136 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 17, 1895. 



hot sun, and the water at the mouth of the canon was 

 hailed with delight by the burros as well as by ourselves. 

 A mile up the Tehunja we went into camp on the sands 

 after fastening the animals along stream with cinch 

 ropes, where they fed quietly all night. Tracks of deer 

 cut up the sands in every direction, and there would be 

 no difficulty in securing a blacktail any morning or 

 evening by watching the side canons down which they 

 came from their sleeping places in the dense brush on the 

 ridges. 



Up the Tehunja two miles further the valley forks, and 

 we turn up the Left Branch but immediately leave the 

 bed of the stream and rise gradually over a series of out- 

 lying flanks of real mountain, the trail constantly getting 

 steeper until the last mile it invites a cons! ant scramble 

 in which animals seem lost in the dust and brush. Our 

 packs suffered on this trip more than any other part, 

 because the cinch ropes had trailed in the stream during 

 the night and loosened as they dried during the day- 

 result, we lost one sack of 25lbs. flour en route, which 

 dropped into the thick brush or rolled out of sight down 

 the mountain. The top of the ridge separating the Little 

 and Big Tehunja is heavily timbered with pine of two 

 species, one a huge towering, well proportioned in trunk 

 and limbs, with small cones; the other a smaller tree with 

 long needles and a great cone 10 to 14in. in length and of 

 several pounds weight, four of them tilling a large grain 

 sack. The ground is free from underbrush and covered 

 with a green growth of bunch grass and numerous flow- 

 ers, including the Mariposa lily, which here reaches its 

 perfection of beauty. The northern slope of this ridge 

 drains into the Big Tehunja; in fact, the headwaters be- 

 gin among the pines at our camp. Deer are very plenti- 

 ful, and in the valley along the streams a great variety of 

 birds not seen in the lower valleys, that usually nest in 

 Oregon and Washington, were taking advantage of the 

 altitude and raising their broods. Every half mile or less 

 great broods of the mountain partridge scattered before 

 us, and we could hear the old birds, with their beautiful 

 flowing plumes, calling them together after we passed. 

 One brood of eighteen half-grown chicks were loth to 

 leave the trail, and many of them fluttered on to the 

 bushes just beyond and eyed us curiously as we rattled by. 

 We camped again in the sand, which we find more com- 

 fortable than anything the mountain growth can supply. 

 Near by a huge pine tree acknowledged a girth of 20ft. by 

 cinch rope measurement, being one-third larger than that 

 old landmark "the big pine" of the San Gabriel. 



A mile below camp the canon suddenly narrows and 

 blocks the way. In consequence the sand has accumu- 

 lated, making a flat, moist floor, in which grow clumps 

 of willows and bunches of coarse grass. The open spots 

 here were cut up by deer tracks as though a flock of 

 sheep had passed that way. Where the canon narrows 

 the trail ascends the side of the mountain, circling down 

 again to where a branch enters, which we cross, and con- 

 tinue up to the ridge beyond— nowhere as steep as our 

 previous ones — for two miles, and then descend into 

 the beautiful Chillejo (pronourced Chill aho) Valley, 

 with its open, park-like reaches and grand old 

 trees — a natural succession of deer parks, and much 

 frequented by deer, as the sign in every direction in- 

 dicated. A huge track of a mountain lion further evi- 

 denced the fact that deer meat was plentiful. We con- 

 tinued up the valley two miles to a little log cabin under 

 the spreading branches of a great live oak, where the 

 birds enlivened the air with their song by day and the 

 owls and 'poorwill visited us by night; here we made our 

 permanent camp for ten days. The patient little burros 

 have won the respect of their fellow voyageurs and at 

 once kick up their heels at the prospect of a period of 

 idleness among rich feed and pure water. They wan- 

 dered all over the valley during our stay, and we met 

 them in our tramps fully five mile from camp, but a few 

 days before we came out they returned to camp and were 

 easily kept there by an occasional potato or onion from 

 our ample stores. 



Although in a decided rattlesnake country the clatter 

 of the burro train ahead had warned away all snakes 

 en route, but we were destined to have our first experi- 

 ence in that line shortly after the first meal in camp. 

 Our table was of hewed logs, with a pile of loose rocks on 

 one side and a box on the other for chairs. While rest- 

 ing after dinner a beautiful male of the violet green 

 swallow circled about, and as I wished a skin of this bird 

 I rushed to the table for my collecting gun, and right 

 in front of the stone seat under the table, not 18in. from 

 my feet, lay a lively rattler with seven rattles and a but- 

 ton who had evidently enjoyed the protection of the 

 rocky seat while we had enjoyed the restful upper portion 

 while seated at dinner. Thereafter the Judge, a good 

 story-teller, was often interrupted about the time he 

 reached the climax with the startling question, "Did vou 

 look under the table?" 



