FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 6, 1895. 



A FEW REMARKS ABOUT A LIVE 

 WESTERN TOWN.— II. 



BY GEORGE KENNEDY AND HORACE KEPHART. 



On opening this week's number of Forest and Stream 

 I find the first chapter of a serial under the above head- 

 ing, signed by our jolly friend Kennedy, who blandly 

 assures you that No. II. will be contributed by myself. 

 It strikes me that George could have found a better mate 

 for so risky a venture, but on his head be it. As a mark 

 bf appreciation, I give him full liberty to tell all the tur- 

 key stories he knows. 



His indications of the course I am to pursue are a little 

 hazy, but, as near as I can make out, he wants me to give 

 the details of that episode in the Ozark village to which 

 casual reference was made in "Notes from Camp Ness- 

 muk, No. I." Now, what is Kennedy driving at? Has he 

 a sequel to my story up his sleeve, as it were? Hardly. 

 To the best of my knowledge, it had no sequel, for the 

 affair was a finality, and the only people who might have 

 desired a continuance were — overruled. 



No; Kennedy has a story of his own to tell about some 

 place in the Ozarks, perhaps this very town, and I am as 

 anxious to hear it as anybody. Besides, there seems to 

 be a slight tone of banter in his request for those de- 

 tails. Is this a challenge? Bismillah ! I accept it; and here 

 goes. 



But first let me worry Kennedy a little. He hates 

 preambles and explanations, for you remember his sly dig 

 at long-winded people. Now, any story of the Ozarks 

 needs an introduction, for that region is almost unknown 

 to the outside world, and has its little peculiarities that 

 must be understood before one can appreciate the natives 

 at their full value. For instance : 



It is not so very long ago since all the West was "wild 

 and woolly," from the Eastern standpoint. Then some- 

 body took it into his head to come and see for himself. 

 He traveled by drawing-room car across the continent 

 and back; found the appliances and customs of civilization 

 everywhere; saw no wild Indians, no buffalo, no bandits, 

 no sign of savagery at all. He returned disillusioned, 

 and declared that the romantic interest of the West 

 had fled. Everywhere it was civilized, flat and common- 

 place. 



And he told the truth — about what he saw from the car 

 window. Nevertheless, there are still a few oases left 

 where worn-out souls can taste primitive pleasures, and 

 where sometimes they can actually enjoy thrills of Jbhe 

 thrill- a-minute variety that Mr. Hough experienced on 

 skis. 



A good part of southern Missouri and the land over the 

 border is still a trifle fuzzy. The local newspapers do not 

 say so, nor do the seductive boom books; and a due regard 

 for the truth obliges me to confess that I would not go 

 down there and say so myself. Yet it is a fact that you do 

 not have to go far from St. Louis to satisfy a yearning 

 for the unconventional, from legal procedure to the culi- 

 nary art. 



Take Missouri below the "Big Muddy," add Arkansas to 

 it, and then piece on as much of ' 'the Nation" and so forth 

 as you care to investigate; now subtract a dozen or so of 

 the larger towns with their immediate vicinities, and you 

 will have left enough wild country to get lost in for a 

 moon or so, and never know that you are anywhere in 

 particular. You will see some pretty rough travel. There 

 will be leagues and leagues of razor-backed ridges, of rich 

 but uncultivated bottoms, of yellow pine forests, of 

 prairie, and table-land, and mountain. To the south east 

 are the immense swamps of the overflows, gloomy, weird, 

 rank with cypress, tupelo and gum, fringed with jungles 

 of cane, and adjoining these are level uplands thick with 

 white oaks, tall and straight as pines. You will marvel 

 at the clearness of the mountain streams, until you run 

 across a spring like a young lake, its surface blue as indigo, 

 its outlet a river, its white bottom distinctly visible fifty 

 feet below. You will discover caverns, and sinks, and 

 mineral outcrops, and the chigres will discover you. 



You may or may not find game. That depends upon 

 whether you know where to look for it. I have hunted 

 through the heart of Shannon for a week without seeing 

 a deer track; and on the other hand it was only last fall 

 that seventeen bucks were shot in four days within a 

 small area not fifty miles from SJ;. Louis. 



Probably you will form low estimates of the men who 

 publish maps, and will even have doubts about the veracity 

 of Uncle Sam. For example, Round Spring on the map 

 is a spot as big as Boston; in the postal directory it is a 

 post office; in reality it is a round log cabin with one 

 window, inhabited by old man Heine, his family, and a 

 pack of hounds. You can't buy an ounce of salt within 

 ten miles of this metropolis. 



