Victory for the ACT Student Text 15e

112 • R EADING

PASSAGE VII PROSE FICTION: ƒ••ƒ‰‡ ‹• ƒ ‡š…‡”’– from the article “The New Sequoia Forests of California” in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine Ǥ ƒ••ƒ‰‡ ‹• ƒ ‡š…‡”’– ˆ”‘ Old Indian Days by Charles Eastman. Passage A Shortly after sunrise, just as the light was beginning to come streaming through the trees, I caught the big bright eyes of a deer gazing at me through the garden hedge. Š‡ ‡š’”‡••‹˜‡ ‡›‡•ǡ –Š‡ •Ž‹ „Žƒ…Ǧ–‹’’‡† muzzle, and the large ears were perfectly visible, as if placed there at just the right distance to be seen. She continued to gaze while I gazed back with equal steadiness, motionless as a rock. In a few minutes she ˜‡–—”‡† ˆ‘”™ƒ”† ƒ •–‡’ǡ ‡š’‘•‹‰ Š‡” ϐ‹‡ arching neck and forelegs, then snorted and withdrew. Trembling sprays indicated her return, and her head came into view; several steps Žƒ–‡”ǡ •Š‡ •–‘‘† ™Š‘ŽŽ› ‡š’‘•‡† ‹•‹†‡ –Š‡ garden hedge, gazed eagerly around, and again withdrew, but returned a moment afterward, this time advancing into the middle of the garden. Behind her I noticed other pairs of eyes. It then occurred to me that I might possibly steal up to one of them and catch it, not with any intention of killing it, but only to run my hand along its beautiful curving limbs. They seemed, however, to penetrate my conceit and bounded off with loud, shrill snorts, vanishing into the forest. I have often tried to understand how so many deer, wild sheep, bears, and ‰”‘—•‡Ȅƒ–—”‡ǯ•…ƒ––Ž‡ ƒ† ’‘—Ž–”›Ȅ could be allowed to run at large through the mountain gardens without in any way marring the beauty of their surroundings. I was, therefore, all the more watchful of this ˆ‡‡†‹‰ ϐŽ‘…ǡ ƒ†…ƒ”‡ˆ—ŽŽ› ‡šƒ‹‡† –Š‡ ‰ƒ”†‡ ƒˆ–‡” –Š‡› Ž‡ˆ–ǡ –‘ •‡‡ ™Šƒ– ϐŽ‘™‡”• had suffered; I could not, however, detect the slightest disorder, much less destruction. It seemed rather that, like gardeners, they had been keeping it in order. I could not •‡‡ ‘‡…”—•Š‡† ϐŽ‘™‡”ǡ ‘” ƒ •‹‰Ž‡ „Žƒ†‡ of grass that was bent or broken down. Nor among the daisy, gentian, or bryanthus

gardens of the Alps, where the wild sheep roam at will, have I ever noticed the effects of destructive feeding or trampling. Even the „—”Ž›ǡ •Š—ˆϐŽ‹‰ „‡ƒ”• „‡ƒ—–‹ˆ› –Š‡ ‰”‘—† on which they walk, decorating it with their awe-inspiring tracks, and writing poetry on the soft sequoia bark in boldly drawn hieroglyphics. But, strange to say, man, the crown, the sequoia of nature, brings confusion with all his best gifts and with the overabundant, misbegotten animals that he breeds, sweeps away the beauty of the ™‹Ž†‡”‡•• Ž‹‡ ƒ ϐ‹”‡Ǥ Passage B The night was intolerable for Antoine. The buffalo were about him in countless numbers, regarding him with vicious glances. It was only due to the natural offensiveness of man that they gave him any space. The bellowing of the bulls became louder, and there was a marked uneasiness on the part of the herd. This was a sign of an approaching storm. Upon the western horizon were seen ϐŽƒ•Š‡• ‘ˆ Ž‹‰Š–‹‰Ǥ Š‡…Ž‘—† –Šƒ– Šƒ† „‡‡ a mere speck had now become an ominous thunderhead. Suddenly the wind came, and Ž‹‰Š–‹‰ ϐŽƒ•Š‡• „‡…ƒ‡ ‘”‡ ˆ”‡“—‡–ǡ showing the ungainly forms of the animals like strange monsters in the white light. The colossal herd was again in violent motion. It was a blind rush for shelter, and no heed was paid to buffalo wallows or even deep gulches. All was in the deepest of darkness. There seemed to be groaning in heaven and ‡ƒ”–ŠȄ‹ŽŽ‹‘• ‘ˆ Š‘‘ˆ• ƒ† –Š”‘ƒ–• ”‘ƒ”‹‰ in unison. As a shipwrecked sailor clings to a mere fragment of wood, so Antoine, ƒŽ–Š‘—‰Š ƒŽ‘•– ‡šŠƒ—•–‡† ™‹–Š ˆƒ–‹‰—‡ǡ stuck to the saddle of his pony. As the mad ”—•Š…‘–‹—‡†ǡ ‡˜‡”› ϐŽƒ•Š †‹•’Žƒ›‡† Š‡ƒ’• of bison in death’s struggle under the hoofs of their companions. When he awoke and looked around him again, it was morning. The herd had entered the strip of timber which lay on both sides of the river, and it was here that –‘‹‡…‘…‡‹˜‡† Š‹• ϐ‹”•– †‹•–‹…– Š‘’‡ ‘ˆ saving himself.

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