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RATTLING-CLAW
Here in the hostile upland, Rattling-Claw,
Groomed by the keen wind, the alpine sun,
Waxed opulent with beauty; in maidenhood
She blossomed like a lily, a crimson lily,
Wafted as seedling from a lowland swamp
To chilling solitude of timber-line,
And come, by stroke of chance, to rich ripe fruit—
When mellow sun brought flushed maturity
To all her sisters in the far savanne.

I recollect the night I came on them.
The District Ranger, fearing forest-fires,
Had sent me out to run down flaming stubs
Struck in the pineries by lightning-flash.
A twilight caught me at the mountain lodge
Of Two-Guns-Calf; electing to break the night
With him, I picketed my mare, I flung
My blankets down and shared his food and flame.

While Two-Guns pried me gently for the news
Of Val Brillant, his daughter set the bowls
Of steaming wild-rice, the roast of venison.
And as we spoke, she lingered at my side,
Solicitous of every mood and whim,