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Stiltner Family Geneology

Sardine Butte

By J. V. Laswell

Up winding roads for fourteen miles,
Where tall and sturdy sentries smiled.
Around a point, along a slope,
Now cross a creek, like white-frayed rope,
Left there among the timber.

Since last we heard the river's voice,
We've had no other single choice,
Than keep on driving upward.

Through units logged and timber dense,
Past mountain meadow never fenced,
We climb on, ever higher.

Once more he swings his rig around
A sharp right turn. We see the top.
A few more turns, another grade;
Our upward sojourn soon is made;
And splendor lies before us.

Long timbered ridges stretch away,
Our goal is reached at break of day,
Here above the timber.

Light "skiff" of snow lies on the ground.
Wupp! Wait a bit, let's look around,
For print of hoof, or sign of bear,
Or cougar slinking from his lair.

It snowed last eve, in fading light.
What did they write here in the night?
Wide-splayed hoof prints tell of flight;
There! Heavy pad marks to the right,
Lead down into the timber.

Jules Verne Laswell
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