The Mighty Hunter by Mrs. J.B. Worley

The Mighty Hunter
by Mrs. J.B. Worley

He riseth up early in the morning
And disturbeth the whole household.
He stampeth down the hall in his heavy boots
And shouteth, "Where are my shells?"

He consumeth much toast and hot coffee
And partaketh of eggs and of bacon.
He goeth forth with great expectations
And boasteth loud of his marksmanship.

He knoweth the flight of the mallard,
The widgeon, the sprig, and the red head,
The spoonie, the "can," the green-winged teel;
The call of the brant and the honker.

He baggeth the quail, dove, and pigeon,
The rabbit, the grouse, and the pheasant.
He knoweth the haunts of the grizzly,
The caribou, moose, and the mountain sheep;

The wild boar, the wolf, and the cougar,
And the range where the furtive deer feedeth.
He promiseth his friends much venison
And inviteth his lodge to a barbecue.

He packeth a heavy knap-sack, a shell-vest,
A rifle, a shot-gun, a kodak, tobacco,
A canteen, skinning knife, and field glasses,
Rubber boots, rations, first aid kit.

He trampeth miles in the mountains
And wadeth in streams to his waist-line.
He chaseth the fleet-footed deer,
The wolf, and the nimble mountain goat.

He hunteth the fierce grizzly bear.
He waiteth patiently for the elusive snipe
He returneth home late in the evening,
Sore of foot, of back, and of temper.

He bringeth no game on his shoulders
Nor game bath he in his knap-sack.
He devoureth much food from the ice-box
And the spirit of truth is not in him,

For he braggeth thus to his comrades,
"Boys, I got the limit."