Harper's Young People, June 13, 1882 An Illustrated Weekly

CAPTAIN BANNER'S LYNX.

BY EDWARD I. STEVENSON.

Captain Banner, of the Yellowbird Ranch, sat upon a flat hot rock, half-way up a certain California hill-side, eating his luncheon. A few feet from the Captain stood tethered his good horse Huckleberry, who had no luncheon. No more had the three stout mongrel dogs who commonly ran along with Captain Banner, when the straying off of some of his cattle forced him to spend the day in getting at their whereabouts.

The dogs sat composedly on their haunches, two of them staring down into the ravine below, and the other one, Poncho, with his tongue out, watching every mouthful that the Captain took with much interest. But his master was in anything but a good-humor. He had ridden since early daylight, and not a single horned runaway had been sighted. No wonder he was discouraged.

"Upon my word," he said to the group of dogs, tossing a bit of cheese into Poncho's jaws, "you're a pretty set of brutes, I must say! Stringing along all day after Huckleberry's heels, and no more good at keeping a herd together or recovering it than--than greyhounds. Now if any one of you had the least-- My good gracious!" he exclaimed, breaking off, "what is up?"

Before he had time for another syllable, away went the three dogs, heels over head, down the hill, and into the ravine, leaping and barking like mad creatures. One of them had suddenly caught a scent on the breeze; a second later espied with his keen eye a large tawny animal stealthily crossing the dried-up rivulet below. The trio were on full jump after it at once, like four-legged tornadoes. It seemed to be springing and dashing ahead of them like a beast resolved to get away at any price. Captain Banner threw himself on Huckleberry, and clattered down after the dogs and it.

The dogs gained ground. "After him, Poncho!" shouted the Captain, wondering very much what "him" might stand for. All at once he heard a violent snarl and a loud yelp of pain. Poncho, the black dog, was on his back, struggling to regain his footing. Plainly the foe had bestowed a rousing whack with his paw upon the nearest pursuer, as a caution to come no closer. The chase, too, was slackened. The Captain came plunging along on his horse just in time to see a curious picture.

Rising up from the furze a few yards beyond was another flat rock. Upon that rock, with a thick thorn bush to defend him in the rear, half crouched, half stood, a great California lynx, all muscle, pluck, and grit, and seemingly full of fight from the end of his nose to the tip of his thick tail. The three dogs, including Poncho, leaped and bounded furiously around the rock, and barked with all their might and main; but they warily kept quite out of the reach of a dazzling set of teeth and enormous claws all displayed for action. The lynx remained compressed into the smallest possible space, growling and sputtering, and apparently contriving to look at each one of the three dogs at once. There was no doubt about it; he was clearly master of the field.

"Shame on you!" cried Captain Banner; "and three of you, too! At him, Turco; catch him by the throat, Poncho," he continued calling, while he prepared his lasso. But though, inspired by these encouragements, Turco, Poncho, and Red Jacket bayed and leaped up and about the lynx as if they would part company with their stout legs entirely, the great cat raised his thick paw and sputtered so savagely that all three beat a prudent retreat.

"Steady, Huckleberry!" came the Captain's voice. The lasso was thrown. Unluckily Huckleberry was nervous in such close relations to a lynx. He whined and started, and not the lynx, but poor Poncho, was successfully encircled by the flying noose, and rolled over, howling dismally and half choked. Nevertheless, this episode changed the current of the battle. The lynx realized that his enemy on horseback was more dangerous than the dogs. He sprang up and bounded away amongst the brush. The two free dogs tore after, and Captain Banner, hastily rescuing the gasping Poncho, spurred on too, coming up to the next battle-ground just when as close a rough-and-tumble fight as ever one could behold was under way.

The lynx had been overtaken. Turco had thrown himself upon him and pulled him down, while Red Jacket also sprang to his companion's help. But theirs was by no means the victory. The ground sloped considerably. The lynx grappled with his antagonists, and dragged them with him in his fall. The attacked and the attackers rolled down the ravine, an undistinguishable mass of legs and bodies, howling, spitting, snarling, and making the hair and fur fly to a degree that completely took away the Captain's breath, and made him wonder in what sort of condition the coveted skin would be when the struggle was over.

At one moment the lynx was under--now the dogs. Here leaped one of them, torn and bleeding, while his brother gladiator was dragged further along into the thicket, tugging to disengage himself from the gripping muscles that were rending and strangling him. But Poncho, comparatively fresh for a new onset, rushed up, and turned the tide of the fray. He fell upon the lynx like a small-sized tiger. Turco was freed, and the lynx, shaking off Poncho, gave a furious bound directly toward the Captain and Huckleberry (it was hard to say which was the more excited by this time), who were charging along well on the left. The lasso fell true at this second cast, though it had been an extremely hasty throw. The cord fell full over the furious creature's neck. It was taut in a second. The lynx struggled and gurgled, but it was too late.

