File:The talking leaves - an Indian story (1882) (14596548848).jpg

Identifier: talkingleavesind00stod (find matches)
Title: The talking leaves : an Indian story
Year: 1882 (1880s)
Authors: Stoddard, William Osborn, 1835-1925
Subjects: Indians of North America Children Conduct of life Friendship Hunting Outdoor life Fathers and daughters Reading Apache Indians
Publisher: New York : Harper & Brothers
Contributing Library: Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
Digitizing Sponsor: The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant

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n the world,and it is nothing to him how high may be the precipiceon the edge of which he is standing. His head never getsdizzy, and his feet never slip, for he was made to live in thatkind of country, and feels entirely at home in spots whereno other living thing cares to follow him. That was a splendid specimen of wrhat the first settlerscalled the Rocky Mountain sheep, until they found thatit was not a sheep at all, but an antelope. His strong,wide, curling horns were of the largest size, and gave himan expression of dignity and wisdom as he peered downupon the hunters who had intruded upon his solitudes. Hewould have shown more wisdom by not looking at all, forin a moment more the sharp crack of Murrays rifle awokethe echoes of the canon, and then, with a great bound, thebig-horn came tumbling down among the rocks, almost atSteve Harrisons feet. Hes a little battered by his fall, said Murray, thats afact. But hell be just as good eating. Lets hoist him onthat bowlder and go ahead.
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IN THE CANON The Talking Leaves. 39 Hes as much as wed like to carry in. Thats so; but we may bag something more, and then wecould bring a pony up almost as far as this. I dont meanto do any too much carrying. His broad, muscular frame looked as if it had been builtexpressly for that purpose, and he could have picked upat least one big-horn with perfect ease ; but he had beenamong the Indians a good while, and they never lift apound more than they are compelled to. Give me the next shot, Murray. I will, if its ail right; but you must use your own eyes.It wont do to throw away any chances. The game was quickly lifted to the bowlder pointed outby Murray, and he and Steve pressed on up the great beau-tiful gate-way, deeper and deeper into the secrets of themountain range. Every such range has its secrets, and one by one they arefound out from time to time; but there seemed to be littleuse in the discovery of any just then and there. It was avery useless sort of secret. What was it ? Well

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