180 
Mr. and Mrs. Latham. and their daughter 
Queenie, are naturalists and worshipers of 
nature, and have contributed scores of val- 
uable observations to the * published writ- 
ings”? of their scientific visitors. What- 
ever your scheme for legitimate collecting, 
or nature study, or painting, or shooting, 
or fishing, they enter into it with lively 
sympathy, and aid and abet you to the end 
of your chapter. The big, roomy house is 
no Flaglerian palace, but it is full of com- 
fort and freedom, and in the attic story is 
the most gorgeous room for taxidermic 
work and box-packing that could possibly 
be desired. At the long table athwart, the 
North window have worked during the last 
7, years Protessom iden VV elemicsi Catton 
of Steele’s Popular Zoology), Mr. Newton 
Dexter (annually), Jenness Richardson, 
Frank Chapman, Outram Bangs, J. Alden 
Loring, Frederic S. Webster (for the Car- 
negie Museum), and many others whose 
mene Ils lene rOrsoiem, Ia wi Geis 
“ Jack” Loring collected for Dr. Merriam, 
117 small mammals around Oak Lodge. 
RECREATION. 
Chapman and Webster collected and 
“ skun”’ pelicans of all ages for big groups 
in their respective museums. Professor 
Henry F. Osborn has recently ordered a 
lot of live brown pelicans, and a car load of 
palms, epiphites, orchids and ferns for the 
New York Zoological Park, and I secured 
the most perfect rest for the wheels in my 
head that I could have found anywhere on 
the accessible earth. 
This sketch may read like an advertise- 
ment; but it is not so intended. The 
Lathams will tell you we pay full price, in 
the coin of the greatest nation on the earth. 
I have taken the trouble to write this in 
order that whenever your head strikes work, 
from sheer exhaustion, when your nerves 
are frayed into raw and ragged edges, when 
you cannot sleep, and when you feel as if 
it would kill you to write another letter or 
to sign another promissory note, you will 
know where to find “a lodge in a vast 
wilderness” that will give you rest from 
the whole world, and recreation that will 
make you as good as new. 

a INE VEINS GEINGiE: 
G. E. VAN 
Missoula, Mont. 
Along in ’73 I went out with a party con- 
sisting of Charles Scott of Maine and 5 
other Eastern men whose names [| do not 
now recall. We pulled for the head of the 
Prairie Dog, aiming to hunt along it and 
other streams in Kansas. I rode a horse, 
named Ned, possessed of all the honesty 
and good sense that ever entered into the 
head and heart of any dumb animal. I 
could call him by word or motion as far as 
he could see or hear me. One day with a 
party of 3 friends I struck a herd of buf- 
faloes and turned loose. We soon were bad- 
ly scattered about and when I chanced to 
look back and to the right I was horrified to 
see a bull charge down on Mr. Scott and 
catch his horse near the flank, ripping it 
open and hurling horse and rider to the 
ground. 
Whirling Ned short around I went to 
his assistance. Ned was going his best licks 
and we were soon near the wounded bull 
who was in a frenzy of rage. As I raised 
my gun to put in a shot as we passed by, 
Ned planted both fore feet in a prairie dog 
hole and I flew over his head as though 
shot from a catapult and landed almost 
under the nose of the furious animal, my 
gun flying 20 feet beyond. The buffalo 
with a snort charged me, and I with the 
agility that only fear begets rolled to one 
BUREN. 
side. Springing up I called Ned, who in- 
stantly ran toward me. I glanced back and 
saw the bull turn and start for me. I 
grasped the saddle horn and leaped on. As 
I did so I heard the swish of Ned’s tail as 
it was tossed by the buffalo’s horns. 
Drawing a .45 6 shooter from the saddle 
holster I planted a ball square between the 
eyes of the buffalo and gave a chuckle of 
delight as I saw him fall. Riding over to 
where my gun was I dismounted, picked it 
up, and turned my attention to Mr. Scott, 
who had been stunned by the fall, but revived 
as I came up. 
“Well, Scott, how are you feeling?” I 
asked. 
a All right, I guess, but where is the buf- 
alo. 
“ He is lying over vonder, and when any- 
one says you cannot kill a buffalo by shoot- 
ing in the i 
“Look out, Van, he’s coming,” Scott sud- 
denly exclaimed. . 
I looked and sure enough there came the 
bull, still on the warpath. I raised my gun 
and fired. He made 2 cr 3 spasmodic jumps 
and rolled over. 
We examined his head and found my first 
bullet imbedded in the dirt and hair against 
the skull. It had knocked him down and 
dazed him and made him madder than be- 
fore. 


