April 18, 1896. J 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
811 
barn and took off and wrung out his clothes, affording an 
interesting spectacle to three of the boys who followed 
and watched him through the half open door till he dis- 
posed of them by throwing one of his boots at them. 
When he returned to the house, shivering, but no 
longer dribbling a trail by which he could be traced, he 
found his late audience of the barn giggling in safe re- 
treat behind the stove, the patient in bed and his mother 
administering doses of hot catnip tea, with the comfort- 
ing assurance that "he'd ketch it when his pa got hum." 
coax, bub t way they couldn't make me know nothin', 
an' bimeby they cleared aout, an' you'd better b'lieve I 
wa'n't sorry; no, sir, not one mite. An' I tell you what, 
Mr. Lovel, I don't want no more o' my Southern relations 
tu come a-visitin' on me; no, sir! They're tew interestin' 
tu white folks! Nancy an' the young un is all the darkies 
I want tu bother my brains with." 
"You hain't heared nothin' but what he got away all 
right?" Sam asked. 
"Mr. Bartlett thinks he did, sure, an' he says that nig- 
THE SHORE OP YELLOWSTONE LAKE. 
Illustrating Mr. Francke'a "Two Ocean Pass." 
"I don't care," poor Joby whimpered under the blan- 
kets; "I wa'n't a mite tu blame. I got holt of a ol' 
roncher an' he yanked me in, so naow. I wish I'd got 
him. He was a ol' roncher." And he began to cry 
piteously over the loss of the fish and the impending 
chastisement. 
"There, there, bub, don't ye take on," said Sam, shiver- 
ing over the stove. "If your fish hain't le' go when I git 
back there, I'll haul him aout and lay him on the bank 
for ye, an' your pa won't tech ye, I know. It's bad 
'nough tu git draounded 'thaout bein' licked for it. Boo ! 
it's consid'able cool bathin' this time o' year!" 
"Why, you be cold, hain't ye?" the woman said. "I 
was so took up wi' Joby I never thought. Won't ye hev 
ye some sperits? We hain't a drop in the haouse, but 
won't ye hev some? The's some camfire; that 'ould 
kinder warm ye. It's warmin'." 
Sain declined the spirits that were not and the cam- 
phor that was. 
"You needn't think I hain't obleeged if I hain't said 
so," the woman said, looking more gratitude than her 
words expressed, as she followed him to the door. "If 
his brother was here I'd tell your fortin' an' not charge 
ye nothin'. His brother gives me the influence. I hev 
secont sight." 
"You'd ort tu hev looked fur enough ahead tu kep' your 
boy from tumblin' int' the crik," Sam said as he left her, 
and she called after him : 
"Wal, I foreseen he was a-goin' tu git draounded, an' 
I've said so all summer." 
Sam warmed himself with a run to the landing, where 
he had the luck to find the dugout stranded on that side. 
He picked up the boy's pole with a big pickerel fast to tbe 
line, and leaving it conspicuously displayed on the bank 
crossed the stream. When he had rescued the child he 
noticed the scow and seine were gone, and concluded that 
the owner was seeking for better luck in fishing than in 
duck hunting. He picked up his things, and was socn 
afloat in his own canoe, 
As silently as the outeped current the canoe glided 
down stream, and Sam with eyes constantly alert scanned 
banks and water without discovering anything worthy of 
note till, upon rounding a bend, he found himself close 
beside a man kneeling by a hollow log on the verge of the 
bane. It was the negro Jim, who. as the bow of the 
canoe slid noiselessly into his field of vision, turned a star- 
tled face toward Sam. 
' Good Lord, Mr, Lovel, haow you did scare me!" he 
exclaimed with emphatic jerks of his head. "You 'pear 
tu be alius a-scarin' of me ! My Lord, haow you did scare 
me that night." He laughed as if at the recollection of 
an excellent joke, then became suddenly serious. "But 
't wa'n't nothin' to what come arter ! No, sir!" He dropped 
his voice to a lower but no less emphatic tone and came 
nearer Sam, who held the canoe by an overhanging 
bough. " 'Baout half an haour arter I come back four 
fellers come a-r'arin' int' the ol' shanty, lookin' arter Bob. 
Yes, sir! 'Where's that nigger you be'n hidin'? Where's 
that niggei?' 'No niggers here but what belongs here,' 
says I, 'me an' Nancy an' the young un, an' them's as 
many as I can 'tend tu,' But no, I was all sorts of a lyin' 
nigger, an' they knowed I'd got him hid, an' through 
the haouse they went, up stairs an' daown, an' under the 
bed an' int' the butt'ry; but nary Bob nowheres, an' 
mighty good for some o' their healths 'at the' wa'n't naow, 
I teU you, One spell, they'd cuss an' 'nuther spell they'd 
ger hunter 's gin it up an' cleared aout. I guess Bob's 
shakin' his heels in Canerdy by this time, don't you, Mr. 
Lovel?" 
"I hope so," said Sam, and then with professional in- 
terest in the other's evident employment, "Hain't it mid- 
dlin' airly for trappin' mink?" 
"I reckon they'll du me more good naow 'n they will if 
somebody else gits 'em by'mbye," Jim said, with repeated 
and decided jerks of the head, 
"Wal, they hain't my mink," said Sam, loosing his hold 
of the branch and letting the canoe drift away. "Ta' 
care of your relations when they happen along." 
"Yes, sir, Mr. Lovel, I will sartain, but I don't want tu 
see none of 'em, no, sir," and chuckling and wagging his 
head he resumed the setting of the trap as Sam drove the 
canoe on its course. 
