March 31, 1893.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



296 



STORIES OF THE OZARKS.-I. 



IN the fall of 1871 six hunters, with covered wagons, 

 crossed the B(g Muddy at St. Cbarles, Mo., for a four 

 weeks deer hunt among the Ozarks in southeast Missouri. 

 A fine pack of hounds had been provided for the trip and 

 none of the little essentials so necessary to our comfort 

 had been overlooked. We had driven in a southerly 

 direction for several days, prospecting the route pretty 

 thoroughly for deer, but without the occurrence of any 

 incident worth noting. The weather was fine and the 

 roads dry and game alone was wanting to make us happy. 



In the afternoon of the fifth day we stopped for camp 

 on the banks of a turbulent tributary of Current River in 

 the Ozarks. It was rather early to go into camp, but we 

 had had a hard day's drive and the teams needed rest; 

 besides, there was plenty of wood and water and that 

 settled the question, as we might have driven until sun 

 down and found neither. 



An early supper was eaten with a relish that alarmed 

 our cook. A hard day's tramp over the mountains and 

 across the valleys had given us a ravenous appetite and 

 we hungered for the flesh pots. Indigestion and kindred 

 ills had gone glimmering. The tents were stretched, the 

 beds were made and the cool night wind sighing through 

 the trees gave promise of refreshing sleep. Every breeze 

 was redolent with the odor of pines freighted with health 

 to the invalid and balm to the tired toilers of the brain. 

 Every breath was a tonic. What a glorious sanitarium, 

 without money or price and free from the trammels and 

 caprices of fashion. The horses were quietly munching 

 their hay and oats in the feed boxes. The huge camp- 

 fire sending a column of sparks skyward, threw into 

 relief the canvas-covered wagons and the gaunt trunks of 

 the towering pines, which threw fantastic shadows across 

 the rushing stream into darkness beyond. 



The scouts reported unfavorably and we decided on 

 another day's drive toward the lower waters of the Cur- 

 rent, where we learned that there was plenty of mast 

 and we would be certain to find game. 



The full moon occurred during our second day out and 

 we were anxious to make permanent camp during the 

 dark of the moon, that is when the moon was on the 

 wane and could be seen during the day, for it is re- 

 ligiously believed by deer hunters in this section of the 

 West that when the moon is up the deer are feeding and 

 moving about, and when the moon is down the deer are 

 lying down to rest; but whether this is a superstition or 

 a fact the doctors must decide. 



To relieve the tedium until bedtime some one proposed 

 telling a hunting story and called on the youngest man 

 in camp to lead off. 



"No, boys, I'm tired to-night. You spin your yarns 

 and I'll listen and applaud at the proper places. Experi- 

 ence should lead. The oldest first." 



The stories began, and as their individual skill and 

 prowesB was the subject of the narrations each man 

 told his tale vieing with those who preceded him in 

 startling incidents" and dramatic situations. Some of 

 them drew the long bow to the fullest tension. Most of 

 the recitals were met with a chorus of oh's and ah's and 

 other scurrilous expressions of incredulity that had a 

 chilling effect on the narrators. 



"Come, young man, it's your turn now. Come up to 

 the scratch. No shirking.'' 



"Boys, I can't enter the ring with you and you know 

 it. You carry too many gunB." 



"Oh, go ahead; it's your turn to be chaffed and you 

 must stand up and take your medicine. It is a good hour 

 until bedtime, and you are sure to have a story or two 

 tucked away somewhere. We've told all the yarns we 

 know and some we don't know." 



"Yes, that goes without faying. One would think we 

 were a camp of fishermen instead of hunters." 



"Gentlemen, suppose I tell you a true story, in which 

 I'm only a lay figure, as it were." 

 "All right, anything goes in camp." 

 So the story was told; 



For several years previous and up to the breaking out 

 of Civil War between the States, I was connected with a 

 mercantile house in one of the principal cities of eastern 

 Virginia, and among our patrons were several wealthy 

 planters living in the Shenandoah Valley and Blue Ridge 

 region, who made half-yearly trips to the city to lay in 

 supplies for a large force of plantation hands as well as to 

 provide for the more immediate wants of their respective 

 families. Among the number was a Colonel G., with 

 whom, for some reason, I was evidently a favorite, and 

 he had often invited me to spend the Christmas holidays 

 with him on the plantation, or, if I could get a vacation 

 during the dull season, to make him a visit and he would 

 insure me a welcome; and besides, we would have a deer 

 hunt in the Blue Ridge, Accordingly, one bright morn- 

 ing early in November found me on the train speeding 

 away toward his hospitable roof, with anticipations away 

 up in the nineties. 



