MY BALSAM PILLOW. 



357 



only had known whether I had passed 

 above or below the camp, I could have 

 figured out in a measure "where I was at." 

 I decided to go no farther, but to find a 

 dry place where I could camp for the night, 

 toast a little coon or fox, and in the early 

 morn return Northeast, hoping to get in 

 the neighborhood where my trapper friends 

 had left me and where I concluded they 

 would first start to look for me. I took a 

 personal inventory, finding 16 cartridges 

 in my belt, also a box nearly full of 

 matches. This was near the edge of a 

 wide, open slough. Looking across I 

 thought I saw smoke against the heavy 

 vegetation of a dense hammock. Placing 

 Recreation's handsome binocular glasses 

 to my eyes, I was rejoiced to see that it 

 really was smoke, curling slowly from a 

 small opening in the hammock. Up went 

 my spirits ! To find a hunter or cattleman 

 at that time was a Godsend ! Across the 

 slough I went, straight for the smoke. 

 Approaching the hammock, I saw a solitary 

 man moving about under the moss-laden 

 trees. He stopped and looked in my 

 direction. Taking no pains to keep him in 

 sight, I entered the hammock, fully expect- 

 ing a cordial greeting. But presto ! My 

 man had vanished. Two pine knots were 

 slowly smoking, but there was no evidence 

 of habitation ; nothing under that ham- 

 mock but bats and owls ! 



It required no argument to persuade me 

 I was an unwelcome visitor ! I knew T was 

 in the Devil's Garden, but had not calculated 

 on denning the Old Boy in his own camp ! 

 I walked out as straight as I had walked 

 in. Didn't look back, either, and the far- 

 ther I got the faster I went! Old Bruce 

 was at my heels, a close second, and was 



quite as ready to move on as I was. 

 Straight back Northeast we went, through 

 bogs which, before, we had gone around, 

 and I was wet up to the waist. No curled 

 up fox loin or crisp coon chips for me that 

 night. The old Tennessee negro after see- 

 ing one "hant" in a lonely place, almost ran 

 himself to death, until finally, exhausted 

 and tongue hanging out, he paused to rest. 

 Just then a second hant appeared and 

 said, "You-certainly-kin-run !" As the old 

 darkey lit out, he gasped, "No, honey, you 

 ain't seen nobody run yit !" We were not 

 afraid of hants exactly, but some power- 

 ful influence kept us traveling for about 5 

 miles, when, at sunset, we paused to con- 

 sider. The wind was in our favor, straight 

 from the North, 'and up in that direction I 

 distinctly heard a gun go off. It was an- 

 other inspiration to move on, and a short 

 2 miles returned us to camp just as Mr. 

 Strickland was getting his night fireworks 

 ready, and preparing to "scour these 

 swamps till mornin' but what I would 'a' 

 found you !" After that I stuck close to 

 my trapper friends. Had I unconsciously 

 walked into Graham's camp? Mr. Strick- 

 land thinks I had, and that the foxy 

 old outlaw did not propose to entertain a 

 stranger with a rifle, but on the contrary, 

 from his place of concealment watched 

 every move I made. 



A crippled deer on Christmas morning, 

 which old Bruce distinguished himself by 

 chasing down and holding by the throat till 

 we arrived, closed my hunt in the Devil's 

 Garden. Mr. Strickland has since written 

 that an 8-foot panther passed the camp the 

 Sunday morning after my departure, and 

 that he killed it. 



MY BALSAM PILLOW. 



MEDA. 



A camp fire burning clear and bright, 

 A shelter rude of rough spruce bark ; 



O'er all, the stillness of the night, 

 Brooding the forest deep and dark. 



In dreams I see Owaissa lie 

 Again on couch of balsam bough ; 



Oh sight to cause each care to fly 

 That graves its furrows on my brow ! 



But at the throbbing in my breast, 



I wake. O Sweetheart, why didst flee? 



Come back and soothe once more to rest 

 This aching heart, so true to thee. 



Sadly I turn my pillow o'er, 



Of fragrant, spicy, balsam green, 



And breath a prayer at Eros' door 

 That I may dream again, my Queen! 



