Well, we sat down then and had it out about those game laws; and it is but right to confess that they were more important to poor Scipio than the ducks were to me. First we took section 25 to pieces, dug its sentences to the bottom, and carefully lifted out every scrap which gave promise of containing sense. It was no child’s task. You didn’t reach the first full stop for a hundred and twelve words--nothing but commas; it was like being lost in the sage-brush--and, by the time the full stop did come, your head--but let me quote the sentence:-- “It shall be unlawful for any person or persons to kill any antelope until the open season for other game animals in 1915, when only one antelope may be killed by any person hunting legally, or to kill any moose, elk or mountain sheep until the open season for other game animals, in 1912, when only one male moose may be killed by any person hunting legally, or to kill any elk or mountain sheep in any part of this state, except in Fremont County, Uinta County, Carbon County and that part of Bighorn County and Park County west of the Bighorn River, until the open season for game animals in 1915.” To tell you all that we said before we had finished with this would be worse than useless--it would be profane; enough that I stuck to the conclusion I had reached when I read the section in the East--no hunting anything anywhere for anybody until 1912. On the strength of it I had left my rifle at home and brought only my fishing rod. “If it is your way,” said Scipio, “what do you make of section 26? ‘It shall be unlawful for any person or persons to hunt, pursue or kill any elk, deer or mountain sheep except from September twenty-fifth to November thirtieth of _each year_.’” He yelled the last two words at me. But I merely clapped my hands to my brow. “And if it is your way,” Scipio pursued, playing his ace, “what do you make of Honey Wiggin taking a party out next Monday for six weeks?” “Why, they’ll simply all be arrested.” “No; they’ll not. I’ve saw Honey’s license with this year stamped in red figures right acrost it, just as plain as headlines.” What could one reply to that? I picked up the pamphlet and stared at the page. Scipio ruminated. “Will you tell me,” he said, “why, in a country where everybody’s born equal, the legislature should be a bigger fool than anybody else?” “It’s a free country,” I reminded him. “Every man has the right to be an ass here.” But Scipio still brooded. “Well,” he said, “if I was a legislator--” he stopped. “You’re not qualified,” said I. “Not?” “You haven’t sufficient command of the English language.” “_What!_” cried Scipio; for vocabulary is his chief pride and I had actually touched him. “No. You couldn’t cook up two paragraphs of your mother tongue that would defy any sane human intelligence.”