The fields were white with the frosty rime of the 

 previous night; the many-hued frosts were shimmering 

 in the morning sun and the thickets and hedge rows, 

 clothed with the tints of departing summer, were spotted 

 here and there with patches of bright green holly laden 

 with a profusion of crimson berries, soon to decorate the 

 ancestral halls of the neighboring planters, where good 

 cheer awaited the approaching Christmas-tide. As the 

 morning advanced we passed scores of whitewashed 

 negro cabins, with the usual complement of pickaninnies 

 and fat old mammies, with the inevitable colored hand- 

 kerchief on their heads and arms akimbo, gazing with 

 open-mouthed wonder as the train rushed by. At the 

 stations where the train stopped to take on or put off pas- 

 sengers were the usual number of idlers and aged and 

 indigent negroes, one of whom was heard to remark: "I 

 doan' see how on de yeth dem kyars kin go 'thout any 

 hosses hitched to em." 



The Colonel met me at the station; my hunting traps 

 were put on board and our colored Jehu mounted the box 

 for a long afternoon drive toward the plantation, where 

 we arrived about sunset, and after removing the dust of 

 travel, I was introduced to the Colonel's family and 

 greeted with that hearty Southern hospitality so char- 

 acteristic of ante-bellum days. Supper was soon an- 

 nounced, and we sat down to one of those oid Virginia 

 meals which were the pride of the mistresses of that 

 period. 



The Colonel's family besides his wife consisted "of two 

 sons, two growu daughters and a niece, who was on a 

 visit to the family. The elder son was a fine, manly f el • 

 low, a few years past his majority, and had graduated at 



college with the honors of his class. After a pleasant 

 chat with the ladies, two of whom were the reigning 

 belles of the season, just returned from the White Sul- 

 phur Springs, the Colonel and I repaired to the wide, cool 

 verandah, so common to Southern mansions, for an after 

 supper pmoke, when he brought a box of fine old Hav- 

 annas, brown and mellow, and with that delightful 

 aroma so much prized by the lovers of the fragrant weed. 

 As the darkness came on the lamps were lighted and the 

 family repaired to the large and well furnished parlor, 

 where the evening was pleasantly spent in conversation 

 with music, whist and dominoes. Every succeeding day 

 during my visit I was indebted to each member of the 

 family for some renewed evidence of their kindness so 

 delicately bestowed that one could not feel he was a tres- 

 passer on their hospitality. 



The night was well advanced when we separated, and 

 with a cheery "good-night" to all we retired to pleasant 

 dreams. Little did we think that in a few brief months 

 the red surges of civil war would sweep with ruthless 

 fury over that quiet valley, leaving death and desolation 

 in their track. The ancient roof tree, the home of so 

 many generations, was to become a heap of ashes blown 

 about oy the winds: and the once happy family that 

 dwelt beneath its shelter is broken up and scattered, some 

 here, some there. Two of their number have passed over 

 to the silent ma jority. A son fell at the head of his regi- 

 ment in the shock and din of battle, and mother and son 

 sleep side by side in the family burial place on the old 

 plantation. 



I look back on that happy week as a rift of sunshine 

 between the clouds; and wherever fate and fortune may 

 lead them their name and memory will remain forever 

 green in the heart of the stranger who sojourned within 

 their gates. 



There is such a flood of recollections crowding upon 

 me, gentlemen, that I almost forgot I started out to tell a 

 hunting story ; and if you will hear with me I'll get there 

 yet. 



The next morning after breakfast, during a chat on 

 the verandah, a few more of the Colonel's cigars went up 

 in smoke. What a lovely place to dream away the golden 

 days of autumn. Here wex*e books, hammocks, reclining 

 chairs and lounges, everything indicating refinement and 

 luxury, inviting one to dreamy indolence and forgetful- 

 ness of the petty cares of everyday life. In the distance 

 the beautiful Shenandoah glistened in the sun or dark- 

 ened in the shade as it wound its way in and out among 

 the hills and stretches of woodland on its banks. In the 

 foreground lay the luxuriant valley checkered with well- 

 tilled fields, and beyond and over all rose the mountains, 

 peak on peak and ridge on ridge, fading away into the 

 distant and limitless blue. 



In the afternoon the Colonel, his son and myself took a 

 ride over the plantation, and made arrangements for a 

 deer hunt the next day. 



Early the followins: morning horses were saddled and 

 brought to the door by a sable son of Ham, with a broad 

 grin on his face in anticipation of the sport to come, and 

 followed by a half score of eager baying hounds strug- 

 gling in their leashes. It was the Colonel's boast that he 

 had the finest pack in the State, that the stock was of the 

 best, and kept so. That this was only a small part of his 

 pack was evident from the howling within the inclosure 

 containing his tennels, and a deal of jealousy was felt 

 by its occupants for not being bidden to the feast. Hast- 

 ily getting into my hunting togs, we mounted the horses 

 and started for a gap in the mountains, where our host 

 said we would be likely to get a shot or two at least, with 

 many chances in our favor of bringing back some veni- 

 son. The ladies waved us good-bye as we galloped 

 away across a well-kept lawn toward a grove of elms in 

 the distance, now yellowing with the tints of autumn. 