TWO OCEAN PASS. 
[Concluded from page S9L] 
Thursday, Sept. 14, — Phillips and I went out again after 
sheep, hunting on the north side of the cafion. We saw 
fresh traces twice, but no game. A very high wind was 
blowing, increasing in strength toward the middle of the 
day to such an extent that my guide deemed it unsafe for 
us to remain on the higher ground, where, when trying 
to walk in an upright position, we were in danger of 
being blown over the precipices. Still, there is a peculiar 
fascination for me in hunting over the steep, rugged 
cliffs, and I much prefer it to hunting in thick, green 
timber. 
I have come to the conclusion by this time that sheep 
are very scarce in the neighborhood of our camp, and that 
the best way to get any would be to make a side camp for 
a couple of days near timber line, and from there try and 
get above their feeding ground early in the morning. 
P. and Woody this day crossed the divide to the Grey- 
bull country, where P. killed a big bull of thirteen points 
at a distance of 600yds. He fired six shots and hit him 
three times; but they saw no sheep. 
Friday, Sept, 15. — This day 0. and Billy hunted on East 
Mountain and saw three bands of elk. C. killed a big 
bull elk of twelve points and wounded another smaller 
one, which he unfortunately lost. We others had stayed 
in camp to give C. a chance, as he had not yet killed a big 
bull, but in the afternoon P, , Phillips and I went to see if 
no bear had yet paid a visit to the carcass of P.'s fourteen- 
pointer. 
The trail — so called by courtesy — led through about the 
very worst piece of "down timber" that I have seen in 
my seven years' experience in Western mountain hunt- 
ing, and how P. and Woody got safely through it that 
nis<ht when P. killed that elk will always be a mystery to 
me. 
No bear bad visited the carcass yet and it looks as if we 
would have to return home without the skin of one of 
these animals. 
On our way back to camp we saw a band of elk in the 
distance — at least thirty in number, with one big bull 
among them who was continually whistling. The 
moment they got over the divide and out of sight we 
spurred our horses after them. Said P. : "F., you go and 
shoot him (meaning the bull) if he is bigger than your big 
one; if not, let him go." So when near the place where 
the whole band had crossed the ridge I jumped off my 
horse and grasping my rifle said to Phillips: "Here, Jack, 
hold my horse," and took after the elk on foot. I could 
not see them, because they were in the green timber 
below me, but I could hear the bull "whistle" once or 
twice and tried to locate him by the sound. Before I 
could get near him, however, I heard him whistle again, 
this time much further away, and the band was traveling 
so fast that I was unable to keep up with them. Still, I 
followed their tracks for quite a distance until the lateness 
of the hour compelled me to give up. I now retraced my 
steps to a place half way down the mountain, on the top 
of which I had left P. and Phillips with my horse, and 
taking out my glasses saw P. put his to his eyes and look, 
as I thought, straight at me. I therefore waved 
my hat, motioning them to come on, and saw them 
start, as I thought, in my direction. So sitting 
do wd, I waited for them to come, but I waited 
and waited, and neither Phillips nor P. put in an appear- 
ance. It then dawned on me that they had either not 
seen my signal at all or had misunderstood it. I hated 
to have to walk back to camp with my own horse so near 
and still so far, but I disliked worse to have to climb a 
couple of thousand feet back to the top of the mountain, 
where I was not all sure about Btill finding Phillips. So I 
set out on my weary tramp of some eight miles, the set- 
ting sun bidding me to hurry. It was dark when I reachd 
the camp, and then Phillips came in, leading my horse. 
"Where is P.?" was the first question that I asked him. 
He said P. had left him on the mountain, telling him to 
Li 
ON THE MARCH. 
Illustrating Mr. Francke'a "Two Ocean Pass. 
A smart breeze ruffled the green water of the bay with 
waves that flashed like fire in the broad glade of the low 
sun and flecked the far blue of the lake with leaping 
whitecaps as the canoe slid over the long undulations of 
the shallows toward her port. 
A flock of golden eyes took flight before her, their 
wing-beats ringing like the quick clangor of tiny bells, 
and flocks cf teal and dusky ducks whistled past, coming 
in early on the favoring breeze from their day's outing on 
the lake. One by one a company of herons forsook the 
shallows beneath the cliffs and sagged on slow vans 
toward the woods of Little Otter, and high above all an 
eagle made stately progress through his aerial realm. 
The wash of waves was left behind when the canoe 
entered the creek and presently it slipped in at the land- 
ing, where Sam found his friends already returned and 
^wai^ing his coming. 
Rowland E. Robikson. 
be sure and wait until I came back, but that after a while, 
he (Phillips) had seen me in the valley walking back tq 
camp and so had followed. While Phillips went bacl$ 
trying to find P. we had the only bear excitement during 
the whole trip. Just as we were getting ready to sit down 
to supper old Sly, Woody's bear dog, began to growl furi- 
ously. "Look out, old Eph is around," said Billy, who 
knew the dog well. Hastily slipping a couple of car- 
tridges into my rifle, and backed up by O. and his Win- 
chester, I went to where Sly w &s growling now more 
furiously than ever. It was so dark that even the horsey 
loomed up but indistinctly, but after staying out there a 
while and almost straining my eyes out of their sockets, 
old Sly quieted down and we returned to the fire. We 
certainly found no tracks the next morning and never 
found out what had aroused old Sly's ire. 
Directly afterward Phillips came in with P., he having 
