Aug. 11, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
118 
f ul of the gale, which tosses their manes and tails in wild 
confusion^ and lashes the white wagon cover in vain en- 
deavor to reach us. 
After an hour of this the cloud drifts by, the sun conies 
out and we start on for the ranch, slipping, sliding along, 
past Mt. Zahn, where I killed a deer last week, past the 
spring where the antelopeB drink, past Hat Butte, with 
its sugar loaf top, across the Dry Cottonwood, now quite a 
stream; and climb the slope to the ranch, where we can 
camp in more comfortable shape than we can on the trail 
this kind of a night. El Cohancho. 
twelve months consecutively, and then it happened that 
the summer revivals of both denominations concurred — 
whether or not for his especial benefit I am unable to 
determine. One perplexing phase of his frequent repent- 
ings and conversions, however, that gives much concern 
to disputants upon doctrinal points, is his inordinate belief 
in the efficacy of water — with every change of front he 
insists upon renewing the ordinance of baptism, with the 
result that the number of sprinklings and immersions he 
has enjoyed, if administered to individuals, would consti- 
tute a respectable congregation. 
needn't rar so," he continued. "Foller me an' I'll tek yer 
ter ther river, over thar, erbout er hundred yards." 
Another howl from tne crowd, of delight this time, as 
each of us could find the way from the river with ease. 
So great was our relief when at length we looked 
upon the mighty Tennessee, that even the dismal Jones 
recovered his "deviltry," if not his good humor. 
"I'll tell you what," he remarked aside to some of the 
boys, "I don't intend to go through with all this and not 
have some fun out of Wil'um. He thinks more of that 
mangy cur of his than the law allows, and I'll bet a. dollar 
if I should throw Booze in the river he would jump in 
and pull him out. Just watch me. I Bay, Wil'um," he 
continued, "Booze is all covered with mud. I am going 
to give him a bath." 
"Booze 's all right, Jones," replied Wil'um, with an un- 
suspicious grin. 
"Oh, no he ain't," said Jones, seizing the dog and throw- 
ing him as far into the stream as his sti-engtb would allow. 
The top of the river bank at this point was about four 
feet above the water, and the descent was almost perpen- 
dicular. Poor little Booze came to the surface struggling 
and whining and then struck out bravely for the shore, 
where he clung, moaning piteously for rescue. Sym- 
pathy for his distress quickly changed the laugh that 
greeted his immersion to silent shame, and a dozen hands 
were stretched to his assistance, all to no purpose, as he 
was beyond our reach. Our efforts in his behalf seemed 
to add to the satisfaction Jones experienced from his dia- 
bolical deed. He stood aloof chuckling with delight, oc- 
casioned in part by the would-be witty suggestions he 
threw in from time to time. ' 'Catch little Dicky Gray by 
the heels and fish him out," was his master-stroke. 
This idea proved a whetstone for Wil'um's dull intelli- 
gence. Springing to his feet he rushed upon his tormentor 
ike a tiger, and winding his sinewy arms about him lifted 
he bully as though he were a child and flung him after 
he dog, saying: "I'll feesh 'im out with you, dad-burn 
e!" 
Jones came to the surface spluttering and cursing, and 
'as soon making desperate efforts to climb the bank. 
"Fetch that dog with yer," sternly demanded Wil'um. 
"You won't want any dog when I get through with you," 
growled Jones with an oath as he succeeded in placing 
,ne knee on the bank. 
"Fetch that dorg," said Wil'um, chasing him back into 
the water. 
Again Jones essayed to climb out and again Wil'um 
thrust him back into the water, cooling his resentment 
this time to the point of entreaty: "For the Lord's sake, 
boys, keep him off; I'm freezing," he chattered. 
"Don't yer tech me, boys, er I'll fling the whole dern 
curpoodle on yer in thar. He's got ter fetch thet dorg," 
said Wil'um. 
Jones made one more effort, but Wil'um was as relent- 
less as fate, and a fourth ducking conquered the bully 
effectually. When he came to the surface he quietly 
tucked Booze under one arm and held up his other hand 
for assistance. 
"Here's your dog, Wil'um, and now I am going to give 
you the worse hiding you ever had," he said, attempting 
at the same time to execute his threat. Wil'um dodged 
the blow, closed with his antagonist, and in an instant 
the river closed over his form for the fifth time. He came 
up begging and praying for a truce that should last for- 
ever. 
"All right, Jones," said Wil'um, helping him ashore, 
"but I haintdone with yer yit; yer got to tote Booze plum- 
home afore I let yer off." 
"I'll die first," said Jones. 
