Deo. 20, 1883.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



405 



starting point, and then beyond toward the river; Heating 

 carefully every rod of the ground. Then, still deeper into 

 die brush they plunged, and further in each direction) but 



still all in vain, not atWlg ''racked except from Joel';-' own 

 feel, and not a noise. met Iheil ears save the distant "caw! 

 caw!" »f the disturbed crows. The sun was now well ijp 

 in the heavens, the dog hunted with a dejected air and the 

 qualms of hunger made the old man wince. 



Hen-. Gruff'." he cried, "there must be wind enough on 

 the 'liog's Back' to lay hare the fodder; an' though it's a 

 smart ways off, we'll try it," and he plunged off m m uew T 

 direction, toward tMsonly piece of high ground in ihe swamp, 

 It was fully half an hour before they reached it, and con- 

 sidering tlii» as a last hope, Joel exerted the ut most cure. The 

 "Hog's Back" was cleared on all sides but one, and on this 

 latter slope the limber was left standing to the Very summit, 

 Carefully guarding his priming from the snow that was 

 jbstled 'from the underbrush, Joel crept slowly up the 

 wooded slope, reached the summit and peered through the 

 bushes. 'Ihe bull was. not Ihere! Then the old mansank 

 down on a log, and, I blush to say. swore. The dog looked 

 solemnly at Ids master lor a moment, then slunk away with 

 his tail between his legs, and quietly gnawed an old stump, 

 Suddenly a piercing veil, as of some one in agony, rang 

 Kbrough the silent forest, 



Joel leaped to his feet. There -was a crash in the brush 

 directly opposite, and a figure in black, liatless, the long hair 

 Btanding up straight, and the long arms waving wildly, 

 leaped over a fallen log, anil came tearing up the slope at a 

 pace that only the longest legs and the most abject terror 

 could inspire. A broad grin distorted Joel's face. Then 

 came a loud crash, and but of the forest, directly behind the 

 parson, rushed the Wild Bull of Big Timber! At the same 

 moment Gruff leaped out into the clearing, and the hull, dis- 

 tracted from his pursuit for a moment, stopped to inspect 

 the new comer. The parson caught sight of the dog, and 

 icd too. Between his old enemy and the new, he gave 

 himself up for lost. Be hesitated, however, and turning at 

 right angles to his former course, parson, dog and bull tore 

 down the hill at breakneck speed. Joel could contain him- 

 self no longer. Dropping his gun. he uttered a stentorian 

 guffaw, slapped bis thighs, and jumped off the ground in 

 glee. 'Crab him, puxp! grab him!" he cried. "A dollar to 

 a doughnut on the bull! Hooray!" 



The' infuriated bull was gaining on the poor parson, and 

 was making such bounds as would soon cover the distance 

 between them! "Save me! save me!" shrieked the flying 

 man, as he fell headlong ill the snow. At the same instant 

 there was the sharp report of a gun. the bull plunged for- 

 ward on bis knees, rolled over, made one effort to rise, and 

 fell buck, dead. And out of the timber ran Tilly, the barrel 

 of her gun still smoking. The parson had fainted. 



Our yarn is ended, The Christmas dinner at the Double- 

 dav shanty was such a feast as its walls had never before 

 witnessed.' and the courses were chiefly of beef. The bounty 

 offered tV SOCl'e Lristow was promptly paid The test in- 

 stalment on the mclcidcon was met, and there was still some- 

 thing left to keep the demijohn full. The parson was very 

 grateful to Tilly lor her timely interference in his behalf, and 

 it is whispered that his gratitude is father to a tenderer sen- 

 timent, I hope Joel's antipathy to his ful ure son-in-law will 

 he dissipated, but— this in the* strictest confidence— I have 

 my doubts. 



LIFE AMONG THE BLACKFEET. 



BY .1. W1LLABD SCJIDLTZ. 

 lOCKTH PAPEK. 



TUB Blackfeet divide the year into two seasons, winter, 

 stove, meaning "closed," and summer, nS-pfis, mean- 

 ing "open." These "seasons are subdivided into months, a 

 month being the length of a moon— about twenty-eight days. 

 Different phases of the moon are termed: 



New moon — An -uitk-nTCtm, or "in sight." 



