248 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 31, 1895. 



that looked like Mr. Crab. Finally the crab tame into 

 contact with the snake's tail, when it raised its tail and 

 sprung its rattle. Then the crab reached out one of its long 

 arms and grabbed the snake by the tail. The snake then 

 made a pass with its mouth at the crab, when the crab 

 grabbed the snake around the neck with its other claw. 

 The crab held the head with one claw and the tail with 

 the other. The snake made some awful flounces, but the 

 crab never loosened its hold until the owner of the snake 

 took a club and killed the crab to save the snake's life, 

 but not until the snake lost two of its rattles. 



I have now come to the conclusion that a crab can 

 whip any living thing of its size and weight that can be 

 found on the land or in the water. It certainly is very 

 astonishing where they get the power that they have in 

 their claws. I once knew a large crab to bite a man's 

 finger off. Capt. E. B. Gallup. 



GARS AND TURTLES. 



"If you want to show a man that he is wrong, do right." — Thorkau. 



The question asked at me (and others) by our es- 

 teemed fellow-sportsman, Horace Kephart, seems at the 

 outset a rather hard one, but "honor bright," as he says, 

 I will do my best to answer it, as all true men at times 

 must mentally do, or remain false to the teachings of their 

 better selves. 



It goes without saying that there is no wrong in the tak- 

 ing of life for legitimate purposes. (Some fellow, steeped 

 perhaps in the philosophy of the Brahmins, rises to 

 protest against this assumption, and while his lips are 

 parting for the exordium you hear from the region of his 

 cerebellum the sound of the whack that crushed a hap- 

 less mosquito.) 



Taking up the question where Horace dropped it in its 

 special relation to gars and turtles, I perhaps am 

 not in position to pronounce judgment, inasmuch 

 as I have no quarrel with these creatures; yet 

 am aware that there may be gocd foundation 

 for his plaint. In Central Lake I should shoot 

 neither gar nor turtle, for here they do no harm — in fact, 

 are seldom seen; but if, on the contrary, the gars persisted 

 in snipping off my minnows and the turtles in seizing my 

 frogs, I should regard them as a nuisance to be abated by 

 any legitimate means. 



The English sparrow is such, and ought to be killed ; and 

 if done with a rifle, so that he be dead killed, where is the 

 harm in getting a little sport out of the operation? It 

 seems to me not less creditable than any system of whole- 

 sale poisoning. 



Hence I think that if Kephart was engaged in a sport 

 which promised aid toward the abatement of an estab- 

 lished nuisance, I should let him shoot. If, on the con- 

 trary, he was taking life for fun — killing where it availed 

 not — it would surely seem that he might have been 

 engaged in better business. 



For the rest I can assure him that the otter preys upon 

 the gar, and if I am not mistaken the bones of the turtle 

 have been found in or near the nests of carnivorous birds. 



I like Horace, especially as he believes in fairies, and 

 think he and I would get on well together in camp. 

 I often meet fairies in my travels — saw some the other 

 evening— watched their pranks and listened to them with 

 much pleasure. The uninitiated might have mistaken 

 them for dragon-flies and pine squirrels. Kelpie. 



Hawk and Dove. 



Returning home the other night I saw a medium sized 

 specimen of the hawk family make an unsuccessful effort 

 to capture a pigeon. 



A flock of these marvelously quick-winged birds, favored 

 tenants of a neighboring farm barn, were circling over 

 a wheat stubble preparing to alight. High aloft, the 

 hawk gracefully, and well nigh motionless, rode the haze 

 crested billows of air, with eye alert and aggressive mien, 

 and as the critical moment seemed to have arrived he 

 suddenly shot downward. I involuntarily held my breath 

 expecting to see one of the slate and white birds succumb 

 to the terrific onslaught. 



But the birds, watchful ever, note the downward flight 

 of the common enemy, and with lightning-like dives into 

 space the members of the little group evaded the hawk, 

 seemingly by a hair's breadth. Then ensued a race for 

 life. Eising, falling, twisting, writhing, pursued and 

 pursuer "rough rode" the field to the music of fiercely 

 beating pinions. Then the hawk, baffled and beaten at 

 every turn of the heart-breaking attack, sullenly floated 

 high into mid air and after hovering over the scene of his 

 fruitless adventure for a moment sailed swiftly away, like 

 some ill-used child of fortune. M. Chill. 



Ithaca, N. Y. 



A Largo Gavial. 



Feed Sauter, the taxidermist, recently received for 

 mounting the skin of a large gavial. Judging from the 

 great development of the nasal sacks at the tip of the 

 snout it is evidently an old male. The teeth are still in 

 good condition, one of the end tusks only being broken 

 but the toes in nearly every instance are broken or 

 deformed. It is a hideous looking creature and one of 

 unusual size, measuring 16ft. despite the fact that it has 

 lost a piece of its tail, variously estimated at from six 

 inches to a foot in length. 



