't even claw the trig-
ger and shoot itself. Only for that
you might go home gameless. Now
open your eyes and brain like hero
and do bit of hunting you can speak
about. Shoot a mouse for the cat or
a snake for humanity, without an
other fellows girl befoggling your
mind. Go after that pheasant. you
heard drumming. Put some pep into
the hunt, like you used to. One-two,
one-twO-march! :"
Beyond the stunted growth the
slope grew mere. rocky and broken,
with deep gashes and even ravines
cutting into and under the rocks. AS
he advanced Bartlett's brain cleared
and the gun changed from rest to
ready. In thicket of scrub oaks he
shot a brace of patridges, among the
rocks a wild turkey and then rabbit.
And then the rocks grew so cavernOus
and wild as to suggest bigger and
more dangerous game.
He thought something of the kind
was found when he dropped into a
dark fissure overhung by rocks and
heard sudden shuffling back, as Of
an animal retreating. Bartlett, with
grim humor in the determination to
regain himself, pictured the shuffling
as an enemy in hiding and he the
fellow to Dust him. So with gun for
ward at half-cock, he moved cautious
Iy but unhesitatingly into the cavelike
gloom, knowing that while he couldn't
see the quarry the light behind made
him plainly visible to the beast with
in. Then: ...".
"All right. You've got me. I'll come
OUT .a- -..H ..#
Bartlett retreated, wondering what
he had got. The shuffling followed,
presently revealing itself, the light
reached, as a disheveled, cowed-look-
ing young man of not unpleasing
presence.
what are you going to do with
me? Run me in for the $50, of course"
the young man said sullenly, but with