422 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



LJune 26, 1884. 



fke gportminn %onti$U 



UNCLE LISHA'S SHOP. 



THE first snowfall of the season in the little valley was 

 sifting down from a dull sky one November evening 

 not long after that just told of, when Lisha's friends began 

 to gather in his little shop. Each one, as he entered and 

 stamped the snow off his boots, made some remark concern- 

 ing this latest turn of the weather, as in duty bound by 

 ancient usage: "Snowin'," "Snowin' c'nsid'able kind o' 

 smart," "Gittin' some snow at last," said one and another, 

 and one ventured to "Guess 't we're goin' to git some sleigh- 

 in' fur Tkauksgivin' arter all." 



"Wal, I d' know 'baout that," said the oracular Solon 

 Briggs, seating himself in the best place behind the stove, 

 with his elbows on his knees and his hands spread to catch 

 the heat, "I kuowed 'at 't was goin' to snow, an' said t' was, 

 an' it does snow, baut 1 took a notice every sen' I commenced 

 my pilligridge (I wou'say, mypilgigrim) that when the snow 

 comes on ter thegraound when it's eonjoled, that, is, when it's 

 froze, it hain't a goin' t' stay on an' ew-dure long. Why it is 

 I do' know, but so it is as fur as my observations has went." 



Houh!' ' snorted Lisha, who was rummaging a shelf for a 

 desired last, "Mebby so, but I guess— No. 12, that's it— I 

 guess 't Ave'll hev "sleighin' fur Thanksgivin'. But dum 

 the sleighin', I wish 't I hed a turkey fer Thanksgivin' 's 

 big 's what my boy 't live in the" 'Hio tells o' hevin' there, 

 wild ones, tew, 't weighs thirty, forty paound! What ye 

 think o' that?" 



"i daoubt it," was Sam Lovel's laconic response, and there 

 was a stir of approval in the audience. 



"Daoubt it!" shouted Lisha, "Good airth an' seas! My 

 boy wouldn't lie an aounce on the weight of a elephant. Thirty 

 'n' forty paound, that's what he writ." 



"Wal, I daoubt it," Sam repeated, "jes' think on 't. that's 

 mos' half as much as Cap'n Power's hog weighed, 'n' he 

 was a sollaker, ye know. Turkeys ain't in the habit o' 

 growin' so big." 



"Not here, 1 know they hain't," Lisha admitted. 



"No." Solon interrupted," fer it hain't their nart'ral cli- 

 max. They hain't abregoines here."* 



"No," Lisha continued, " V then things grows bigger 

 there 'n what they does here. Why, the corn grows so high 

 't they have to climb up a ladder to bind the stooks, 'n' my 

 boy writ 't the pun kins grow'd so big in the 'Hio that a six- 

 foot man stau'in' stret up couldn't tech the top on 'em! 

 What ye think o' that?" 



"O shaw! Git aout! Goto grass!" were the comments 

 on this statement. 



"Yes, boys, it's sartinly so," Lisha persisted, with the 

 twinkle of his eyes showing through his dim glasses. "I 

 didn't seacely b'lieve it myself, V I sot down V writ George 

 a letter 'n asf him ef that was r'aly so, an' he writ back it 

 sartinly was. A six-foot man coiddn't tech the top o' one 

 on 'em — not 'thaout stoopin' jest a lee-tle. Haw! Haw! 

 Haw! Ho!" 



"Oh, aw," said Solon. '/Yes, George writ ironical, in 

 sportyve jeest, as it ware." 



"Wal," said Lisha when he had done laughing, and had 

 got the last inside of a great boot that needed tapping, "Le's 

 p'cede to business, 's they say in the leegislatur. We was 

 talkin' 'baout aowls t' other night, wa'n't we? Solon he 

 tole what made 'em hoot, 'n' Jozeff he tole 'baout shootin' 

 one. Hain't ye got nothin' furder concernin' the faowl, 

 Jozeff?" 



"I d' know," Joseph Hill responded. "Lemme see. Didn't 

 none on ye never hear how Zene Burnham come it on his 

 father?" 



If asy one had heard it he made no sign, and Joseph pro- 

 ceeded with his tale. 



