Buzzard's Roost 



and supposing that he had been fishing, asked him what had 

 been his luck. He raised his head and said he had been down 

 to the creek but had not been fishing. It then occured to me 

 that he was a member of a family with which I had been ac- 

 quainted, and I said to him, "Are you not a White a member 

 of the Bob White family?" He answered, "I am Bob White 

 myself/' I had known Robert White, his grandfather, and had 

 attended school with his father when I was a boy. 



I became much interested in Mr. White, and found that 

 he was an illustration of the old saying that "you must not 

 judge a man by the clothes he wears." I asked him many 

 questions about our surroundings. I told him about the large 

 tulip tree that I had seen near the base of the hill, and re- 

 marked that it was a shame to waste such a tree. He an- 

 swered, "Yes, I know that tree, but if you will come with me 

 I will show you a much larger one which was cut down and 

 left to decay. When it was standing it was known as the 

 "Buzzard's Roost." I followed him over the hills to the pros- 

 trate trunk of what once was the second largest tree in the 

 county. The illustrations show the stump of it and upon it 

 a number of the members of the Indiana Academy of Science. 

 The stump now measures twenty-eight feet in circumference 

 at the base. 



I now had become intensely interested in this wild and 

 beautiful place. Mr. White walked with me and pointed out 

 its boundaries, and many things of interest which are there 

 to be seen. Among them the reputed burial place of a Miami 

 Indian chief. He also told me that the land belonged to the 

 State. He seemed to enjoy the walk and tramped with me 

 after leaving the place over many hills until we came to 

 Mount Nebo, where, at half-past eleven o'clock he left me 

 and returned. As we tramped he told me of many interesting 

 things about the hills. He had been reared among them and 

 was as familiar with what was there as I was with what was 

 in my study. It almost made my mouth water when he was 

 telling me of the fine pawpaws that he had gathered there the 

 autumn before. Near the top of one of the hills he showed me 

 the burrow of a skunk and told me that he had killed one 

 there much to his regret. And this is the story of the discov- 