Now and then you meet the sallow native, find him 

 "just toFable," with everybody else the same, except "the 

 old woman — she's a-chillin'." You notice that his rifle is 

 heavy for its caliber, and wonder why he wears a cow- 

 boy hat in a wild hog country. 



The log cabins have no windows sometimes, and no 

 floors occasionally. The chimneys are built of sticks and 

 mud (rocks are plentiful, but it is a weary business picking 

 them when sticks will do), and they rise no higher than a 

 man can reach without straining his buttons. There is 

 only one room and one bed; but that bed is yours if you 

 want it, while the family takes the floor, and your offer 

 to pay for the hospitality is indignantly declined. Nobody 

 ever hurries, nobody seems to work; if there is a plow it 

 is rusting in the furrow, and nobody frets about it. Ask 

 a question, and then sit down and light your pipe; but 

 don't forget what the question was, or it may be awkward 

 for you when the answer arrives — it is such a long, weary 

 way to an answer in that country. Be choice of speech. 

 Don't mention a boar or a bull in the presence of ladies, 

 but call it ' 'the male," and then there will be no trouble. 

 I once spent two hours of hard thinking wondering what 

 the U. S. mail was doing in a certain cane brake nine 

 miles from a trail. 



(Now, Colonel, don't you know that I'm not talking 

 about your place? Everybody recognizes your people as 

 cultivated, industrious and law-abiding — the very salt of 

 the earth. But over in the next county — now, just be- 

 tween ourselves — you know that they are "prohibition" 

 for the sake of the moonshiners, and that they rub snuff, 

 and hold up trains, and shoot oftener than is decent; and 



I haven't said a word about that. This is no place to tell 

 about our electric cars and eighty bushels to the acre. 

 These hunters have no more use for "natural resources" 

 or "well ordered communities" than they have for a corn- 

 stalk fiddle or a rag baby. They are looking for some- 

 thing wild. Come, Colonel, let's h'ist one, and then I'll 

 stop the geography and go on with the story.) 



Date, October, 1894. Place— we will call it Due West. 



As you may remember, I had gone to bed in the little 

 hotel and was sleeping the sleep of a very honest man, 

 when at 2 o'clock of the Sabbath morning, right outside 

 my window, there was a pistol-shot. 



"Good-bye, pussy!" I thought, and rolled over. 



Then again — bang. 



"Somebody gunning for a burglar, perhaps." 

 Bang — bang. 



Then a woman's voice, ringing out clear and dreadful 

 in the still night air: "It's all a lie I I won't let you in. 

 If you want to search this house you kin go an' git an 

 orficer, an' I'll let him search, but I won't you uns." 



Bang. 



"Oh, God! I ain't got nobody to defend me but jist my 

 little lame brother, an' him a cripple. An' here's my two 

 pore little childern, an' them a-down on their knees 

 a-prayin' — don't cry so, honey; they sha'n't git in." 



I arose from bed, chilled to the heart. Nothing could 

 be seen from my window, for the night was pitch dark. 



Crash — the door went in. The sound of heavy boots 

 upon bare stairs. Two sharp cracks from a self-cocking 

 revolver of small caliber. Two heavier ones from a navy. 

 Shrieks, curses, pistols and shotguns indiscriminately. 

 Then a lull. 



They were coming down stairs. A few stones through 

 the windows. The woman's low moans gradually dying 

 away. Utter silence. 



It was horrible, I dressed hastily, rushed down stairs, 

 strode into the office and lit a lamp. Somebody in the 

 next room was evidently struggling to get under a 

 feather-bed: otherwise no sound. Stepping out on the 

 sidewalk, the raw air made me shiver. Never waB there 

 quite so dark a night. Not a light was to be seen any- 

 where, save at the railway station. Yet all the town had 

 heard that infernal din. What kind of place could this 

 be that no one was astir? I went over to the station and 

 found the night operator, pale as myself. 



"What's all this row about?" 



"Don't ask me. All I know about it is that when the 

 shooting began I crossed the tracks and started to go in 

 back of the hotel where the noise was, when a man rose 

 in front of me with a double-barreled gun. He said: 

 'You go back!' And I came back." 



There was no more to be learned here, and I returned to 

 the hotel mystified, and not knowing whether to look after 

 the woman or not. Just as I had about made up my mind 

 to do so two men flitted by, each with his coat turned inside 

 out and with a black mask over his face. Presently an- 

 other came carrying a long bowie that he seemed too 

 excited to conceal. As he passed the lighted window the 

 blade glittered. Seeing me he halted and boldly removed 

 his mark. He was pale and perspiring. 