 Like all greenhorns, I was just dying to kill my maiden 

 deer, and expected to cover myself all over with glory or 

 gore before the sun went down. 



It was nearly noon when we got to the hunting 

 grounds and the Colonel's son proposed to lunch before 

 putting out the dogs, but the Colonel wouldn't listen to 

 the proposition until he had looked over the ground for 

 sign. He returned after a half hour's absence with his 

 hat in his hand, and it was easy to see from his looks that 

 "he had found sign; and now lunch was indefinitely post- 

 poned. 



My host put me on a stand on a long open ridge and his 

 son was placed half a mile further back while the Col- 

 onel himself went in another direction. 



After waiting nearly half an hour the Colonel blew the 

 horn which was the signal for the darky to turn the dogs 

 loose. His latest admonition to me was to "keep cool; 

 don't get excited, and under no circumstances leave the 

 stand until the horn blows." I did not at that time un- 

 derstand the twinkle in the Colonel's eye as he left me, 

 but I did later on. You see, gentlemen, the hunting in- 

 stinct was strong within me, but it had yet to be devel- 

 oped. 



I confess that my thoughts were about equally divided 

 between the deers we were hunting and the dears we had 

 left at the mansion, for I was then heart-whole and 

 fancy free and had formed no entangling alliances. But 

 a few moments later the baying of the hounds awoke me 

 from my reverie and I found that one deer at a time was 

 all any man ought to attend to. 



What a volume of sound comes from their musical 

 throats. Treble, tenor, bass, all the intervals of the scale 

 blending in one grand chorus. They've struck a hot 

 trail. I believe they're coming this way. I was on the 

 tiptoe of expectation. Nearer and nearer came the 

 hounds; and now my agitation became intense. My heart 

 beat like a trip hammer. With craning neck and eager 

 eyes, I looked t in the direction from which the hounds 

 were coming. I shook a little. I think I had a chill. I 

 leaned against a tree to steady myself for a shot and 

 looked through the sights of my gun, but they looked 

 hazy and indistinct, and the gun wobbled in spite of me. 



"Oh, I know how you felt, old fellow, I've been there." 



"Now you just hold on: who's telling this story, any- 

 way?" 



The hounds swung off to the right, the deer had changed 

 its course and soon the sharp report of the rifle awoke 

 the echoes across an intervening ridge, and a long blast 

 on the horn told that my host had bagged the game and 

 the hunt was over. In a few minutes the Colonel made 

 his appearance, followed by the darky, with the deer 

 slung over his shoulder shot-pouch fashion, and the 

 hounds crowding close to his heel. It was a buck, a 

 five-pointer, a splendid fellow; and I envied my host his 



good fortune. After stopping a few moments for con- 

 gratulations we started back toward our horses. 



"I reckon I'll go dis way, massa, dis deer is gittin' 

 mighty heavy to tote, shuah's yo' born." 



"You'd better come with us, Jack." 



"No, massa, I knows a nigh cut roun' yon ledge and 

 I'll git to de hosses foh you does." 



With a blast on the horn, calling the dogs to follow, 

 we went one way and Jack went another. We had gone 

 but a few hundred yards when we heard a lively scram- 

 bling among the brush and gravel on the side of a steep 

 ridge off to the left, and looking in that direction we saw 

 the darky and deer rolling one over the other like the 

 Bpokes of a cart wheel, first the deer on top, then the 

 darky on top, deer and darky, darky and deer, until they 

 go so mixed up we couldn't tell one from the other; but 

 finally they brought up against a clump of bushes some 

 thirty yards below, where Jack had stumbled from the 

 path. 



We hurriedly retraced our steps and went to his assist- 

 ance. He had released himself from the deer and stood 

 scratching his woolly pate and muttering to himself: 

 "Foh de Lawd, if I didn't think dat ar deah had come to 

 life agin an' was des kickin' de very livah out o' me, 'deed 

 I did. How'b I gwine ter git back dar, dat's w'at I'd Iak 

 ter know, dat's wat bodders me now. 1's a mighty fool 

 niggah, dat's w'at massa alius said, an' now I knows hit 

 to be er fac." 



This soliloquy broke us all up; and if laughter promotes 

 digestion, we were safe from dyspepsia for weeks to come. 



"Yaas, heap o' fun foh you white folks up dar, I 'spec. 

 Come mighty nigh bein' a dead niggah down heah, did 

 for a fac." 