Keeping off Poncho and Turco with his whip, the Captain finished up the enemy with the noose, and saved what was uninjured of his fine coat. Its late owner measured some four feet as he lay stiff and still upon the earth, so that the Captain as he rode back up the hill-side did not feel that his time and the chase had been lost. Poncho, Turco, and Red Jacket probably had their own private doubts about the matter, for one had lost an ear, another had suffered a cruel gash in his shoulder, and all of the trio were badly disfigured by scratches, bruises, and bites, and limped along rather dolefully.

The lynx's skin adorned Captain Banner's wall for weeks after, until it went with him up to San Pedro, and was converted into a goodly number of hard dollars.

THE JUNE ROSES.

BY MARY D. BRINE.

Oh, the red roses, the pretty red roses, That come with the June-time so fragrant and fair-- The sweet crimson roses that bud and that blossom So joyously out in the soft summer air! Under the hedges and over the hedges, Out in the meadows, and down in the lane, Blushing and blooming and clinging and nestling, Grow the sweet roses again and again.

Beautiful, are they? But I have some fairer, And, oh, so much sweeter! Look yonder, and see The cluster of rose-buds, than none e'er grew rosier-- The freshest and daintiest of rose-buds for me. The little white sun-bonnets--go, peep beneath them; Mark the bright faces, where through the glad day The breezes and sunbeams lay kisses in plenty, And dimples and smiles chase each other in play.

Three little maidens so dainty and rosy, Three little sun-bonnets all in a row, Six little hands that are merrily twining Crimson-red wreaths where the June roses grow. Oh, how they welcome the bright smiling weather, My little rose-buds that blossom for me! And I tumble them out in the sunshine together, And help them grow sweet as June roses should be.

THAT HORNETS' NEST.

BY CHARLEY GRAYSON.

Boys never have such splendid times anywhere as they do at their grandfathers'. How some fellows get along the way they have to without any grandfathers or grandmothers I never could make out. Just fancy having no grandfather to go and see Christmas and Thanksgiving and summer vacations! The fact is, a boy without any grandfather can't begin to have half a good time.

Fathers and mothers are all very well, but, you see, as mother explained the last time father had to whip us, they feel a responsibility. Now, grandfathers and grandmothers haven't any such responsibility. They can just give themselves up to being good-natured, and let a fellow have a good time. If he turns out bad, you see, it ain't their fault, and they don't have to worry about not having done their duty by him.

My grandfather lived just out of Blackridge, on a large farm. There was an academy at Blackridge, and so mother sent me to live there for a while and go to school; and Uncle Jerry's two boys, Ham and Mow (right names Hamilton and Mowbray), lived there all the time, and Uncle Jerry and Aunt Anna too, and we had just the best fun that ever any boys did have: I don't mean Uncle Jerry and Aunt Anna; they didn't go in for fun, you know. Uncle Jerry kept a store in the village, and Aunt Anna staid in the kitchen with grandma.

We always had to behave ourselves, and never thought of doing things without leave, for grandpa was not one of the kind to be disobeyed; besides, we loved him too well for that. But he was always ready to let us have a good time, and said that he liked to see boys enjoy themselves when they did it in the right way.

Besides Ham and Mow, there were the Davis boys, about five miles off, who went to the academy too; and once a week or so we spent the day with them, or they came to spend it with us. Real good fellows, both of them; and I think we liked the visit to them best, there were such lots of things to do there. Mr. Davis, you see, was what grandpa called "a progressive man"--I used to wonder what that meant, and say it over to myself whenever I saw him--and he wanted Frank and George to understand everything that was going on; and he used to get them all the improving boys' books that came out, and they had a tool chest, and a printing-press, and all kinds of drawing things, and the greatest lot of scrap-books; and they collected stamps and coins, and taught us how; and we used to make things when we went there, and Mr. Davis always gave a prize for the best.

Mr. Davis's right name was "Hon. Charles M. Davis." I saw it on his letters when the boys brought them from the Post-office, and they were very proud of their father's name. He had been to Congress, people said, and I used to wonder if this was as far off as the Cape of Good Hope.

Mrs. Davis used to train round (I don't mean that she acted bad) in a real handsome dress mornings, and she smiled at us pleasantly, and said that she liked boys, and hoped we wouldn't make her head quite split (Ham guessed there must be a big crack in it somewhere); and then she went off, and we didn't see her again until dinner-time.

I used to get 'most sick then, because Mrs. Davis said she thought boys could never have too much to eat; and she kept piling things on our plates, and it wouldn't be polite to leave them; and I was the littlest, and it really seemed as if I couldn't hold them all. Aunt Anna always said that "visiting didn't agree with Phil"; but I went all the same.