"Back yer go in ther water, then." 
"For God's sake, Wil'um," shrieked the trembling 
wretch, "I'll do anything you say." 
"Pick up thet dorg, then, an' git fer home." 
The sun was well up when we reached the village, the 
most woebegone huntsmen that were ever seen. Jones 
begged with tears in his eyes that he might be spared the 
shame of facing his neighbors with the dog in his arms, 
but Wil'um was obdurate, insisting that Booze must be 
deposited at his door before his resentment would cease. 
Fully half the village was abroad to witness the remark- 
able spectacle we presented with Jones and the dog in the 
van. The "dread laugh" that greeted us was too much 
for the bully, and he made one last effort to retrieve his 
reputation by attempting anew to give Wil'um a thrash- 
ing. .But alack and alas! Wil'um again asserted his man- 
hood, and for the first and only time in his life fought and 
won a "stand up" battle. This defeat was too much for 
the bully. Like Pindarus, he ran from the field and hid 
his shame, no man knows where. 
For quite a week the victor received from our boyish 
hearts the adulation accorded heroes, but by the end of 
that period we discovered that he found in his accustomed 
rut too much of familiar ease to desire a role so difficult 
and strange, and we learned with many a pang that 
Wil'um and Booze had had their day. Will Scribbler. 
Gkeenbrikk, Ala. 
Long Island Sound. 
Bridgeport, Conn., Aug. 3.— Mr. Pulaski Benjamin of 
Stratford, Conn., is a well-known sportsman of the old 
school, who wets his line in the waters at the mouth 
of the Housatonic River. In conversation with me the 
other evening he said: "I have never known a summer 
when the striped bass were so scarce in these waters. The 
other day I trolled for two hours without the slightest en- 
couragement. The water is too warm and the fish refuse 
to come inshore, preferring the deeper waters. Two days' 
good rain, with easterly or southeasterly winds, would 
probably bring them in, but the big fellows will not show 
up until after September." 
Mr. Benjamin is a veteran fisherman and perhaps better 
acquainted with the waters in this neighborhood than any 
one, 
Weakfish or "yellow-fin," as they are called up here, 
have not been very plentiful. About a week ago, fishing 
with a float and light bass tackle, 1 captured three, the 
largest of which weighed about 21bs. 
My freedom from the sick room makes me feel like ant- 
ing upon the advice of our friend "Ransacker," and 
deluging you with verse, but I have no desire to be laid 
up again, so refrain. The General. 
The Forest AND Stream is put to -press each week on 'Tues- 
day. Correspondence intended for publication should reach 
us at the latest by Monday, and as much earlier as practicable. 
WIL'UM AND BOOZE. 
"The cat will mew, and dog will have his day." 
In no age of the world has the dog enjoyed such con- 
sideration as the present accords to his genius and worth; 
nor does the "valued file" in this distinguish for especial 
favor "the swift, the subtle, the slow, the housekeeper or 
the hunter," but every one is honored "according to the 
gift that bounteous nature has in him closed." Even the 
plebeian "cut-tail" cousin of the noble race has found 
advocates of late; not that his defense is an innovation, 
having the sanction both of history and genius upon it, 
but because in truth he has been much maligned, for the 
most upon the time-honored theory, "Give a dog a bad 
name." 
In history the cur figures as a subject for legislation by 
a great nation, and his name was evolved from the result- 
ing law. In literature he occupies a place peculiar to his 
attainments, or to speak "by the card," his unmannerly 
deficiencies; but his dishonorable mention is found upon 
pages that will never die. Faithfulness to the hand that 
feeds him is the saving grace he owns, as is eloquently 
attested in the South by a proverb: "A yallow dog's love 
for a nigger;" and in death, if fat, his "ile," much 
esteemed by some as a cure for certain ills, with this, ex- 
cuses his worthless life. 
"Love me, love my dog," was uttered perhaps by the • 
primeval savage, who first awakened the latent desire for 
human companionship in the canine breast; and the re- 
finement of no civilization has been able to restrain or 
repress a momentary return to the "first estate" that 
inflicts vengeance upon all who invade the rights or 
threaten the well-being of our four-footed friends. Like 
Launce, we are ever ready to suffer for our "Crab." "I did 
the thing you wot of" is often on our lips when the cur 
alone is guilty; and the fellow who would whip the dog 
is oftener chastised by the master for his temerity. 