"What does this mean?" I asked. 



"Well, it was this way. [He placed the point of his 

 knife against my chest and began describing diagrams, as 

 if to illustrate his remarks.] You see there was a no- 

 account white woman lived back there in the alley. 

 [Here followed some local history, which may be summed 

 up in the one word miscegenation.] Public decency 

 couldn't stand it. The best citizens in town got together 

 with some tar and feathers. But when we called she 

 began to shoot; an' of course nobody can't preserve his 

 dignity when somebody's a-shootin' in hiB face." 



"Did you kill her?" 



"No, I reckon not." 



"How about him?" 



"Shucks! how do I know." 



An hour later several men and one woman assembled 

 at the station to take the early morning express. Not a 

 word was spoken by anybody. To all appearances the 

 operator and myself were the only people in town who 

 had noticed anything unusual, or were in the least per- 

 turbed. 



Come, Kennedy. Horace Kephart. 



St. Louis, June 21. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY IN NORWAY. 



BY AN ENGLISHMAN. 



One of the most noticeable features observed in passing 

 through almost any valley in Norway is the accumulation 

 of boulders which have from time to time fallen from the 

 adjacent mountains. In some places a huge talus has 

 been formed of rocks heaped higgledy-piggledy in rough 

 confusion, but presenting from a distance the appearance 

 of a straight and even line reaching from the valley to 

 some 1,000ft. up the mountain's side. Not infrequently, 

 when spending some months in my favorite occupation of 

 salmon fishing, I have witnessed considerable falls of 

 stones. On one occasion a large fall took place at a spot 

 where we were in the habit of fishing when visiting the 

 upper waters, and had we been present escape would have 

 been impossible. The farm-houses are built where from 

 the experience of generations the situation is known to be 

 safe, but now and then an accident occurs. I remember 

 a few years ago a single stone of about 5ft. square went 

 right through a cottage, killing one poor woman and 

 injuring another. A cow was struck by a stone while 

 feeding high up on the talus, opposite the little hotel 

 where we stay, and stone and cow rolled down together 

 for some distance. A man went up and put the animal 

 out of its misery, but the meat was too bruised for even 

 the peasants to eat. All new stones which fall on or near 

 the road are carefully covered with bushes, for otherwise 

 the ponies would shy, they having an instinctive dread of 

 stones. But these are small matters in comparison to the 

 great fall which occurred last year. 



Eight opposite to our hotel there is a talus running up 

 into a point more than 1,000 feet up the mountain, as 

 measured by the anaroid, It was on the Fourth of July last 

 that there occurred a memorable fall of stones, which 

 threatened to overwhelm the little cluster of houses of 

 which the village consists. An American gentleman 

 (who was fishing with me) and his family were present; 

 for, having first ascertained that my British aumor 

 jpropre would not be seriously hurt, a Bupply of fire- 

 works and bombs had been obtained from Bergen, and 

 the young folks had determined to devote the day to 



burning powder, in commemoration of July 4, 1776. The 

 fireworks were reserved for the evening in the vain hope 

 that it would be dark, and the bombs were let off to in- 

 augurate the great day. I cannot tell if these bombs had 

 the effect of attracting the storm which soon brdke over 

 the valley; suffice it to say that, after months of dry 

 weather, a deluge of rain descended almost immediately; 

 Very shortly a report, like that of a cannon, high up in 

 the mountains, here 4,000ft, high, told that a huge mass 

 of rock had given way and was coming down the various 

 gorges which led to the top of the talus opposite. Clouds 

 of spray from a small watercourse indicated the progress 

 of the roaring mass, until at last the rocks could be seen 

 leaping and rolling down toward us, while the torrent 

 brought with it a stream of smaller stones and mud 

 which turned off to the left, devastating all before itj 

 burying potato fields, and Anally making its way into the 

 river. But the bigger rocks, many of them as large as a 

 good-sized room, came straight for the hotel, and 

 apparently nothing could save us. But somehow or 

 other each big stone turned aside or stuck fast before 

 reaching the bottom, though some came much too near 

 to be pleasant. This lasted a couple of hours, The rocks 

 seemed to accumulate in the gullies high up in the moun- 

 tains until one of extra weight would set the whole lot in 

 motion. Then the noise was tremendous and the narrow 

 valley re-echoed with the din. 



When at last the storm subsided we went to see what 

 damage had been done. The road was obliterated by 

 stones and mud some yards thick. Potato and other cul- 

 tivated patches were buried; a grove of young trees had 

 disappeared. Of course, all traffic was stopped here, and 

 also at another spot a mile up the valley, where the road 

 had been covered by another stream of stones and mud. 