Half moon— Stuhk 1st kyii-mik Blum, or "half in sight." 



Fnll moon— Kslstos-Tm" or "round." 



Last quarter — K-ne', or "dead.' 



Different seasons ol' the year are termed ; Spring— "grass 

 starts up;" pari} summei — "make lodges;' 1 midsummer — 

 "berries ripe;"* autumn— "leaves drop;" early wiuter — 

 "water freezes;" midwinter— "very cold." The people have 

 no idea how many mouths constitute a year. One old fellow 

 told Che w titer thai winter has seven months and summer 

 nine. It is customary to note the duration of any important 

 event by counting the days with sticks. 



The cardinal points of Ihe compass are named: North — 

 Ap -pur '-us-ohts, "behind direction;" South— Am-skap'oiits, 

 "ahead direction ;" East— Pe-niip ohts, "low direction," and 

 West — Ah-mef-ohts "up direction. " Intermediate points 

 -ucli as Southwest, Northeast, etc., arc not recognized. 

 Sp.aking of Ihe Wind, it is said to be going to a" certain 

 direction, nol coming from. 



The class names for animals are exceedingly interesting. 

 Three great classes arc recognized: First, Spuhts-ah-pgk- 

 sfks, or "above animals." including everything which Hies; 

 second, So-ohts'uh-pek-sRks, or "beyond ani mats." including 

 all strictly land animals; third, Ivse-Ohts-uh-pck-seks, or 

 "under animals," including fishes, lizards, crabs, "polly- 

 wogs," turtles and the beaver and otter. 



Animals are named from some peculiarity of habit, motion, 

 color or shape which they possess and some from the sound 

 Which they make. Antelope and deer are collectively named 

 Ah-wa-kas, meaning "runners." Distinctively, the antelope 

 fa called "prairie runner," the white-tail deer "swaying 

 tail." and the black tail "black-tail." The beaver is called 

 "the lice biler" and (he otter "wind hair." its fur being used 

 to wind around scalp locks. Buffalo are termed e-ne'fth, 

 whieh is very nearly the same as c-ne the word for death. 

 Ducks generally are called "red feet." The owl is named 

 "all cars," the bull bat. "fighter." The chicadee (Parw <ttn- 

 i\ipil!!!s) is called nC'-piVmfik-f, for does it not always keep 

 saying ne'-pG-mfik-I! nB -po rnuk-i ! "Summer is coming! 

 summer is coming." There is not a single quadruped to be 

 found in the country for which the Blackteet have not a 

 name. But many of 'the birds, especially the migratory ones, 

 are not named other than to be called "little animals."" 



All birds and quadrupeds are supposed to have, languages 

 us well as men. Of all the above animals, the geese are said 

 to he most intelligent, "They have chiefs who go ahead and 

 watch DUt for good camping grounds, where is plenty of 

 food, and where no enemies are to be found." Of all quad- 

 rupeds, the beaver is considered the most intelligent. He 

 works in the summer and in the winter he has a warm hole, 

 e of food, and docs nothing out eat, dance, sing and 

 sleep." 



1 he Blackfeet profusely decorated piirfiesche sacks, robes, 



skins, etc., with brightly painted dseigns. Figures having 

 sharp angles are the most common. Many note the history 

 of their brave deeds in pictographs on large cow skins. Bat- 

 tles, war expeditions, the number of scalps taken, are repre- 

 sented, and the whole is interspersed with pictures of the 

 different "medicine" animals the person has seen and killed. 

 When the Bhtekfeet make a picture of a mammal, bird or 

 reptile, they generally draw' a line from the mouth to the 

 center of the body and then make a triangular figure to rep- 

 resent the heart. In the February number of the Popular 

 SriniK Monthly is an article on a prehistoric cemetry. Fig. 

 'JO representing part of the drawing of an animal, has the 

 line extending from the mouth backward. Unfortunately 

 the piece of rock on which the animal is drawn, has been 

 broken; were it complete, the triangular figure at the end of 

 the line would undoubtedly be seen. According to some illus- 

 trations by Mr. Frank Cushhag, in the February Century, the 

 Zunis of New Mexico also represent the hearts of animals in 

 their pietographs ; thus it will be seen that the Blackfeet, the 

 Zunis, aud a tribe which was cxtiuct several hundred years 

 ago, had a common method of picturing animals. 