The gavial is distinguished from other crocodiles chiefly 

 by the narrowness of its snout. 



In this specimen the snout is only four inches in width 

 though the mouth behind could easily take in a man's 

 head. The body is well rounded out and of ample capac- 

 ity, and the legs are longer than one who has preconceived 

 ideas on crocodiles would expect, and provided with 

 scaly appendages on the rear resembling flippers. 



The peculiar swelling at the end of the snout is said to 

 be a distinctive feature of the males of this species and to 

 be of benefit in enabling them to remain below the surface 

 for long periods. B 



Small Birds and Insects. 



Petty, Tex., Sept. 3. — I have noted with much interest 

 the articles in recent issues in regard to the scarcity of 

 "small birds" and the abundance of insect life in the 

 North, and particularly the articles by Von W. and B. C. 

 M. This reminds me of the scarcity of insects and the 

 plenty of small birds in our village. 



It is a common thing in this country, when sitting by a 

 amp at night, to be tormented with bugs, gnats and 



other small insects to such an extent that one can hardly 

 refrain from words npt adapted to the presence of the 

 ladies; but this year I have noticed a marked decrease of 

 such pests, and I agree with B. C. M. and Von W. that it is 

 attributable to the large number of small birds. I have 

 never seen so many small birds or so roany varieties as 

 this year, and not being an ornithologist I can not give 

 their names or the species to which they belong, but it is 

 very interesting to see so much bird life. 



A short time ago I noticed a small bunch of this year's 

 brood of English sparrows, and on investigation I located 

 a nest under the eave of a bam and another in the cor- 

 nice of one of the storehouses. I am convinced that 

 they have come to stay with us. The first one I saw here 

 was on Feb. 13, 1894, when I noticed a couple on an in- 

 specting tour around our building. They disappeared 

 however in a few days, and I did not see any more of 

 them until about the same time this year, when the same 

 pair (or another pair just like them), came back and this 

 year have raised a couple of broods, as I see now there are 

 ten in all. Provo. 



'mt[& Jp## iwd %nn. 



A CAMP ON ROARING RIVER. 



"I cannot tell how the truth may be; 

 I say the tale as 'twas said to me." 

 Preface. 



What a consolation it is to many of us fellows that the 

 readers of old Forest and Stream are, as a rule, patient 

 and forbearing. 



How nice it is to be patiently endured when we are stupid 

 and uninteresting; how gratifying that most of our yarns 

 go without salt, and how encouraging the fact that the 

 bump of faith is well developed on the cranium of the true 

 sportsman. Faith is said to be the assent of the mind to 

 the truth of what is declared by another, resting on his 

 authority and veracity, without other evidence. Faith is a 

 higher faculty than reason, and the true sportsman is 

 blessed with that faculty to a remarkable degree, He 

 listens attentively and never doubts, only requiring a like 

 considerate and respectful treatment when he tells a yarn 

 himself. There is a real pleasure in listening to the rankest 

 kind of stuff when even bare possibility of truth flavors it. 

 And you know that most of the old hands at the business 

 really believe their own yarns, which adds an earnestness 

 and candor that is pleasing. Surprised so often that others 

 believe them they cease to be surprised themselves and: 



"Their own dreams at length dt eeive 'em, 

 And oft repeating, they believe 'em." 



Old as I am at the business I dearly love to sit down and 

 listen to these old timers even when I know that — well, 

 being something of a prevaricator myself, I can, probably, 

 the better appreciate genius. 



There's Billy Newman's story of the little jackass loaded 

 with pans and provender that, in a flight of righteous indig- 

 nation, chased the cougar all over the Blue Mountains. I 

 believe it. And that other one of how they lived for weeks 

 on rattlesnakes and lizards when lost down in Death 

 Valley. I believe that one too. At least I would not wish to 

 be the first to express a doubt in Billy's presence. 



Then there's my friend O. O, Smith's story of how he got 

 the cougar skin down on the Filchuk. My faith still sup- 

 ports me. That story was undoubtedly true, although faith 

 doesn't seem to sustain some of the boys in their reflections. 

 But I'll not particularize further. 1 implicitly believe all 

 their stories, and when some blunt, cold- blood ed, practical 

 cuss, without the spirit of the true sportsman in his heart, 

 pretends to prick a bubble and let all the good things out 1 

 reel indignant and take it as a personal insult. But if per- 

 chance he succeeds— then I sigh and feei: 



"Oh, that a dream so sweet, so long enjoyed, 

 Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed." 