"Yes, sir, his own father! O, what a darned crutter he 

 was! Ye know the' hain't no spring nigh the ole man's, so 

 they've got a well; puty good water, tew, that is, for water, 

 with a reg'lar ole-fashion sweep — do' know though, mebby 

 they've got in a pump naow. Lemme see, didn't Morrison 

 self 'm a pump? Seem t' me 't he did. Wal, 't do' make no 

 diffunce, they hed a well sweep, then. One night in the 

 fall — I guess 'twas; yes, know 'twas well 'nough, for fall's 

 the aowliest time o' year — Zone he come tippytoein' int' the 

 haouse 'n spoke low t' the ole man, an' sez he, 'Father, the's 

 the all-tummuttablest gret hoot aowl a-settin' on the top o' 

 the well sweep! Git the gun an' shoot 'im. You c'n shoot 

 better 'n 1 eau in the dark.' The ole man kinder thought 

 Zene was a-foolin' on 'im, but Zene said for 'im to go an' see 

 for hisself; so the ole man got the gun V 'twas loaded for 

 fox, an' stuck a piece o' white paper ont' the sight, 

 an' crep' aout the back door 'n' raound t' the naw- 

 west corner o' the haouse — lemme see; no, 'twas the 

 naweast — no twa'u't nuther, 't was the nawwest corner — an' 

 peeked raound, 'n' there he seen the aowl, an ole whopper, 

 settin' up there, jes' as demute! An' he drawed up an' took 

 dead aim, he did, 'n' onhitched, V the aowl never stirred! 

 'Wal, I'll be dummed to dumnation,' sez he, 'What 'n' 

 thuuderation 'a the motter I didn't kill 'im? You ben drawin' 

 the shot aouten this gun, Zene?' 'Hain't teched the darned 

 ole gun,' sez Zene. 'Yew hit 'im in the head an' stunted 

 'im; load up an' give 'im 'nuther dost,' sez he. So they 

 went back in an' loaded up agin, an' the ole man crep' aout 

 agin, V there sot the aowl yit, an' the ole man blazed away 

 agin, 'n' by gosh! the aowl never stirred agin! Then the ole 

 man he swore it beat the devil, if twa'n't the devil hisself, 

 but Zene tole him 't he knowed he'd killed him. 'Pull daown 

 the sweep,' sez he, ' 'n' git him. He's sartinly deader 'n hay.' 

 So the ole man sot daown the gun an' begin te pull daown 

 the sweep jes' as keerful, a watchin' the aowl all the time as 

 he come daown, never makin' a motion. When he git him 

 clus to an' was jest agoin' to take a holt on 'im, he seen 't 

 wa'n't nothin' but a all-fired gret big cabbage tied on t' the 

 end of the sweep! My! 'f the ole man wa'n't mad! Zene he 

 put er for in t' the haouse 'n' up stairs 'n' int' bed, 'n' by 

 mornin' the ole man hed got goodnatur'd agin, but ye didn't 

 want to say 'aowl' to him right off." 



"Lid he hit the cabbage?" was asked by him of an inquir- 

 ing turn of mind. 



"Those 'ere saw-whet aowls," Solon Briggs remarked, 



I shot one on 'em outen a tree jes' to see what he was 'n' he 

 come a floathv daown julluk a bunch o' feathers.'' 



"Air' their vocal voice," put in Solon, "is the fact smile of 

 sharpnin' a saw." 



"Guess 'tis," said Sam, "egg-zack! Makes me think o' 

 one time 't ole Mist' Van Brunt f'm New York, 's up here a 

 lookin' arter his lumbrin intrus. 'T was long airly 'n the 

 spring 'n' he was ridin' 'long boss back 'n the evenin'. 'n' 

 when he got daown int' Stunny Brook holler, he hearn 

 somebuddy a filin' a sawmill saw, screet er screet, er screet 

 er, 'Some o' them damn maounting Aribs,' sez he, 'hes got a 

 sawmill right here in the hairt o' my woods! Hello you!' he 

 hollered, but the file kep' a goin', screet er screet, er screet! 