The Blackfeet have a great many different songs. They 

 are, however, songs without words, save one drinking song 

 about the old man. The writer has endeavored to sing these 

 songs and to repeat them on the violin, but has wholly failed. 

 Nor has he ever met a white man who could repeat one of 

 them. 



The musical scale of the Blackfeet is quite different from 

 ours, only a few of the bass sounds can be produced on the 

 piano, the higher ones not at all. As the songs are nearly all 

 of a sacred nature, they will be particularized in another 

 place. 



CAMP FLOTSAM. 



VI.— WHAT LUCK? 



A RIPPLE on the lake, a whispering among the pines 

 J\- above the white tents, a shimmer of golclen heat on 

 the brown hillside and over the dozen lonely graves on its 

 crest, a woodcock running across the path which leads to the 

 boat, a brindle dog winking contentedly, with an eye. cast 

 now upon her sleeping mistress in the hammock and then 

 upon the lord of the sylvan manor sitting before the tent, 

 whose open folds display the well ordered folding cots, an 

 array of rods, reels, clothing and all the other paraphernalia of 

 the angler, thftsc makeup the background of a picture whose 

 memory, as Sidney said of the old song of Percy and Douglas, 

 moves the heart "more than with a trumpet." In the fore- 

 ground the smoke from the remnants of last night's camp-fire 

 ascends in feeble wreaths, an incense to the great god of nature, 

 bearing the adoration of his children whom no church-going 

 bell has summoned here to worship in the wilderness on this 

 Sunday luoruiug. No hymns break the mountain silence, 

 no roll of organ, no creed venerable with its centuries, no 

 litany with its mournful, prayerful cadences suggest the 

 pomp and pride of life, yet above aud around an Absolve 

 Te, a Te Deum, a chorus of alleluias, murmured by no 

 human priesthood, chanted by no human voices, breathe and 

 swell upon the pine-laden air, a mightier absolution and song 

 of adoration than that which in a thousand sanctuaries, 

 beyond the line of mountains there below, is making glad 

 the hearts of other worshippers. The challenging "too- 

 whoo" of the owl, which all night long has sounded across 

 the lake, is stilled, the guard has been relieved, and now, 

 from his sentry-box on the point of rocks above the top- 

 most branch of a dead pine, & great bald eagle keeps his 

 watch and ward. Behind and beyond stand, with steady 

 gaze, other sentinels, to whom no relief ever comes, the 

 frowning, beetling cliffs and crags, whom nothing of storm 

 or whirlwind moves from their posts. Across the blue sea 

 of the sky, with their shadowy counterparts coursing along 

 the green mountain sides below, float the white cloudlets, 

 ships of myth and song, the fleets of AlkiuoOs, ever bearing 

 the toil-worn Odysseus to his bride of the dawn; pursuing 

 their daily journey, with never a sail nor oar, without rud- 

 der or pilot, over these heights and over all the meadows and 

 cornfields of the earth. Along the stretch of yellow sand 

 the wavelets are playing, loitering away their happy youth, 

 reluctant to join "their mother, the sea," to sing with her 

 the refrain of the time when she should give up her dead, 

 Iu front opens an amphitheatre, walled by perpendicular 

 rock, along the base of which lie mighty forms, gigantic 

 torsos; here stretched in repose, there piled in heaps, as 

 though in some wild, Titautic conflict on the cliffs above, 

 the final charge, driven on by thunderbolts, had swept hither 

 the rebels to the gods, or, as if that pinnacle were 

 —••The steep 

 Tarpeian, fittest goal of Treason's race, 

 The promoutory whence the traitor's leap 

 Cured alt ambition." 



While the sunlight glims through the foliage and the 

 breeze rustles the leaves overhead, dreams and fancies come 

 and g», until, like the prince under the sorcerer's spell, we 

 scarce know the shadow from the substance. Ghosts of 

 flowers, of foliage, of shadows that were, murmurs of 

 breez.es and raindrops that have died, songs that have 

 ceased, but which will ring on forever — who would not be 

 a barbarian for a month with these? 



