144 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 23, 1882 



pu» fyoriffll(ffl ^ottrifL 



CAMP FLOTSAM. 



IV.— TTTF.Y WHO DWELL IN TJiNTS. 



CAMPING is not altogether So great an accomplishment 

 as by sonic it is reckoned; it is far more to be a camper. 

 The practice, to a. considerable extent, is imitative; no small 

 portion of those who attempt it. do so from the notion that it is 

 quite the thing to spend a few days of the summer in this way. 

 The. second season finds their ardor somewhat abated, and is 

 usually the last of their camping out. Toting iron bed- 

 steads* mattresses, pillows, comfortables, chairs and trunks 

 — for these arc the usual accompaniments of the imitative 

 camper, the one who goes camping because some one else 

 goes — becomes slightly "rnonotonous'after the first time. The 

 genuine camper carries none of these. AYith the aid of a 

 companion the major part of the outfit can he transported 

 xipon the back, the remainder is easily constructed from 

 material at hand on the spot chosen for a camp. To these 

 the years hring no monotony, naught but a nearer kinship 

 to nature. The retreat beneath the shadow of the pines, 

 ■which for weeks have nightly flung back the glare of the 

 camp fire, is quitted with regret, and the gurgle of moun- 

 tain stream, or the voice of the wave in its "stone-troubled 

 bound" haunts the memory until again in summer clays the 

 past is lived over. 



He who goes camping for the first time and sees a tent 

 pitched, and watches in astonishment the creation, by hands 

 skilled in forest craft, of tables, beds, chairs, and the 

 et ceteras which make a comfortable camp, is apt to become 

 impressed with an idea of his own uselessncss; a great gulf 

 separates him from the workers about him, a gulf passed by 

 them long ago, but on whose, bank he must wait, restrained 

 by a code as inexorable as that which doomed the shades to 

 tarry on the shores of Styx for a hundred years. At his 

 first meal in camp he disposes suspiciously of the broiled 

 hacon upon his tin plate, partakes doubtfully of the fried 

 potatoes, hut with more confidence sips the aromatic coffee, 

 although destitute of the cream, which was wont to crown 

 his cups at home. Afterward, sitting by the camp lire, he 

 peers into the thicket between huge trunks of trees on every 

 side, into dark coverts lit up now and then by weird flashes, 

 and sinking into blackness more intense, until fantastic 

 forms of The human and the demon are conjured up, and 

 begin to flit from tree to tree, from cover to cover, until 

 his nerves are ready to betray him, and he finds that the 

 "tales by the camp fire" have somehow lost their promised 

 interest, when to his relief he hoars the proposition to turn 

 in. He seeks his couch witli the rest, trying to feel as one 

 to the manor bora, yet involuntarily seeks a place as far 

 from the sides of the tent as possible, and is careful to place 

 himself with some one between him and the door. While 

 the rest are sunk in clumber he tosses restlessly upon his 

 boughs, listens to sounds such as never before greeted his 

 ears, now hears stealthy footsteps approaching, then re- 

 treating, now the rustling of leaves, stirred by four-footed 

 beasts and creeping things, then the subdued tones of human 

 voices, until shame alone restrains him from rousing all 

 hands. He keeps lonely vigil through the watches of the 

 night, and never once closes his eyes in slumber until the 

 gray furrows that mark the morn begin to steal through the 

 trees and glimmer faintly on the canvas overhead, and once 

 more "jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain 

 tops." 



The sensations of that night come to him no more forever. 

 It was the solemn night's vigil, in the sanctuary, whose very 

 sod is holy; the watching of arms by him whom the morn 

 was to see dubbed and ushered into the ranks of knighthood, 

 into an order as honorable, as chivalric as ever wore star or 

 garter, or moved in the forlorn hope over a stricken field. The 

 ordeal has been passed; he rises with the rest and hencefor- 

 ward feels himself of them. The great mother has acknow- 

 ledged her child. Yet it is not al way thus. Now and then 

 one comes out from that lonely vigil, defeated, infamous. 