 'You owdacious villingl' sez he, he alius used high duck 

 langwidge, 'You owdacious villing! I'll prosecute ye to the 

 extents o' the law,' sez he, and he rid his hoss int' the woods 

 where he hearn the noise, 'n' his sto'pipehat ketched on a limb 

 an' tumbled off, 'n his hoss stumbled agin a ruht 'n' throwed 

 him off V then the noise o' filin' stopped, n' then in two, 

 three minutes it begin agin furder off. 'The piratical scoun- 

 dril,' sez the ole gentleman, 'hez got his damn sawmill on 

 wheels!' V he got back int' the path an' rid ont' the tarvern 

 'thaout no hat. When he got there he tole Hamlin (he kep' 

 it then) what he'd hearn, V Hamlin he laughed *n' sez he, 

 'Mist' Van Brunt, 't wa'n't nothin' but a saw-whet 't you 

 hearn.' 'A saw-whet!' sez tb' old gentleman, '1 know it, 

 but a two-legged saw-whet, sir.' 'Yes,' sez Hamlin, 'two- 

 legged, but he wears feathers stiddy close,' 'n' 'xplained. 

 Then the ole gentleman laughed at hisself, an' treated the 

 hull craowd, a dozen on 'em, to ole Jamaiky sperrits 't he 

 brought with him f'm York — twenty ye'r ole, they said 't 

 was." 



"Gosh!" ejaculated Joseph Hill, with a watering mouth, 

 "wish 't I'd a ben there!" 



"Ben where?" asked he of the inquiring mind. 



"The study of nart'ral hist'ry things," Solon remarked, 

 "is a most stumenduous subjeck, cal'lated to fill the human 

 mind of man with — er — er— ah — " 



"Puddin' an' milk," shouted Lisha, as he drove the last 

 peg in the wide sole of the boot, " 'n' I 'tend to ha' some an' 

 go to bed." 



So saying he took off his battle-scarred apron, and his 

 guests departed and went out of sight with silent footsteps 

 in the dusky whiteness of the snowy night. 



clearing his throat, "is a curosity thing— a f rik o' natur' 

 comin' daown to her onsignificautest leches — a nart'ral few- 

 nonnymon, so to speak. A puffick aowl, mimus the gret- 

 nesa of the die-mentionest kinds." 



"Wal, they be small, but reg'lar aowls," said Sam Lovel, 

 f 'Cut the head off 'm one 'n' he '11 lack a aounce o' weighin'. 



- supposed to have meant aborigines, 



ACROSS THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS. 



IN the month of June, 1879, the writer and a friend E., 

 feeling that a jaunt of a week or two among the moun- 

 tains would be both beneficial and enjoyable, concluded to 

 ride through the Snoqualmie Pass, in the Cascade Moun- 

 tains. Twelve o'clock of June 27 found us on the backs of 

 our steeds, with blankets and grab, guns and fishing tackle, 

 etc. . stowed and lashed in various manners about our persons 

 and on our horses. The pass lies almost due east of the city 

 of Seattle, and the summit is about seventy miles distant 

 from that place. 



Our road, for the first fourteen miles, lay along the Du- 

 wamish River, which flows into the Sound about a mile 

 from Seattle. Three hours' ride through the cool shades of 

 the gigantic firs and cedars and over the green meadows of 

 the settled bottoms, brought us to the little town of Renton, 

 situated at the confluence of Black and Cedar rivers. These 

 two streams are cool and clear, and uniting, flow about two 

 miles when they are joined by White River, and with that 

 stream form tho Duwamish. They are model trout streams, 

 swift and gravelly, just small enough to be waded in the 

 summer months, and are filled with myriads of trout. Ren- 

 ton we had visited often on fishing excursions. It is a coal 

 mining town. Although the memories of past triumphs with 

 the pliant rod filled our brains, and the old familiar pools 

 and riffles seemed to gurgle a musical invitation to us to 

 tarry a while, and greet their inhabitants with the deceptive 

 fly, we had "other fish to fry," our journey for the day was 

 only half ended, and we bade farewell to Cedar River, and 

 proceeded on our way. 



Leaving the main road at this point, we took the cattle 

 trail which runs through the pass. This road is used to 

 bring over cattle for the Paget Sound market, from the fer- 

 tile valleys of the Kittitass and Yakima, and presents a sin- 

 gular appearance. The surface, wherever the ground is at 

 all soft, is cut into regular ridges about two feet from sum- 

 mit to summit, with depressions between all the way from six 

 inches to two feet deep. Tnis is caused by the droves of 

 cattle walking over the trail, though I have never been able 

 to understand why it should have this singular effect. A 

 more monotonous way of traveling than iiding over these 

 ridges could not, easily be imagined. In places they would 

 stretch for a mile at a time, nearly as high as a horse could 

 step. Otherwise our ride was pleasant enough. The road 

 was shaded nearly the entire distance. Every half mile or 

 so, as we rounded a bend in the road, our horses would be 

 startled by the whir of a covey of grouse or pheasant, inter- 

 rupted in their feeding or wallowing in the dust on the trail. 