Yes, I do feel a sort of personal responsibility resting upon 

 me to sustain, all the original allegations. Demurs are all 

 overruled and motions to strike out don't go in these mat- 

 ters. See? 



To avoid misapprehensions let it be understood that there's 

 nothing original herein— not even the poetical effusions. 

 Doubtless the readers of Forest and Stream need not be ad- 

 monished of that fact, and the writer might never be accused 

 of any such flagrant breach of established custom as origin- 

 ality; but he desires to forestall criticism, maintain his dig- 

 nity, and keep himself square with his few friends. While 

 the conclusions herein arrived at and the statements herein 

 made may not be exact in the smaller details the writer hag 

 the satisfaction of feeling that he has been candid and im- 

 partial, and has done moderate justice to all parties con- 

 cerned. The true historian "says nothing but saws wood" 

 until prepared to submit his conclusions to the custody of 

 cold type. By an exact and scrupulous diligence and ob- 

 servation, listening to the discussions of the participants 

 en masse, and then to the ex parte statements of the indi- 

 vidual members (not always easily harmonized), he gathers 

 his material and records his conclusions. Patience and per- 

 severance conquer and truth prevails. 



X. 



" Wonst the red Injuns thar took their delights, 



Fisht, fit and bled ; 

 Now the inhabitants is mostly whites, 

 With nary red." 



*'A camp on Roaring River!" Isn't that suggestive? 

 If you knew the crowd as well as I do you'd think so. 

 J. Roberts Mead, Fred T. Swift, Dr. Fdwin P. Bradbury, 

 Sidney Smyth, One Lung and three or four pack mules 

 constituted the personnel of this remarkable outfit that 

 went away to the wilds of Roaring River. 



Mead and Swift are young business men of Portland 

 with plenty of money and some experience, each striving 

 in a friendly sort of way to secure the reputation of being 

 the recognized leader in sports afield in the Northwest. 

 They dress like cowboys, very particular as to the 

 conventional broad-brimmed white hat, are fine fisher- 

 men and fair shots, and splendid fellows in camp in gen- 

 eral. With a little more experience they will be all 

 right, you bet. The Doctor is a retired army surgeon, 

 witty, bright, something of a philosopher and one of the 

 most genial, whole-souled fellows you ever met. Smyth 

 is a hardy young Scotchman, a surveyor by profession, a 

 lighthouse builder by occupation, a thorough mountaineer 

 and not at all disposed to put up with any nonsense. 

 Not that he is crabbed or mean, but he is very practical. 

 Both the Doctor and Smyth are fine shots with the rifle 

 and think they are fishermen from away back. One 

 Lung was the Chinese cook of the outfit, and a very 

 important factor thereof, but mortally afraid of "Injun." 



Roaring River is a tributary of the Clackamas, but so 

 far back in the Cascade Range that only a very few of 



the more hardy and enterprising sportsmen have ever 

 ventured in. It is said to be a wonderful game and fish 

 country, but it is a good two days' trip to reach it from 

 Portland, and fifteen or twenty miles of it must be made 

 on foot with packs. So naturally it is not a country much 

 Bought by the "genteel" class of sportsmen. I for one 

 find more enjoyment in listening to the accounts of others 

 than in making the trip myself. It is so much nicer to 

 pack over a ten or twenty mile stretch of rough moun- 

 tain country in one's mind than on foot. An easy chair 

 and a fresh cigar relieves one of much of the monotony 

 and perspiration incident to such stretches. 



The boys left Portland Friday morning, Aug. 9, and ar- 

 rived at their destination on Roaring River late the follow- 

 ing Sunday afternoon. 



They went well equipped with all the modern imple- 

 ments and appliances for the destruction of game and fish. 

 The Doctor and Smyth stuck to their light .38-55 Marlins 

 and jack-knives, but Mead and Swift and One Lung knew 

 a thing or two and knowingly put their index fingers 

 alongside their noses and winked one eye when the other 

 fellows' backs were turned. They knew better than to go 

 into the land of the silver-tip, cinnamon and mealy-faced 

 bear, cougar, black wolf, lynx, mountain devil and wild 

 cat with any such boy outfit. I rise to explain, however, 

 that One Lung's anxiety was all about the dreaded "In- 

 jun." Mead's and Swift's armory has been the envy of all 

 us fellows' for years, but they discarded the whole business, 

 and I am credibly informed that they each secured 121b. 

 .50-110-300 repeating Winchesters, a 12in. bowie knife, 

 two .44 Colt's and some 401bs. of suitable ammunition, all 

 of which they heroically, uncomplainingly carried over 

 the mountains and that hot August trail to the far-away 

 wilds of Roaring River. 