 Such an one turns back on the morn to seek the busy haunts 

 of men, and trudges his ten or fifteen miles to "get out of the 

 woods." It is better thus; it is the survival of the fittest. 



Strange to say, this conduct is observed only in the male 

 biped. More than once have we encountered parties who 

 reckoned among their number two or three fair maidens, 

 whose dainty feet had hitherto scarce strayed off the avenue, 

 to whose cheeks the mountain air had brought fresher crim- 

 son, whom the breezes and the sun had tanned, whom the 

 waters of the mountain lake had laved and nature kissed into 

 new beauty, to whom the first and last night in camp, in 

 moonlight and in darkness, in calm and in storm, brought 

 naught but sweet repose, and who looked back fondly to 

 their few weeks of camp life as to a glorious idyl of the 

 summer. 



A camper must be born to it; unlike the angler, he cannot 

 .be made, nor can the latter be transformed, as of course, into 

 a camper. We recall two choice spirits of the angle, whose 

 zeal in the sport with rod and reel never flags, who will ride 

 all night for the fishing of a morning; yet who cannot be in- 

 duced to accept the hospitality of a night's entertainment in 

 camp. They profess years of rheumatism or "can't sleep on 

 a hard bed." One of these worthies passed a couple of days 

 with us in camp, and, after fishing the daylight through, 

 walked three miles along a mountain path to the nearest 

 house, to return by daybreak and from the opposite shore, to 

 rouse us with a wild "halloo" to come for him with the boat 

 for another day's sport. We verily believe that a single night 

 of him would have turned our camp into a miniature Bedlam, 

 and furnished us with a candidate for a straight-jacket: before 

 morning. 



What may happen when such an one is pushed to the 

 verge, is foreshadowed in the following experience: 



We had enlisted a party of four for a month out. For two 

 it was their novitiate; one of these was in fact mustered in 

 rather as a. Major Homo than a brother of the angle. How- 

 ever, his self confidence as to running a camp was supreme, 

 and his enthusiasm over the prospect of the month, with the 

 attendant advantages of good society, siood at 90° all the way. 

 Considering the environment aud its contagion, this was not 

 surprising. The day was a perfect one, and through its mel- 

 low hours we were traversing woody and mountain roads, 

 through aisles of gray and "gnarled, and fluted columns, 

 arched with tracery pf living green, through which the sun- 

 light dripped over our path, across rude log bridges, along 

 flashing streams, skirting mountain meadows, bordered with 

 white and scarlet and gold until, from a hilltop, the sheen of 

 distant waters told us that our journey was well nigh done. 

 Barely enough of day remained to allow us to pitch two tents 

 and prepare our couches. 



Two of the party started for a plunge in the lake, and 

 night settled down on the camp with its two remaining 

 occupants. We sat in an open end tent and looked out 

 at the darkness. No cmnip-lirc lighted up the scene, and 

 in the shadow of ihe mountains Which frowned on either 

 hand, under a canopy of leaves which shut out. the 

 stars, with the voices of the night just opening their 

 chorus, perhaps, to our brother just ushered into a new 

 life, it did seem scary. The "whirr" of a tree toad 

 came from a tree overhead, and he turned bis face; skyward ; 

 a •■chehunk" came from the water behind the tent, and 

 he gazed earnestly in his rear; then a plaintive "squawk" 

 came apparently from the log on which he sat, and he hast- 

 ily changed his scat to a box. Then he lighted a. lantern; 

 with it lie got a fair view of the darkness, and he turned to 

 us. His face showed that be was possessed with a spirit of 

 vague unrest: there was that far-away look in his eyes which 

 told that his thoughts were of home. The next moment the 

 symptoms were fully developed. 



"Ever camp here before?" 



"Yes, last year." 



"Take cold?" 



"No." 



"Should think you would." 



A pause followed. 



"How long do you think we will stay?" 