Among my earliest recollections is an old basket-maker 
named Douce, who madn weekly trips to our village all 
through the summer and fall to sell his wares. His home 
was in the hill country, locally known as the "Barrens," 
about ten miles distant, and his earthly possessions being 
limited to one son, "Wil'um," whose broad shoulders 
were unequal to the weight of a man in addition to the 
baskets intended for market, his journeying to and fro 
was always accomplished on foot. It was observed of 
these basket venders that they were seldom or never seen 
upon the road; indeed, rarely in motion. Usually they 
reached the village before any one was abroad for the 
day, and then remained until they could steal away 
quietly under cover of the dark. The old man, taciturn 
to a degree, seldom uttered a word except in reply to 
questions concerning his wares, and the boy, as if intent 
upon carrying out to the letter the pack-horse part im- 
posed upon him, was as dumb as any mule in the fields or 
ox in the shambles. 
About the time I was ten years old the Douces created 
a mild sensation one morning by their appearance in town 
two days in succession. They were observed at sunrise in 
their accustomed place upon the sidewalk in front of the 
principal store, with the difference that the elder was 
stretched upon the ground instead of seated upon his 
heels, his favorite posture. When the owner of the store 
came to investigate a proceeding so strange, the boy 
found his voice for the first time in the knowledge of our 
citizens, saying: 
"Dad tuckered out las' nite." 
"Dead?" asked the merchant 
"Yars. He 'lowed ter me, 'Wil'um, Ise er guine. Arst 
sum un ter holp yer gin me er plantin'.' " 
Douce was friendless in life, but now that he was dead 
a generous county furnished a coffin wherein he was 
placed by kindly hands and laid away in the village 
burying-ground to rest until the great resurrection. 
After the funeral Wil'um set up his household gods, an 
unsold basket or two, in a deserted cabin on the outskirts 
of the village, and became a fixture among us. A marked 
change was noticeable in him from that day. He no 
longer shunned companionship, and while never loqua- 
cious, his voice, perpetually in the "goslins," became 
familiar on the streets. In him the boys of the town 
found at once a playmate, a henchman, a scapegoat and 
a butt for every species of deviltry that the diabolical in- 
genuity of youth could devise; and I am informed that 
even now, after the lapse of twenty years, he enacts the 
same roll with the boys of to-day. 
Let the game be what it may, Wil'um furnishes the fun 
or performs all the labor. At "bull-pen," he is the target 
for every ball that is thrown; at "knucks," he furnishes 
the knuckles to be pounded. When they fish, he digs the 
worms or catches the minnows, and when they hunt, he 
wields the axe and carries the game. In all these years 
he has never been known to rebel at any ill usage, except 
upon a single occasion, and then not against his usual 
tyrants, A giant in stature and of prodigious strength, he 
is the "mddest-mannered man" that ever condoned a 
wrong. In fact, he is the very antithesis of resentment, 
suffering in practice the theoretical admonition of the 
gentle Galileean; receiving a buffet upon one check, he 
makes no effort to protect the other from similar indig- 
nity. In appearance he is peculiar. Beardless as an 
Indian, his countenance expresses that youth in age or 
age in youth that makes it impossible for a stranger to 
determine whether he is eighteen or forty; and time only 
intensifies the perplexing lines and shadows that produce 
this phenomenon. 
Phrenologically, Wil'um is nothing if not reverential. 
During the annual protracted meetings held at each of the 
two village churches he literally revels in religious glory. 
Baptist and Methodist alike count with certainty upon 
beginning revival with him for the first and most ardent 
convert to their doctrines. At the earliest call for 
"mourners" he invariably goeB forward; and in only one 
instance has he been known to adhere to one faith for 
Nothing opens to the imagination of the village young- 
ster a vista more replete with glowing possibilities than 
the presence of a stray dog in town. About a year after 
Wil'um's permanent advent among us, we discovered 
upon the street one day a small black cur that no one 
would own. To fasten a tin can to his tail, collect all the 
dogs of the neighborhood, and convey our prize to the 
common was a labor of love that was quickly accom- 
plished. Such a chase as we had! The cur proved a 
sprinter, and for full half a mile fairly distanced pursuit- 
unimpeded would doubtless have escaped. 
Boys are thoughtless, but seldom cruel, and when we 
found that our victim had broken his leg in the scrim- 
mage our glee was quickly changed to sorrow. Of 
course it "was all Wil'um's fault; he should have rescued 
him sooner." So, as ustial, he assumed the blame, car- 
ried the cur to his cabin, bound up his wounds, and 
having gravely christened him "Booze" in the presence of 
us all, formally adopted him as the child of his affection. 
From that hour they were inseparable. 