The head of Chillejo Valley with its numerous branches 

 penetrates to the very top of the ridge, forming the water- 

 shed toward the desert, and we spent many days explor- 

 ing the different canons, often resting at the pass where 

 the hoofs of cattle driven in from the desert side in past 

 years, but now driven out by the Government, have cut 

 deep trails toward the desert. 



A great level gray plane stretches off to the north until 

 interrupted by blue mountains in the distance, colored bv 



) great finger-like arms pointing to the 

 west. Here there is absolutely no vegetation and the air 

 fairly boils with the heat. On days when the regular 

 breathing of the desert is interrupted and the rush of sea 

 air over the mountain passes is diverted, the hot air 

 rushes m like a blast from the furnace, and even at our 

 elevation of over 7,000ft. the birds sit with open mouths 

 and drooping wings until the usual breathing of the desert 

 is resumed. . 



A couple of days were spent with lunch and water bot- 

 tle exploring to the north of Mount Waterman and about 

 the base of Mount Winston, where the unfortunate L C 

 Winston was lost last fall. A small monument beside the 

 trail of loose stones calls attention to the point of diverg- 

 ence, while on the mountain slope above a pine stripped 

 of its branches, with a bright tin can on top, marks almost 

 the spot where his body was found nine months to a dav 

 afterward. 3 

 On this side trip we saw fresh tracks of mountain 

 lions. 



I % The journey out "was without particular interest. Hav- 

 ing reduced our supplies it gave us an extra burro to carry 



us across the deeper fords lower down and an occasional 

 lift after a weary walk. 



Instead of returning over Mount Wilson from the 

 mouth of Cottonwood Canon, we continued east down 

 the west fork of the San Gabriel River and enjoyed mag- 

 nificent fishing all the way, although it was much cur- 

 tailed by our catching only enough for camp use. 



We stopped at the beautifully located cabin of the 

 Pasadena Bait Club two days, eighteen miles above 

 Azusa, where I had to call upon the superior marksman- 

 ship of the Judge to secure me a specimen of the white- 

 throated cloud swift which nested in the 500ft. cliff oppo- 

 site the cabin. 



Here the burros, dissatisfied with the scant picking of 

 the canon, raided the camp in a body. They upset a can 

 containing a dozen eggs carefully packed in oatmeal and 

 held for some special banquet, and ate the mixture. They 

 licked the board table under the tree until it looked cleaner 

 than we had found it. Knocked the cover off a kettle of 

 boiled potatoes and ate them all, leaving the kettle in the 

 same condition as the table— licked clean. Upset a pint 

 bottle of vinegar, kindly leaving us a teaspoonful. Eolled 

 a bottle of chow chow on to the rocks, ate up two dish 

 rags and chewed up over half a dish towel. Chewed on 

 a box of 100 parlor matches until the matches went off 

 and then left them partly burned on the ground. This 

 last act was probably one of Muggin's, our fool burro, 

 judging from the way he twitches his mouth this morn- 

 ing. I call him our fool burro because the Lord takes care 

 of fools and infants, and he seems to be doing fool tricks 

 all the while and safely escapes. If he happened to pass 

 a hornets' nest over the trail just as likely as not he would 

 take a nip at it, and trusting in the Lord would slide into 

 the brush ahead, leaving the other three burros and two 

 men to run the gauntlet. But to return to the raid. They 

 picked up a paper in which a lot of snelled hooks had been 

 wrapped and chewed it until the points protruded from 

 the sodden mass, then wandered over to my table, consist- 

 ing of a box nailed to a tree where ornithological speci- 

 mens were prepared, poked the arsenic and other eatables 

 about, but refrained from gorging themselves; but they 

 did eat up a pile of fish intestines and bird bodies which 

 we had saved intending to put strychnine therein for the 

 benefit of a wildcat that had visited the camp the previous 

 night in a noisy manner. 



At the new club house, seven miles from the mouth of 

 the canon, we found nine members performing the cere- 

 mony of opening the house, and besides giving us ragged, 

 unshaved tramps a hearty welcome, they gave us a part- 

 ing song, which rang in our ears long after the camp-fire 

 had grown dim. 



Our last camp was six miles from the mouth of the 

 canon, and the walk out and the tramp along the high- 

 ways of eight miles more to the burro corral at the foot 

 of the trail in the hot sun of July 17 was not spiced with 

 anything but a dogged determination to everlastingly 

 stick to it until we reached there. 



If a tenderfoot of the right sort happens this way I 

 would like to try that first day's tramp over again with 

 him. Frank S. Daggett. 



Pasadena, Cal, 



YELLOW-JACKETS, BLUE-BERRIES AND 

 A BUCK. 