His mind was apparently wandering "and he had forgotten 

 our arrangements. 



"About a month." 



"I should think you would get tired." A pause. "It is 

 awful lonesome out here, ain't it?" 



We dissented. 



"Any snakes here ?" 



"Not many." 



"What kind?" 



"Pilots and rattlers over on the other shore. " 



A sigh. "Well I wouldn't care how long I stayed if I only 

 knew mother was well." 



This exhibition of suddenly developed filial affection set 

 us off. We whispered the episode to the veteran, after we 

 had turned in, and chuckled ourselves to sleep. 



As it turned OLit the laugh was not altogether on our side. 

 The "symptoms" were amusing, but the disease which the 

 next night seized the Major-Domo, who occupied a tent 

 alone, was not fully appreciated at the time. We had been 

 sleeping for some time, when our curtains were drawn and a 

 hand intruded into the tent with a sharp "hist" and a start- 

 ling whisper: 



"There is a man out here; he has just passed in front of 

 my tent." 



There was an uproar in a moment, and all turned out, 

 lanterns and torches were hastily fired and for half an hour 

 beat up the thickets in search of the intruder, but in vain. 

 Returning to our tent a council was held. 



"How "could you see anyone when it was so dark?" asked 

 one, 



"Well, I could sec something move; somebody went along 

 the side of the tent and fell over the ropes against it. right; 

 by my bed." 

 ' "Homebody trying to find something to steal," said another. 



"Well." said the Major-Domo, " I don't like it; it don't 

 look good. " 



Then he turned in with us, and the remainder of the night 

 was quiet. Now, of one thing we were certain, there was 

 not, save our party, a human being within miles, and so as- 

 serted. The veteran coincided, but the other new member 

 was not convinced. Yet, what had he seen and heard? 

 Something, certainly, for there was no shamming in the case. 

 In vain we pondered; \\ T e could not solve. There is a vein of 

 superstition in us all, however well concealed or suppressed 

 by our philosophy, which will not down in the presence of 

 the unaccountable. Between sleeping and waking, oru - 

 thoughts, in spite of us, went over to that other camp upon 

 the bluff, scarcely more than a stone's throw across the arm 

 of the lake, with' its half dozen silent sleepers within a "low 

 green tent whose curtain never outward swings," campers 

 awaiting the judgment day in couches prepared, no one 

 knew when, and tenanted, no one knew by whom, yet where 

 was the connection? 



The following night the Major-Domo again occupied his 

 tenl alone, and we were aroused as before. This time he was 

 able to describe the intruder as wearing a slouch hat, and, 

 falling to profit by his mishap of the previous night, he had 

 again" fallen over the ropes against the tent. There was 

 another search with the same result as beJore. Two men got 

 "mad" aud turned in, saying, "Whoever he is, let him go as 

 long as he don't come inhere." 



Once more the Major-Domo sought his tent, but within 

 five minutes there was a shout, ' 'Here he is !" and we went out 

 alone. 



"Where is he?" we asked. 



"Right by that big free; he is leaning against it; don't,'you 

 see him?" 



"No; which tree?" 



"The third one from the tent." ' 



"Let us go up to him," and we advanced. 



"There he goes; see him, see him!" 



There was a third man got "mad" and spoke more in sor- 

 row than aught else. 



"See here, what's the matter with you? Toil have kept 

 everybody awake for two nights; you had better go to bed; 

 there was no one there and you havn't seen anyone." 



An honest confession is good for the soul, and it was 

 poured out to us thereunder the silence of the stars; "1 

 guess it must have been fear." Just then a rustling, made 

 by some object moving in the thicket, came from the left. 

 Jii^ Major . Jem. 1'ririMediy hurf::l i : km m the direction 

 of ti\e sound A "Kiyi; Id yi" told that it had taken ef 

 feet. The yelp of the dog fell upon him like a revelation, 

 and with it 'came the turning point in his malady. A stray 

 seller puppy had wandered into camp, aud thereafter, with 

 the dog tied in his tent, the Major-Domo slept in the fancied 

 security which three men with ' an arsenal of some tweufy 

 shots had been unable to afford. 