 Gangs of men were soon at work making some kind of a 

 track over the debris, but it was some days before they 

 could remove sufficient to enable a cart or cariole to pass 

 over. Just at the time a visit from H. I. M. the Kaiser 

 was imminent, and every effort was made to clear the 

 road, without success, however, and H. I. M. and his 

 party were forced to leave their carioles and walk over 

 the inundated parts of the road. I do not think that my 

 American friends will soon forget the Fourth of July, 

 1894, and I am quite sure it will be long remembered in 

 the valley. H. T. B. 



TWO MONTHS ON THE ST. JOHN'S. 



[Concluded from page 527.] 



The young man who was so courteous to us was Emmet 

 McGraw, and we were camped at Buffalo Bluff. We sat 

 around the fire very late that night swapping yarns with 

 our new acquaintances, and I must acknowledge that we 

 had to stretch the truth out of all proportion sometimes 

 just to keep pace with them. The McGraws were Wash- 

 ington, D. C, people. Liking Florida, they had bought 

 and settled on this place. There was a nice grove loaded 

 to its full capacity with oranges. Besides, there was a 

 banana grove in the rear of the house. Then they had 

 strawberries, yams, and other fruits and vegetables in 

 great profusion under cultivation. Directly in front of 

 the house there were seven islands, and on firing a rifle or 

 shotgun these islands would send back eleven distinct 

 echoes. While we stayed here we set lines between the 

 islands and caught turtles weighing from 30 to 501bs. 

 Sometimes we would find our hooks broken in two, appar- 

 ently by something of great size and strength, as they 

 were large shark hooks. The fines we used were nearly 

 the size of clothes lines, and yet we would find even these 

 lines broken sometimes. I suppose it was done by hooking 

 alligators or large catfish. We caught one of the latter 

 one morning after we left Buffalo Bluff that wuighed in 

 the neighborhood of 50lbs. 



One morning, while Tom and I were sailing on the river 

 a short way from camp, I shot an alligator a trifle over 

 10ft. in length. This was the largest one we shot on the 

 trip. 



Sam came in very handy here in the culinary line. He 

 would cook about everything he laid eyes on, both meat 

 and vegetable. After he tried these dishes we would 

 wait a while, and if they didn't make him sick we would 

 try them, too. One day he cooked some alligator for us 

 and I must say it was a surprise to us to find that the flavor 

 was almost identically the same as that of veal. If Sam 

 had only removed the hide a little further from camp our 

 appetite for alligator might have lasted longer. As it was, 

 we would take a mouthful of alligator, then our eyes light- 

 ing on the hide the sight was altogether too suggestive to 

 suit even our cast-iron stomachs. One meal completely 

 satisfied our longing for alligator. We also tried water 

 turkey. While I wouldn't recommend it, still it is much 

 better than alligator. 



Emmet made it a point to call every day and have a 

 sociable chat. He was generally accompanied by a large, 

 ferocious looking, black dog, called Gulliver, which, ac- 

 cording to Emmet's description, was very bloodthirsty and 

 dangerous. He kindly informed us that it would be just 

 as well for us to tree as quickly as possible if we should 

 happen to have the pleasure of meeting Gulliver alone 

 some time on the place, for he was generally in the habit 

 of disposing of anything in the shape of a biped or quad- 

 ruped in about two gulps. 



This glowing description of Gulliver's good points 

 naturally made us hold him in great respect, especially 

 when he would glide suddenly and swiftly behind one of 

 us and poke his chilly muzzle against the calf of our legs. 

 It is needless to tell how sweet and musical Emmet's 

 "Come huh, Gulliveh," would sound in our ears on such 

 occasions. 



We always kept the pointer, Rake, chained near the 

 tent. As Tom had parted with a pretty snug sum for 

 him when he was a pup, we were naturally more or less 

 worried about him when Gulliver was around, espe- 

 cially as Gulliver seemed determined on making a meal 

 of him. Much to our surprise and fear, Rake, instead of 

 trying to conciliate this huge fierce monster, made 

 matters worse by snapping, growling and tugging at his 

 chain until we thought it would break, and showing 

 in other ways the utmost contempt for this sausage 

 machine. Poor Rake. We feared his end was near. 

 Poor foolish dog, to come one thousand miles to be 

 eaten by a wild cannibal of his own species. It was 

 awful. 



One warm day, while we were lying in the shade trying 

 to keep cool, and thinking of nothing in particular, we 

 were startled by sudden manifestations of excitement and 

 great agility on the part of Rake. We never saw him so 



