THE LONG TRAIL 



and when we were hunting, no matter how 

 hot the trail might be, the native tracker 

 would, if we came to a clearing and saw 

 some bees hovering about the forest flow- 

 ers, halt and offer up a prayer that the 

 bees should deposit the honey in one of his 

 hives. It seemed natural to bring a hive 

 home, but viewed in the uncompromising 

 light of the North Shore of Long Island 

 it was merely a characterless, uninterest- 

 ing log. 



Not the least of many delights of being 

 a hunting companion of father's was his 

 humor. No one could tell a better story, 

 whether it was what he used to call one of 

 his "old grouse in the gunroom" stories, 

 or an account, with sidelights, of a con- 

 temporaneous adventure. The former 

 had to do with incidents in his early career 

 in the cow camps of the Dakotas, or later 

 on with the regiment in Cuba and phases 

 61 