The dream fades, the spell weakens, civilization lays anew 

 its burden at our feet. Our ears, so lately deaf to all human 

 calls, begin to drink in the world's song of labor and jour 

 hands stretch out, almost involuntarily, to find that which 

 they may do, but ere we put our hand again to the plow, we 

 turn to gather what we may, and perchance in places where 

 we have not strewn. 



From the tide of the summer days comes the query, pro- 

 pounded sphinx-like, not from the portal of the city whose 

 generations are to wail the stroke of the pestilence, not to 

 one whose answer is to bring woe upon his house and his 

 lineage to an end in blood, but a call ringing in the dawn 

 across the waters of the mountain lake, coming from the lips 

 of earnest anglers, the old, old query, "What luck?" It has 

 come to us through the mists of the morning, in the glare of 

 the noonday sun and amid the mountain shadows at even- 

 ing, the greeting which, even in a stranger's voice, is the 

 open sesame to the treasures of the angler's heart. It has 

 been the hail of the youth dangling his Tine from Ihe rock; 

 of uncouth beings, in dugouts, engaged in beating the water 

 as though it were a threshing floor; of the swell, twirling 

 his Leonard; and of oily-looking individuals, whose string 

 of two. three and four pounders set one reflecting whether, 

 after all, their day has been one of luck alone. The same 

 breezes have ruffled the water, the same casts have been 

 used, the same bait secured by each, but not the same re- 

 sult. 



What luck? None, brothers, none, we gather not grapes 



from thorns nor figs from thistles, nor dees the cast of a dice 

 or the toss of a copper make our fortunes. Success to the 

 angler comes not thus, Luck may be result attained by a 

 net or cartridge, but by the devotee of the rod, never. The 

 answer of the angler, "I have had four strikes and I have 

 four fish in my basket" is the true solution. 



What luck? Ask the youth upon the rock there, whose 

 enthusiasm has already given place to listlessness ; inquire of 

 the threshers in yonder dugout, who will leave as they came, 

 empty-handed; ask the broad hat over there, the graceful 

 curve and spring of whose Mitchell tells us that even now 

 he is playing a three-pounder, to what extent luck is respon- 

 sible for their ill success. 



However it may happen, luck has come to bo the measure 

 of the angler's success, so let us not quarrel over words, for 

 the good old term means much more to him than what goes 

 into his creel. For it is not. that alone which accompanies 

 him as he trudges homeward with his well-tilled basket, nor 

 that which only comes with the flush of victory as the lordly 

 victim is brought to gaff, but that which is.ever upon him, 

 by mountain stream as he hears the rush of waters among 

 the rocks, by silent pools beneath dense coverts and along 

 flashing brooks with the orchestra of the meadows beating 

 a ceaseless measure, though not a break respends to his casts. 

 Truly has one of our brothers written, "It is not all of fish- 

 ing to fish;" he might well have added, it is not all of luck 

 to be lucky. Who has not gone home happy from his day's 

 fishing without a scale? Who can ever forget the hours 

 passed in floating down the broad stream, now lingering to 

 cast off the edge of a golden sandbar, now pausing at the 

 foot of the "riffles," then anchoring abreast of the big 

 rock, now pulling up beneath the overhanging branches of 

 the old oak, where we spread our lunch, the quiet noonday 

 nap, inhaling the breath of the meadows laden with the odor 

 of lilies, the dreamy splendor of the afternoon sunshiue — 

 who has not had days with these which stand out in memory 

 from all the rest as though, beside them, those others were 

 nothing? What luck? Perhaps there was an involuntary 

 wince as we answered the too material inquiry of the 

 lounger by the door of the tavern by the roadside; perhaps 

 we cast about for an excuse in reply to the home greeting, 

 but was our day out one to be set down among the wasted? 