Okanogan, July 11.— Editor Forest and Stream: In 

 Capt. Kendall's admirable article on the characteristics of 

 the flag-tailed deer, he speaks of the inclination of the 

 different members of the deer family to hide. I will 

 mention a few cases that have come under my observa- 

 tion. 



In September a few years ago, some Indians came by 

 my place on their way to the huckleberry patch, and 

 wanted me to go along. Not being busy enough to refuse 

 to take a trip up into the mountains, I went. Of course I 

 understood they wanted me more for what grub I would 

 take than for my company. I had been to the patch the 

 year before; the bushes were plenty, but berries were few, 

 but the Indians claimed that now there was a good 

 crop. 



We started about 2 P. M., and intended to go up my 

 creek some eight miles, then next morning take a demi- 

 john of water and make a dry camp on the huckleberry 

 ridge. I asked the Indians if there was any water down 

 on the north side of the mountain where that big deer 

 trail wtnt. They said no; they had been all over the 

 mountain; had killed deer and gathered huckleberries 

 ever since they had been children, and always come and 

 camped one night, then went back to the creek. I laughed 

 at them. 



Now, an Indian is a good deal like some of us, they 

 don't like to be doubted or made sport of, so to end the 

 argument they said if I was so smart I had better go and 

 find water, at which they all laughed at my expense. 



As we had picketed our horses that night we got an 

 early stsrt. The men started ahead in order to hunt, and 

 told me to come with the women and children. When 

 all were ready I struck out ahead, while the others kept 

 close up. As I went up the ridge I began to put up 

 grouse, which I kept shooting until I thought we had 

 enough. But not so with the Indians. They never get 

 enough grouse. Everything was going nicely; the 

 women were talking and laughing as well as the children. 

 The sun had got up to where it was making it warm for 

 us as well as for our horses. I crossed a little flat and my 

 horse began to kick and stamp. I did not have to be tola 

 that he had stepped into a yellow- jacket's nest. He went 

 out on the run. A woman came next. I hollered to her; 

 but it was too late. Her horse came tearing through the 

 brush after mine. She was laughing and hollering. It 

 was fun for her. A little girl was riding a big brown 

 horse. He had all their camp and cooking outfit on. 

 When he struck the nest there was a snort, a cloud of 

 dust; and he went out of there bucking. Of course the 

 little girl, being the last thing on, was the first thing off. 

 Then came things in a hurry— pots, kettles, pans, lard 

 buckets and everything but the saddle. He threw the 

 little girl near the nest. She was screaming. The women 

 and the rest of the children were screaming with laughter. 

 I jumped from my horse, ran in and picked up the girl, 

 carried her out and put her down. She had been stung a 

 number of times, but was not hurt any by her fall. The 

 horse was caught as soon as they had got through with 

 their fun. A few of the kettles had fallen near the nest. 

 The women wanted me to get them. I told them, no. I 

 had got the girl and they would have to get the things. 

 One woman ran in and grabbed the kettles, but the 



jackets were on the war path and charged. She got stung 

 once, which caused all hands to laugh as well as the little 

 girl. 



Everything in readiness we again started on and 

 reached the ridge without further mishap. We found the 

 bushes loaded down with fine large berries and it would 

 surprise most any white person to see how quick the 

 Indian children got away from their horses and went to 

 gathering and eating berries. I tied my horse and being 

 huckleberry hungry was soon as busily engaged as the 

 rest; with this difference, that I soon filled my bread 

 basket. Then I told the women that I would go 

 down on the side of the mountain and find the 

 water. I followed down the big trail about a half-mile 

 to where it forked. I took up to the right and soon 

 came to a swale about 50yds. wide and 2U0yds. long. 

 On the farther edge was a nice running spring. I scooped 

 out a place for my horse to drink. Then I went back and 

 told the Indians, who were much surprised. The men 

 had come in without any game save a few grouse they 

 had killed with rocks; and as all hands had got pretty 

 well filled with berries for a starter, we went down to 

 where we would camp near the spring. 



I rode up, tied my horse, threw off my saddle and went 

 to the edge of the brush in the swale to peel a piece of 

 bark to make a spout to catch water in a bucket. On 

 looking in the grass and weeds I saw a very large pair of 

 buck horns with the velvet still on. On close examin- 

 ation I could see the head and the outlines of the body. 

 I moved right back to where I had unsaddled, picked up 

 my rifleyand walked back to where I could see the deer's 

 head; and it was like finding the different animals on a 

 puzzle card. But by standing still I soon saw the deer's 

 eye. I raised my rifle and shot it about 2in. above the 

 eye. One of the Indians wanted to know what I had 

 shot at. I told him I did not know, but to go into the 

 brush and see. He went in, and when he saw the deer 

 he called one of the men to help him drag it out. Well , 

 that deer thought it was hid. Lew Wilmot. 