A Chinaman always buys the biggest pair of boots in 

 the case, for he gets more for his money. And, too, they 

 always buy the biggest guns and pistols, for they look 

 more terrible and give him a more formidable appear- 

 ance, and the Chinaman is a great bluffer. I am told 

 that One Lung took but one weapon (and that as a pro- 

 tection against "Injun"), a Nordenfelt repeater, carrying 

 a lib. solid, conical steel ball, brass jacketed, with 2oz. of 

 powder and with a capacity of 300 to the minute. Prob- 

 ably most of .the readers of Forest and Stream are not 

 aware that a Chinaman mortally fears "Injuns." It's a 

 fact. And an Indian regards a Chinaman with much the 

 same sentiment that the devil regards holy water. Possi- 

 bly the characteristic cussedness of both is better under- 

 stood by each than by us. At any rate an Indian has no 

 earthly use for a Chinaman except to scalp him, and a 

 Chinaman's nightmares are all about "Injuns." People 

 not familiar with the Chinese and Indians of this west 

 coast can have no conception of the intense hatred enter- 

 tained by the Indian for the Chinese, nor of the mortal 

 dread the Chinaman has for the Indian. They are much 

 alike in many respects, and it is my belief that the North 

 American Indian is a lineal descendant from hardy, ven- 

 turesome Chinese tbat some time crossed the narrow 

 Behring Strait. Observe a gang of Chinamen on the 

 street, they always walk single file "alle same Injun." 

 Then, too, their features and countenances are very simi- 

 lar and all are cold-blooded and stolid as frogs. 



I can pick out a dozen Chinamen right herein Portland, 

 cut off their queues, dress them with breech-clouts, set 

 them down among the Diggers or Apaches, and I'll defy 

 you to tell which from 'tother. But don't forget that a. 

 Chinaman is mortally afraid of "Injuns." 



II. 



"Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this." 



Aside from the armament and munitions of war referred 

 to the commissary department had been supplied with 

 all the necessaries and as maDy of the luxuries as the 

 outfit could possibly carry. There was bacon, beans, 

 coffee, tea and rice for One Lung; butter, sugar, con- 

 densed milk, lemons, flavoring extracts, ham, potatoes, 

 sardines, pigs' feet, candy, figs, apples, dried prunes and 

 peaches, wines, liquors and cigars, in such quantities that 

 poor One Lung, overloaded, fell by the wayside and had 

 a severe spell of vomiting (whether from the load or his- 

 everlasting fear of Indians is not known), and the boys 

 were on the point of leaving him to his fate. But he- 

 pleaded so pathetically in his simple way not to be left to* 

 undergo torture at the hands of the redskins that one- 

 of the boys relieved him of his Nordenfelt while another 

 shouldered part of his remaining burden and he success- 

 fully made the trip. How glad they all were to reach 

 their destination ! And how hungry they all were. They 

 get about preparing supper at once when lo! they discov- 

 ered that there wasn't a pound of flour in the whole 

 outfit. Not a loaf of bread; not a cracker; not even a 

 dog biscuit. 



Mead thought it was Swift's fault, Swift thought it was 

 Mead's, while Smyth expressed his opinion of both in 

 terms more forcible than elegant. 



Nothing had been expected of the Doctor, for he was an 

 invited guest, but he tried his best in tbat genial, pleasant 

 way of his, to mollify the feeling that had been engen- 

 dered by the sad occurrence and finally, as a last resort, 

 suggested that all hands compromise and lay it on the 

 Chinaman; which suggestion of course met with general 

 approval. 



The Doctor is quite a philosopher in his way. Then a 

 council of war was held and One Lung was detailed to go 

 and get the flour. But One Lung protested and spoke 

 feelingly about "Injuns" and bears. Then it occurred to 

 the crowd that if One Lung went he might never return. 



So they drew cuts. It fell upon Swift, but he "didn't 

 know the road." 



I don't blame him. Flour they must have and so Smyth 

 with a few characteristic remarks cut the whole business 

 short by striking out at once with a pack mule for the 

 nearest settlement. For two days the other boys lived on 

 canned goods and salt meat straight. Of course there 

 were plenty of berries, but you know berries fill about the 

 same place in human diet that hay does in a horse's. They 

 are wonderfully fillin' but they don't stick to the ribs like 

 flour. Hunting and fishing were out of the question with 

 the boys during Smyth's absence, for he alone had any 

 knowledge of the country. A little rest after their hard 

 tramp was quite welcome, and besides One Lung was 

 afraid to be left in camp alone for fear the Indians might 

 sneak in upon him before he could get his Nordenfelt in 

 operation. The solicitude and concern manifested by the 

 boys in One Lung's behalf might be almost pathetic were 

 it not that they cared more for their own comfort than 

 they did for his welfare. 