One afternoon early in November, about two years 
later, there was an informal convention held by the boys 
on the sunny side of my grandfather's barn to devise 
ways and means fer immediate "fun." We had been 
unusually quiet since the opening of school, and this 
excessive virtue was clamoring for relief. Many motions 
were lost, as their ends were too mild for an exaggerated 
case, and a coon hunt for that night would doubtless 
have been tabled had not some enterprising genius sug- 
gested that we take Wil'um along and lead him so far 
astray that it would take him until daylight to reach 
home. As Wil'um professed, without shame, the utmost 
horror of the dark, this plan seemed to meet every re- 
quirement of the situation; so the convention at once 
resolved itself into a committee of the whole and adjourned 
to wait upon the gentleman. 
Wil'um was openly averse to the proposition, averring 
that he "hain't loe' no coon, an' didn't want ter go nohow," 
and it required extravagant praise of his skill as an axe- 
man, many unmerited compliments to Booze, and, most 
potent of all, a present bribe of a pint of corn whisky, 
a can of core oysters, and a pound of cheese to induce 
him to accompany us. 
As we were starting for the woods we chanced to meet 
one Jones, another local celebrity, as notorious as a bully 
as was Wil'um for cowardice. Nothing was so grateful 
to Jones's narrow soul as the perpetration of cruel practi- 
cal jokes upon those too weak or afraid to resent them; 
and Wil'um was his favorite victim. In a burst of un- 
guarded confidence one of the boys let him into the 
secret of our movements, and he at once announced an 
intention of accompanying us, much to our disgust. 
It was so dark in the woods Wil'um protested that we 
should wait until the moon rose, about two hours later; 
but as a pretense of losing our bearings in the dark was 
the part of the programme arranged for his benefit, we 
insisted that "varmints" did not "walk" when they could 
see their shadow, and headed direct for the thickest and 
most dismal part of the sw amp. 
We had advanced but a little way, when the dogs 
struck a trail, leading us a merry scramble for more than 
a mile before the coon would climb. The tree was small, 
and the axe, wielded by expert and willing hands, 
quickly brought it to the ground, where the coon re- 
ceived his quietus in short order. 
Under the excitement of the chase no one remembered 
to observe any landmarks, even had it been possible to do 
so, and we found that our wishes had been granted with 
a vengeance, so far as getting lost was concerned. We 
could not so much as conjecture the direction of the open 
and efforts to extricate ourselves only served to carry us 
deeper into the swamp, finally delivering us helpless 
wanderers to a wilderness of mud and water half-way to 
our knees. 
In the midst of this predicament, anxious for escape, 
we failed for some time to notice that our intended vic- 
tim did not murmur once, or that Jones, who was "out to 
see the fun," had grumbled and cursed himself into a con- 
dition bordering upon maudlin idiocy. 
We had floundered about for an hour, perhaps, before 
Wil'um broke silence for the first time by drawling out: 
"It haint no use er tryin' ter git out, boys, on til ther 
moon's up. Yer mout es well clam' er log an' wait." 
"Wil'um's er preachin'," said one of the boys. "Let's 
find a big log and make him pass his bottle and diwy with 
his gros'ries." 
We found the log with little trouble, but Wil'um and 
his supplies were one. "No-sir-ree- Jock-Robinson! " he 
said in reply to an invitation to "set 'em up." "I'm mor'n 
hongry 'enough to eat every scrap o' grub I fotch, an' I 
haint guine gin yer ther speerets an' freeze my own self; 
an' er trade 's er trade. I don't b'lieve in no Injun 
givm ." 
As the moments dragged their weary length along, it 
seemed to our anxious souls that the moon was "stuck" 
in its orbit, and a more miserable lot of shivering 
mortals was never seen than his first pale beams looked 
upon on that log. Even Jones was long since too miser- 
able to swear; and our fell purpose forgotten, we only 
wished for escape. Alas! the way of these transgressors 
was mud, and proved as unknown by moonlight as in 
darkness to our oefuddled intelligence. Hour after hour 
we wandered and waded, dispairing of home, in search 
of just enough dryland to build a fire upon that we might 
snatch a bit of comfort until day; and no castaway at 
sea ever hailed a friendly shore with greater rejoicing 
than we the little knoll that at last firmly bore our foot- 
ing. While we were gathering wood for a. fire, Wil'um, 
the uncomplaining, announced that he "knowed where 
we wus." 
"How far are we from home?" demanded Jones. 
"'Bout er mile." 
"Then, for heaven's sake, get us out of this." 
"I haint got my barrings yit," replied Wil'um, inter- 
rupted by a howl of disappointed derision. "Yer fellers 