 The thought occurred to us that half grown pheasants, 

 broiled, would be a toothsome addition to out bill of fare 

 for supper, so coming to a particularly large covey, E. dis- 

 mounted, and stepped into the brush, while I sat on a log 

 and held the horses and smoked. In a few minutes I heard 

 the bang, bang, of his gun, anil almost immediately afterward 

 two more reports, and he returned with five young pheasants. 

 We tied these to our saddle horns and went on. 



Jogging slowly along, over hills and through grassy hol- 

 lowsf between rows of firs arid cedars, about sundown the 

 green fields of the Squak Valley came insight, and stimu- 

 lated by the thoughts of supper and rest, we spurred up 

 our horses and were soon at the residence of George T., one 

 of the solid farmers of the valley. Our day's journey was 

 ended, and we were twenty-eight miles from Seattle. This 

 little valley is at the head of Squak Lake, and forms the 

 bottom of a small stream which flows into that lake. It 

 contains possibly three thousand acres of fine farming land, 

 and is a veritable garden spot. It is nearly all settled, and 

 the settlers occupy themselves cheifly with hop raising. A 

 ton to the acre is the average yield for vines more than one 

 year old 



Arising betimes the next morning we jointed our rods, 

 and rigging a cast each, stepped out to Squak Creek, which 

 runs almost at the door through the meadow. An hour's 

 fishing brought to our pockets (for we had no creels) twenty- 

 seven fine trout, none Jess than eight inches iu length, and 

 the largest weighing two and one half pounds on my pocket 

 scales. Hastily cleaning enough for breakfast, we returned 

 to the house, and turning the fish over to the cook, took 

 towels, and going down to a large pool in the stream, had a 

 glorious bath, and on returning found our fish hot, brown 

 and— but why say delicious? 



We were to await the arrival of a friend, S.. who was to 

 accompany us. Now an unforeseen difficulty presented 

 itself. EAs horse, a great raw-boned creature, had been 

 slightly lame during the last few miles of our ride the even- 

 ing before, and this morning was dead lame, and manifestly 

 unable to proceed further. This was a trial which it was 

 difficult to meet with a philosophical spirit, and we were 

 beginning to feel rather blue over oar misfortune, when we 

 were joined by our host, who upon hearing of our trouble 

 sent one of the men out to the pasture, whence he soon re- 

 turned with one of the finest little horses I ever saw. He 

 soon changed hands, at the price of fifty dollars, and was 

 christened Rex on the spot. The lame horse was left to be 

 sent back to Seattle when he should recover. E. kept his 

 new purchase for four years, and only disposed of him when 

 obliged to do so. He turned out to be one of the best riding 

 animals 1 ever saw, and thus was the old adage exemplified, 

 " 'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good." 



Some desultory whipping the stream, varied by intervals 

 of smoking on the grass in the bright sunshine, and enliv- 

 ened by the occasional capture of an exceptionally large 

 trout, brought noon, and within a few minutes of that time 

 S. hove in sight. He was as anxious to rest as we were to 

 start, so lying under the frees, while lunch was preparing, 

 he enlivened us by the recital of an ad vein are which he had 

 met with on the way out. Coming slowly along the road, 

 he had met a good^sized black bear, which had at first 

 seemed inclined to dispute his passage. He had no firearms, 

 so, riding back on the trail a smut distance, he gathered a 

 handful of rocks and setting his horse into n gallop charged 

 the bear and put him to inglorious flight. At 1 :30 we started 

 for Ealls City, on the banks of the Snoqualmie River, seven- 

 teen miles distant. Traveling steadily along at. an easy pace, 

 over hills and spurs of the mountains, we reached that place 

 at 6 o'clock, laden with some half dozen pheasants for sup- 

 per. Palls City is not what the name would imply, as the 

 falls are some six miles distant, and the city is wholly want- 

 ing. There were, at the time of our visit, about three 

 houses there, one of which was occupied. The location, 

 however, is pleasant. 



