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 



