££2 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 15, 1894. 
WEB. 
As A rule it is pleasant to be invited. When one has 
to offer himself, the effort is attended with more or less 
embarrassment, depending upon the egotism of the vol- 
unteer. An invitation to a wedding, for instance, is 
pleasant, provided one is not recently in receipt of a 
printed Blip from one's banker inviting one to call. An 
invitation to a picnic is burdened with elements of doubt, 
involving ants, cholera morbus, colds and other disagree- 
able possibilities. An invitation to call again is replete 
with such delightful suggestions that one is tempted to 
wish oneself young again, like "Podgers" and the other 
blades yet in the flower. An invitation to dinner, when 
one is familiar with the admirable gauge of the cook and 
not troubled by indigestion, is pleasant' without any ex- 
ception, thus giving the lie to the axiom that "all general 
rules have exceptions." An invitation to go fishing or 
shooting is always in order, and attended with annoy- 
ance only when one cannot accept. You see, therefore, 
by these contrasts that invitations as a rule carry in their 
train sentiments more or less pleasurable. I am led into 
these reflections by an invitation lately appearing in 
Forest and Stream in bold face type, reading after this 
fashion: "All those who love a dog because he is a dog 
* * * are invited by the editor to consider this depart- 
ment as one in which they can discuss amicably," etc. 
It is a privilege to love a dog — that is, some dogs. One 
may not be supposed to love all dogs any more than all 
women, horses or men. Some dogs are mean, some 
women not lovable, some horses vicious and some men 
prohibit, absolutely, any consideration in their favor — it 
is much easier, many times, to love a dog, much easier to 
overlook his foibles. Indeed his weaknesses are a constant 
appeal to you, because he gives you to understand that he 
has acted on his best information; when be makes a mis- 
take from your standpoint, his contrition is sincere — you 
can swear by it — men and women leaye one of tener in 
doubt. His charity is very broad and his forgiveness of 
your errors as beautiful as mothers'; he is a perpetual 
lesson in the school of the Master, but we heed him not, 
being ourselves unmindful of the Teacher; he possesses 
the virtue of obedience commensurate to his understand- 
ing, we understand and do not obey. The integrity of his 
love is beyond question, hence it is a privilege to respond 
in like measure, if we can — what is our favor is with him 
a prerogative, he has a right to be loved. 
I saw Web a few weeks since. You do not know Web 
— he is not registered — but he has blue bood in his veins. 
Over in Middle Park, where he is surrounded by the com- 
forts that should attend "the sere, the yellow leaf," he is 
known as Gordon. He hears his old name once a year 
when I call on his newer friends. His hair was once very 
silky, and is soft yet to the touch; his tail straight with 
an eight-inch feather. He is very fat now, and is turning 
gray about the face. We have spent many pleasant days 
together, and have aged, he the more rapidly, because of 
greater zeal in the discharge of his duties. At the men- 
tion of his old name he pricks up his ears and there is a 
perceptible twitch of the once handsome tail, indicative 
of doubt and yet partaking of hope. Up >n the second 
mention of his name he rises slowly to investigate; he 
would jump to do so, but that privilege is no longer his. 
His steps are not steady, nor his line of approach exactly 
straight, but he finds the way, and when his nose touches 
my boot, he whimpers, very gently, throws his head a 
little to one side and curls the side of his lip as near to a 
smile as is vouchsafed his kind; he attempts to stand on 
two feet, and then three, and finally sits down and offers 
me a hand, and all the time that whimper and curl of the 
lip to express how glad he is. His memory is good and 
his affection unabated. He talks to me after the old 
fashion, as I caress him and look in vain for the elo- 
quence of the beautiful brown eyes of the earlier days. 
He has no need of his sight to recognize me, and I, with 
my own not a little dim at the thought, wonder whether 
I should under a like affliction recognize him. The ver- 
dict upon this point lies in favor of — my friend. 
Web has a companion, a black and tan colored shep- 
herd, named Jack, who is as full of mischief as a monkey, 
and in the line of his duties worth half a dozen herders. 
He looks straight at you when you propose to send him 
on an errand; should you halt him after he has started on 
a mission, whether at one rod or many, he stops short 
and looks round with head up and every muscle taut. 
"What would you have me do? Just mention it or motion 
it?" is his plain interrogatory, and his ready obedience to 
your answer is a marvel. Jack steals Web's bone, on oc- 
casion, and knows just as well as any of us that he has 
done something mean, has been guilty of a breach of 
canine ethics, or the commandment handed down to us. 
He takes off the bone to a rod's distance, lies down and 
puts his paws upon it. By this time he has worked him- 
self into the belief that it is his bone, duly earned by the 
sweat of his brow, and growls if Web makes a move. 
Web rarely sets up a prior claim, but when he does he 
treats Jack's growl as sheer bluff and repossesses his prop- 
erty with a dignity compatible with old age. Of his own 
volition Jack, aside from the occasional episode of the bone, 
has set himself up as guardian to Web. He watches over his 
general interests and uncertain footsteps with untiring 
fidelity. He has a way of putting himself directly across 
the path of his blind friend when the latter starts in un- 
favorable directions, and by rubbing against him and 
talking in a way that is quite comprehensible, even to one 
not a dog, turns him about and sends him to sanctuary. 
Last winter the ice on the river was thick and the weather 
very cold; the current of the Grand is swift. A hole had 
been cut in the ice for the convenience of the stock and 
had been kept open for several days. One morning Web 
strayed off toward this hole; to get into it was to be swept 
under by the current and drowned. Jack saw him, called 
to him, and started on the run, overtook him just as he 
reached the dangerous place, turned him around in the 
usual way and coaxed him toward the house, and seemed, 
as the observers declared, "tickled plumb to death" at the 
success of his undertaking. He jumped over and around 
the old dog until the latter was obliged to give acknowl- 
edgment of the service by two or three hoarse barks, a 
feeble dance and that unmistakable curl of the lip as they 
rubbed noses. Do you doubt, Mr. Editor, that there was 
pleasure to me in your invitation? 
