At eve a stripéd gopher chirping near
Gave Hugh an inspiration. Now, at least,
No thieving friend should rob him of a feast.
His great idea stirred him as a shout.
Off came a boot, a sock was ravelled out.
The coarse yarn, fashioned to a running snare,
He placed about the gopher’s hole with care,
And then withdrew to hold the yarn and wait.
The night-bound moments, ponderous with fate,
Crept slowly by. The battered gray face leered