Then there was that glorious day on the Binnekil, when 

 borne down to our ears, from the gray barns along the hill- 

 side, came "the dull thunder of alternate flails," as luckless 

 without a bite, we sat and watched the tide of restless hu- 

 manity come and go over the old, long, quaint, covered 

 bridge to and from the older, quaiutcr city beyond, 

 and "" listened to the tale how, on a mid-winter night, 

 two hundred years ago, amid the glare of the flames, 

 kindled by savage hands, the tomahawk did its work, how 

 Adrian Vrooman beat back the foe with slaughter from his 

 door and left a name to live through all these years. The 

 old heroic story roused the bronzed Rector in the bow of the 

 boat and brought tales of deeds done on other fields, of 

 Arthur, of Roland, the Cid, of Roncevalles and Tours, of the 

 struggles between the world's civilization and her barbarism. 

 Ere we lifted the anchor the sun was low in the west; from 

 the square windows iu the ancient gables of the city came a 

 fiery glare, which reflected across the water, suggested the 

 "midnight burning red" of her long ago when her pride went 

 down in blood, and, as our keel grated on the sand and we 

 disembarked with empty baskets, we answered the query of 

 the boatman with "never better." 



We all remember, too, that other day, so long looked for- 

 ward to with eager anticipation, which was to be a day of 

 days, in our calendar, a day which came at last when every 

 sign ' , us right, when the gray dawn saw us far on our way 

 to the trysting place; where, through the sultry hours, upon 

 water as quiet as a mirror, we. cast and baited in vain, until, 

 tired , we drew our boat upon shore and, throwing ourselves 

 about our lunch-baskets, we entered upon the feast of the 

 gods. To one the crags and peaks brought back memories 

 of his own Auld Scotia, and forth came tales of casting on 

 the Tweed, intermingled with folk-lore and legends which 

 outrivaled Tain O'Shanter. Our typical Yankee, not to be 

 outdone, rehearsed his boyhood tales of Salem and of one 

 whom a great, great grandsire condemned to death because 

 she cast no shadow; then the young Professor breasted the 

 tide of superstition with a disquisition on tradition in liis- 

 tory; from hptory we passed to letters; from the king 

 maker who, with his sword, made the red rose "redder than 

 itself, and York's white rose as red as Lancaster s," through 

 a century and a half— the grandest of all the yoars, years of 

 Plautagenet and Tudor, of Ariosto, Titian and Michael 

 Augelo, the age of Spenser, of Raphael and Tasso, of 

 Bacon, Kepler and Copernicus— down to that mightier king 

 maker who one day sent forth bis monarchs '.'crowned with 

 jeweled diadems aiid another day with wild wisps of straw," 

 made throneless, homeless, not by a lost Burnet but by that 

 crowning woe which was "sharper than a serpent's tooth." 

 From tragedy we drifted to song, and under the spell of the 

 Professor's mellow voice more than one floated away into 

 slumber, with the droning iu his ears— 



u No more, no more 



The worldly shore 

 Upbraids me with its loud uproar 1 



With dreamful eyes 



My spirit lies 

 Under the walls of paradise ! 

 Late in the night we rolled into town; the streets were 

 silent and deserted save a little gToup in front of the post- 

 office, from one of whom came a discordant cry of "What 

 luck?" The reply of the Professor was lost iu 'the rattling 

 of the wheels, hut" we had more than we knew. 



So, in that camp of ours, planted here to-day, there to- 

 morrow, by lakeside in the solitude of the forest and by 

 lonely tarn upon far off hills, our luck has not been that 

 alone which comes with the merry ring of the reel or the 

 electric spring of the rod. As we gather the flotsam which 

 is ever floating about that peripatetic canvas and cull the 

 treasures from the drift, we find not only the victims of fly 

 and line, but those other riches which are always to be found 

 under the open face of the sky, and in the silence of the 

 forest, and that greater luck which is never denied to those 

 who are Ushers of men. For into our net which is ever 

 drifting in cove and inlet, on bar, on island, channel and by 

 the camp-fire, wherever the straggling waifs of humanity 

 resort, have come specimens, rare iu their oddity, and cud- 

 less in their vagaries, a group of motley characters who have 

 "strutted their brief hour on the stage" and made their exit 

 with the. summer days. Experts there were, too, and phil- 

 osophers iu their own fields. Here was an authority on 

 camping who had never pitched a tent ; here one ou trout 

 and bass who never angles for anything but bullheads; 

 another was a fishculturist— iu theory— who had evolved the 