JOHN PHOENIX'S OWL STORY. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



The man who has not read Lieut. Derby's "Phcenixiana" 

 has an enviable pleasure in store. Those of my fellow 

 readers of Forest and Stream who are familiar with his 

 sketches may have observed an instance, shown in Dr. 

 Van Dyke's article, "Old-Fashioned Fishing," in the 

 August Century, of the re-incarnation of an old, old camp 

 story in a new dress. 



Derby was one of the earliest American humorists. 

 How many engineers have laughed over his "Official Re- 

 port of a Military Survey and Reconnoissance of the Route 

 from San Francisco to the Mission of Dolores," published 

 with other sketches by Appleton & Company in 1856. 

 The volume is before me. Let me recall the preface, so 

 characteristic of the author. 



"This book is merely a collection of sundry sketches recently pub- 

 lished in the new spapers and magazines of California. They were re- 

 ceived with approval separately, and it is hoped they may meet with 

 it on their appearance in a collected form. When first published the 

 author supposed he had seen and heard the last of them, but circum- 

 stances entirely beyond his control have led to their republication. 



"The author does not flatter himself that he has made any very 

 great addition to tne literature of the age by this performance, but if 

 his book turns out to be a very bad one he will be consoled by the re- 

 flection that it is by no means the first, and probably will not be the 

 last, of that kind that has been given to the public. Meanwhile, this is, 

 by the ble°sing of Divine Providence and* through the exertions of the 

 Immortal Washington, a free country, and no man can be compelled 

 to read anything against his inclinations. With unbounded respect 

 for everybody, the author remains, John Phcrnix. 11 



"San Fbancisco, July 15, 1855." 



The Forest and Stream has shown that for many ages 

 and in many lands the story has been current in varied 

 forms of the man in the hollow tree who emerged there- 

 from by holding on to the tail of a bear. Among Derby's 

 sketches is one giving either the genesis of Dr. Van Dyke's 

 owl story or possibly the version current in 1855 of an 

 older legend- 

 Here is the story in its two tellings: 



From the Century Magazine, August, 1895. 



"The rain patters persistently on the canvas; the front 

 flaps are closed and tied together; the lingering fire shines 

 through them, and sends vague shadows wavering up and 

 down; the Governor is rolled up in his gray blankets, sound 

 asleep. It is a very long night for the boy. 



"What is that rustling noise outside the tent? Probably 

 some small creature, a squirrel or a rabbit. Rabbit stew 

 would be good for breakfast. But it sounds louder now, 

 almost loud enough to be a fox— there are no wolves left 

 in the Adirondacks, or at least only a very few. That is 

 certainly quite a heavy footstep prowling around the pro- 

 vision box. C juld it be a panther— they step very softly 

 for their size— or a bear perhaps? Sam Dunning told 

 about catching one in a trap juBt below here. (Ah, my 

 boy, you will soon learn that there is no spot in all the 

 forests created by a bountiful providence so poor as to be 

 without its bear story.) Where was the rifle put? There 

 it is at the foot of the tent pole. Wonder if it is loaded. 



" 'Waugh-ho! Waugh-ho o-o oJ' 



"The boy springs from his blankets like a cat. and peeps 

 out between the tent flaps. There sits Enos in the Bhelter 

 of a leaning tree by the fire, with his head thrown back 

 and a bottle poised at his mouth. His lonely eye is cocked 

 up at a great horned owl on the branch above him. Again 

 the sudden voice breaks out: 



" 'Whool wlxoo! ivhoo cooks for you all?' 



"Enos puts the bottle down with a grunt, and creeps off 

 to hia tent. 



" 'De debbil in dat owl,' he mutters. 'How he know 1 

 cook for dis camp? How he know 'bout dat bottle? 

 Ugh!' » 



From Phainixiana, 1856. 



"Many years since, during the height of the Florida 

 war, a company of the 2d Infantry made their camp for 

 the night, after a rainy day's march, by the bank of a 

 muddy stream that sluggishly meandered through a dense 

 and unwholesome everglade. Dennis Mulligan, the red- 

 haired Irish servant of the commanding officer, having 

 seen his master's tent comfortably pitched, lit a small fire 

 beneath a huge palmetto, and having cut several slices of 

 fat pork from the daily ration, proceeded to fry that edible 

 for the nightly repast. 



"In the deep gloom of the evening silence reigned un- 

 broken but by the crackling of Dennis's small fire and 

 the frizzling of the pork ae it crisped and curled in the 

 mighty mess-pan, when suddenly, with a tremendous 

 'whoosh!' the leaves of the palmetto were disturbed, and 