The camp enthusiast is a being of' a different sort 

 never goes out with 9 parly, but is an acquaintance of one of 

 them, and usually puts in an appearance after the camp is 

 settled and m running' order, and at once makes himself at 

 home. He gushes, thinks "it is glorious," that be "would 

 like this sort of thine;." that he will "do it" himself next 

 year, and meanwhile spreads himself upon your bunk to 

 SnfiOZfi until mefti time. There is aremedv for this affliction 

 and it, should lie applied promptly. 



One of these once found his way to our camp and soon 

 ■ ■ i: i I esced It was late when he arrived, bur the night was 

 all too long for him, for lie "had come to do nothing but 

 fish;" the bringing of water and fuel and the culinary part 



of camp, he was apparently willing to trust, with full con- 

 fidence, to the rest. However, for reasons entirely natural. 

 he got little sleep, and at daybreak was given in charge of 

 one of the veterans, who was to make it lively for him. It 

 was a chilly morning, the vapor had condensed in gre ltd? i 

 and fonned minature. pools upon the seals in the boat, task 

 ing to the utmost the powers of absorption of the victim 

 who, without, an intervening cushion or blanket, was taken 

 to the fishing place. Tins was in a nook in the shadow of 

 the mountain, and the boat was anchored against a wall of 

 rock where the sun could by no possibility strike the water 

 before ten o'clock. Here he was fished tor six mortal hours 

 without even a drop of water. Camp had been left at an 

 hour too early for breakfast, and a lunch had not been sug- 

 gested. Thc'spot was evidently not a, favorite resortfor fish, 

 for no one had a "bite." At noon the veteran sailed grandly 

 into port. In the bow sat an individual in a state of collapse. 

 His appearance suggested Audersonville, or an arrival from 

 a grasshopper neighborhood. We saw no trace of enthusi- 

 asm until he struck our larder, when that useful appendage 

 sustained a reverse which would cause the "temporary sus- 

 pension" of a boarding-house not well backed. After his meaJ 

 he set his face sternly away from camp ; "business called 

 him;" he was cured. 



However rough and uncouth the ways of camp and its 

 fife may be to the outward seeming, no parlor or salon soouer 

 betrays the gentleman or the boor. The latter, unfortunately, 

 is not confined within the limits of civilization, but two days 

 in camp wiU bring him out in his true colors. The line 

 which divides the two classes, as surely separates the true 

 sportsman from the other kind. No toil is too arduous, no 

 sacrifice too dear to be undergone by the one, ant! be is 

 always content with a moderate catch; the other shirks the 

 labor, but: usurps the best of board and bed in toe camp, is 

 never satisfied with his success, but is always for more. 



We once had for a companion in earn]) one of the latter. 

 Two hours of a breezy morning had brought us forty line 

 bass; the noble fellows "were leaping with every cast, and it 

 seemed as if there was to be no limit to the catch. We sug- 

 gested that we had enough, that further sport was murder 

 and shameful; to which we received the reply from tins 

 modern son of a horse leech, "I'm going lo catch all I can." 

 Words are inadequate to express the sentiments proper to the 

 occasion. We never fished with him after: let all true angr 

 lers shun his like. 



It sometimes seems as if true sportsmanship were almost a. 

 thing of the past, as if the age of its chivalry were gone, and 

 the era of pot -fishers had come. The lament of Philoe.letes, 

 in the drama of "Sophocles," over the loss of the noble 

 among his companions in arms, and the survival of the base, 

 is full of strange suggestion. Is Achilles dead? He is. And 

 Ajax, is he too dead and gone? He is no longer among the 

 living. And the double-tongued Ulysses and the worthless 

 Thersites? They are living still. 'Tis likely, since never yet 

 did aught of evil perish; the just and upright, are no longer 

 here, while the treacherous and the vile are. still saved from 

 Hades. 