"Are you hurt, Jack?" 



"I dunno, massa, I 'spec I's hurt some, but I doan' know 

 'dzactly whah 'bouts. If I'd bin a year ob co'n, dar'cl bin 

 nuffin' lef ob me but de cob. I feel mighty like cussin', 

 'deed I does." 



After a little delay we got him back in the path, and 

 found, he was but little the worse for the accident, if we 

 except a gaping rent in his unmentionables. The path 

 Jack had taken ran along the base of an overhanging 

 ledge of rocks, and was barely wide enough for a careful 

 footman to pass in safety, while below it was a steep 

 declivity covered with loose rock, debris and brush, ending 

 in a deep ravine at the bottom. In toting the deer he did 

 not consider his additional breadth of beam, and the 

 horns of the buck striking against the face of the ledge 

 toppled him over, with the result that he went through 

 some ground and lofty tumbling .that were the finest 

 acrobatic feats of his life. 



After replacing the deer on his shoulders he concluded 

 to follow his master's advice and found there was truth 

 in the saying that "the longest way around is the surest 

 way home." On reaching the horses, our sharpened ap- 

 petites reminded us of lunch; and on the banks of a 

 spring that came bubbling up from beneath the rocks we 

 disposed of the creature comforts amply provided by the 

 good ladies at the mansion. While the dogs were quar- 

 reling over the remnants of the lunch, the buck was tied 

 on one of the horses behind the darky and we started 

 back on the route over which we had come in the morn- 

 ing, until we came in sight of the plantation. 



"That's a fine gun you have there," remarked the 

 Colonel. "Yes," I replied, "the maker staked his reputa- 

 tion on it for fine workmanship and accuracy of shooting. 

 I had it made to order but have never fired it." 



The Colonel at once bantered me to shoot at a target 

 with him for a small wager to be paid the next time we 

 met in the city. No sooner said than we dismounted and 

 hitched our horses, sending the darky on to the planta- 

 tion with orders to Aunt Sally, the cook, to have some 

 venison steak for breakfast the next morning. 



The sun was slowly sinking behind the mountains and 

 the lengthening shadows were creeping over the valleys 

 laden with the dewy coolness of approaching night. 

 The eagle was soaring to its eyrie in the cliffs, the birds 

 were seeking the shelter of the coverts and the day was 

 drawing to a close veiled in the haze of Indian summer 

 that hung like a mist over valley and forest and stream. 



The Colonel was arranging the target. If I could clip 

 his wings now, I fancied, a pair of bright eyes at the 

 mansion would grow brighter as they looked into mine. 

 Now was the time to immortalize myself and make a 

 shot that would get into print and roll on down the age 

 like Tell's shot at the apple on the head of his smiling 

 son. Now, good rifle, do your duty and make yourself 

 famous and me a name to be envied among men. Ha! 

 by the Fates, what's that with coat of golden mail swing- 

 ing idly from the top of yonder thistle? A bumble bee, as 

 I live. Now, nerves, be|[firm as steel, and good trigger 

 answer to the touch. 



The muzzle of the gun came up slowly from the ground 

 (I always shoot on a rising sight) and when the align- 

 ment was perfect, crack! went the rifle, and down went 

 the bee. I ran up to it and found I had shot it right in 

 the eye. 



"Oh, that's no trick for a man who had the buck ager 

 so bad he couldn't hit a forty-acre field if he stood in 

 the middle of it. I'm some on bumble bees myself." 



"Did you ever hear ef Ananias?" 



"Did you load that bee on your horse and have it 

 cooked for breakfast?" 



"One question at a time, gentlemen." 



"Better salt that down or it will spoil on your hands." 



"I've often heard of the Prince of liars, but I never 

 camped with him before. Why didn't you tell that story 

 at first?" 



"Well, boys, I'm a little too old for that. I've camped 

 out a heap in the last few years, and I've always noticed 

 that the man stands no show who tells the first lie in a 

 crowd like this." 



"Then you didn't go deer hunting in the Blue Ridge 

 nor have the buck ager?" 



"And you didn't chat with those fine ladies, nor smoke 

 the colonel's cigarp? " 



' And the darky and deer didn't roll down the moun- 

 tain together? " 



"Boys, it's all as true as the book, except the bumble bee 

 business, and I threw that in simply to trump your tricks." 



"Yonder comes one of the natives, perhaps he can give 

 us a pointer on game." Cameron. 



[TO BE CONTINUED.] 



A Book About Indians.— The Fobest and Stream will msil 

 free oa application a descriptive circular of Mr. GrinneU's bock, 

 "Pawnee Hero Storiea and Folk-tales." saving a, table of contex ts 

 and specimen Urnsfcratlons frona tha volume.— A dp. 