The Snoqualmie River, a good-sized stream, flows by, and 

 is joined by Raging River at this place. This stream is 

 small and is easily waded. It is clear and cold, and one of 

 the finest trout streams 1 ever saw. Coming iiom the snow 

 covered mountains, it is raised to a formidable river in the 

 spring by the melting snows, and being so large at that time, 

 it keeps the banks free from trees and brush, aud affords 

 many fine places for uninterrupted easts. The Snoqualmie 

 River here is also clear, cold and swift, and is navigable for 

 steamers to this point, except at extreme low water. We 

 camped for the night on the bank of Raging River, and pro- 

 ceeded to make ourselves comfortable. S. went to the only 

 house and returned with hay for the horses and went back 

 afterward for grain, while E. aud the writer busied them- 

 selves about camp. To get a fire started, cut some cedar 

 boughs for a bed, joint a rod aud take a dozen ten-inch trout 

 for supper, was the work of a short time, and inside of tin 

 hour from the time we struck camp we were feasting on 

 smoking coffee and trout, garnished with bacon. The night 

 was cloudless, but a little cool, and our blankets were all re- 

 quired to keep us warm. But lulled by the rippling of the 

 water and the music of the frogs, with now and then the 

 hoot of an owl by way of chorus, I soon fell asleep, aud was 

 only awakened by the shrill notes of some little songsters in 

 a bush near my head, announcing that another day had be- 

 gun. 



Coffee and pheasant was the bill of fare for breakfast, 

 and by the time the sun had risen we were iu the saddle and 

 away. A short level stretch, and we reached the foot of a 

 mighty hill, where we concluded to be merciful to our 

 horses, and took to our feet. After two miles of climbing 

 we were at the lop, where a fine panorama of mountain 

 valley, river and iorest awaited us. A short rest and ou we 

 went" five miles further to deny 13. 's place, at the lower end 

 of Snoqualmie prairie. This prairie fills a level space be- 

 tween two ranges of hills,- and is about eight miles long and 

 three or four iu width. The Snoqualmie River is formed in 

 the prairie by the confluence of four forks coming down 

 from different canbue, and a short distance below the foot of 

 the prairie are the celebrated Snoqualmie Falls, which we 

 intended to visit. Stopping at Jerry's house we left our 

 horses and crossing the river in a canoe stalled for the falls, 

 A brisk walk of a mile and a half brought us within hearing 

 of the falling waters, and pushing through the dense thicket 

 of brush, which is watered by the spray of the falls, we 

 came out about fifty feet down the river from the falls, and 

 about the same distance below the top, on the edge of the 

 vast cauldron into which the waters plunge, From our 

 standpoint we had a fine view. The sheer descent of the 

 entire river is two hundred and eighty-live feet, and when 

 one considers that the river is so large at this point as to be 

 navigable for steamboats nearly to the falls, and is clear as 

 Crystal, he can readily imagine Ihe effect, with the sun shin- 

 ing as it was that beautiful morning. 



After we had seen and beard enough, we went back up 

 the river, stunned by the noise, and awed by the wonderful 

 display of power we had witnessed. On arriving at the 

 house, we mounted, and after a pleasant ride of five miles 

 through the prairie, arrived at Lucinda G.'s place, on the 

 banks of one of the forks of the river. This lady is some- 

 thing of a local celebrity. She was born and raised in this 

 county, aud so far as 1 know has never been out of the 

 county. She is slightly inclined to ennboppoint, weighing 

 over three hundred pounds; is about live feet three inches 

 tall, and is withal as jolly and good-natured a lady as could 

 be found iu a year's journey. She has a herd of cows that 

 she milks, and which she has trained to a remarkable degree. 

 We witnessed their regular performance at milking time in 

 the evening. She seats herself On a stool in a corner of the 

 barnyard, and the cows, some half dozen in number, 

 come in their regular turn, or as she may direct, calling 

 them by name, to"be milked. They seem almost to under- 

 stand the English language, aud obey her every order per- 

 fectly and immediately. We stayed here the rest of the day, 

 and all night. In the stream we caught trout in abundance, 

 and E. went on a short hunting expedition, returning with a 

 good supply of grouse. For dessert at our evening meal we 

 mid salmon berries and cream. These berries look much 

 like a raspberry, and grow wild in great abundance on all 

 the streams flowing into the Sound. They are yellow and 

 nearly twice as large as a raspberry, and are delicious. 



Arising in the morning refreshed and invigorated by a 

 good sleep in the pure mountain air, we set out after a sub- 

 stantial breakfast, and started for the summit, thirty miles 

 distant. Our road now lay along the branch of the river 

 that we had fished in the evening before, and took us into 

 the mountains in earnest. The first five miles 