Call it Paganism or what you will, "they whose hearts are 

 dry as the summer dust burn to the socket. " Let the true 

 sportsman shun them as though they were heralded by 

 the cry, "Room for the leper." And let, us hope, aye, and 

 see to it, that while the ancient order of gentleman, berailed 

 by the great novelist as almost extinct, still lives, that other 

 order bom of it and inseparable from it, the ancient order of 

 anglers, shall not perish from the earth. WawayJlnda. 



STOCK RAISING IN TEXAS. 



Editor Fared and JStrjSCMtl; 



I send you a very interesting account of stock raising in 

 Texas. It comes from Judge Wilson Hey, of Mason, the 

 county seat of Mason county, Texas, and is a, part of a letter 

 not written for publication. It shows well the _ini. .ii- 

 on which the ranchmen of the "Lone Star State" are doing 

 business, as well as their prosperity in raising stock. Mason 

 county lies in the central part of 'the Stale, about 140 miles 

 north of San Antonio. It has an elevation above the sea, of 

 about 1,000 feet, and its climate is very healthful, none more 

 so. Mason on the north adjoins the old Port Mason tr&cC 

 Fort Mason was established by me, in Sept. 1831. and was 

 then a frontier military post about forty miles in advance of 

 the long line of posts already established, and running from 

 Pott Worth on the north, to Fort Inge. Uvalde county, on 

 the southwest. The county adjacent to Fort Mason was 

 then in a state of nature, aud only visited by bands of roving 

 Indians, while far westward to the Rio Grande, a distance of 

 over 400 miles, stretched a vast expanse of unknown terri- 

 tory: Prom the immense herds of buffalo, antelope, deer, 

 etc', which were said by the Indians to roam over it, it was 

 believed to be a great pastoral country. This western prairie 

 country set in at Fort Mason, and constituted the south- 

 western portion of Mason county. How this is now being 

 used for stock purposes, the following extract from the 

 Judge's letter will tell, This is the more interesting, for it 

 only shows how all of this vast expanse of territory, clear up 

 to the Rio Grande, is soon to be covered with millions of 

 slock animals. He says: Messrs. G-oock and Lockhart 

 bought and located all the lands lying between Fort Mason 

 and the Llano River, and are this spring going to put it al) 

 under fences. This pasture when completed will contain 

 16.000 acres, and take about sixteen miles of fence, which 

 will all be of rock, four and a half feet high, and will average- 

 about twenty cent^ per yard to build. When this pasture 

 (nearly all prairie) is finished, all the land south of a line due 

 west "from Mason for thirty miles, and west of a line due 

 SOUtb from Mason twenty miles, will be under fence for pas- 

 ture, and all Ihe balance'"!' the county (mostly open oak tim- 

 ber} is fast settling up with "Granger's" which the stock men 

 don't like, and a great, many are taking Greeley's advice and 

 are going West for more range. 



Mason county was pirosperOaE ', ' ,'". with very bright 

 prospects for this year, particularly for stock men. Last 

 Spring, yearling steers sold for $7 and $s a head, and this 



spring the buyers are offering $11 a bend; last Spri 



and calves could be bought for $15, this spring they are 

 worth $25, etc. John W. Game! branded 2,000 calves last 

 v are now worth $22,000. Beth Mabrv branded 

 2.000 calves last year; thev are now worth 22,000 dollars. 

 W. E. A "heeler branded 1,000 calves last year; they are now 

 worth $11,000. 0. C. Smith branded 500 calves I 

 in, ■: an now worth $5,,600> Christie Crosby branded 1,000 

 calves last year; they are now worth $11,000: besides a great 

 many others who branded their two or three hundred calves, 

 etc. ' So yon will see stock men ought to lie happy, and 

 twelve years ago, not one of them had anything. Besides 

 we have"!. 000 saddle ponies and 7,000 of cattle driven into 

 this county to winter. Pasture men who have more, gran 