"Love a dog because he is a dog." How else or for 
what other reason would you love him? He is unlike any- 
thing else on this beautiful earth. He loves you under 
chiding or caress. He will fight for you and yours where 
he will not do battle for himself. His affection is not 
gauged by your garments; rags or velvet are all one to 
him, provided they are worn by his lover. He is faithful 
in your good fortune, and accepts the crust of your pov- 
erty uncomplainingly. Your success is his pleasure, your 
sorrow commands his sympathy: He is happy when you 
are and discontented when you are not. He is ignorant of 
olitics, bonds and stocks, and bank accounts. His love is 
onest, and not to love what is honest is to be — less than 
a dog. Lewis B. France. 
Denver, Col. 
COASTING ALONG THE CARIBBEAN. 
On the very edge of the prairie a group of cocoa palms 
curved up, from the roots that were like thin brown cords 
to the leaves that trembled in the passing breeze and 
rattled against each other with a sound like that of pat- 
tering rain. Back of the palms a fence, hidden under a 
thick drapery of green that was jewelled with purple and 
pink and white morning-glories, inclosed masses of 
geraniums and marigolds, hollyhocks and fuchsias. The 
bamboo walls of the watla rose from a bed of gaudy 
flowers, and were crowned by a thick thatch of leaves 
that rose steep and high. A few meaner huts stood amid 
the orange, the lemon and the mango trees, above which 
nodded the heads of palms burdened by shining green 
cocoanuts. These houses were the hamlet known as Bens. 
From the edge of the prairie a shining lake spread 
westward, farther than eye could follow in the morning 
light. Eight or ten miles to the north was a narrow belt 
of mangroves, of palmetto and of palms that were lifted 
in the air to dance above the shimmering sea. Beyond 
that belt of trees lay the Caribbean, the Mediterranean of 
the Americas. 
Women were stirring about in the watlas. Other 
women were paddling off to gather firewood, or to dig 
cocos and yucca, or to bring bananas and yampas with 
which to stuff hungry stomachs at home. Naked, pot- 
bellied youngsters crept from hammocks made of twisted 
bark, and ranged themselves in shivering rows against 
the walls that were brightened by the first rays of the ris- 
ing sun. The children waited there until the beneficent 
god of light drove from their trembling forms the bitter 
cold of the norther, which had blown itself away and left 
the mercury away down at 75° F., and that was cold. 
Parrots flew in thousands, yet always in pairs, from 
their roosting place hidden somewhere in the forest that 
borders Caratasca, toward the great fields of wild bananas 
on Rio Platano; and every one squawked harshly as it 
flew. High above the parrots floated the buzzards on 
still pinions. In the tamarind and the maranon trees in 
the grove by the houses the mockingbird in russet coat, 
the sousanti, poured out his song in rivalry of the chorcha 
that is like a glorified oriole. Vireos flitted through the 
grove, twittering cheerfully, and out in the sunshine 
where the cattle were, a dingy-brown little rascal gave up 
the sweet melody he must have stolen from the cardinal 
grosbeak, and for interest of its use threw in a most en- 
trancing trill. 
Ten o'clock and breakfast time drew near. The canoes 
came back with stores of roots and fruits, and the children 
begged for food. The defenders of the inalienable right 
of women and children to toil for the comfort of man, 
threw aside the cotton sheets under which they had shiv- 
ered the night hours away, and graciously ate what their 
women had provided. 
Later the men went in their canoes out on the lake and 
patiently waited there for fish to come to be caught. 
Others took their sheet-iron shotguns of Birmingham, 
with a woman or two to do the paddling, and slipped 
along devious channels that led from the lagoon through 
reedy marshes where waterfowl fed. Yet others paddled 
along the grassy banks, where a deer might peer with 
fatal curiosity from the bush, or iguaua bask on the sun- 
lit tops of thick walls of grass, or lie stretched asleep 
upon some limb. And others might go afoot through the 
thick forest in search of the white-lipped peccary that 
they call the waree, or after equally vicious collared pec- 
cary that roots the moist soil in many a glade of those 
cool woods. 
Some of the women paddled across the lagoon that day 
to visit the narrow spit of sand and swamp that separated 
the inland water from the sea. On the outer edge 
they might perchance find wreckage or drift from the 
rivers, or possibly the tracks of some turtle from the 
water's edge to the place where half a Lushel or so of eggs 
were buried. There was always the possibility, too, of 
finding a family of box tortoises, which would help fill 
the dinner pot — for all is good fish thit comes to the 
Sambo's net. A fish or two, a ray perhaps, or a lot of 
oysters from the shallow parts of the lagoon might be 
added to the store in the dory before it would be beached 
at Bens at sunset. Then there would be feasting and 
sleep, and another day like this, and so on through the 
lives of these simple, indolent folk. 
My pipanti, with its shovel-shaped bow, was unfit for 
the navigation of waters that curled in waves before the 
breeze, as the sea dory was unfit for the work of the 
rivers. So I sold it for a few dollars more than it cost, 
and paid for a dory a few dollars more than it was worth. 
For now I was dealing with whites who knew how to cal- 
culate and to take advantage of their fellows when oppor- 
tunity offered. 
In the morning we stowed my luggage in the dory, said 
farewell to the village, hauled aft the string that was the 
sheet of the cotton bed cover we used for a sail, and 
Bkimmed along toward the western end of Cartago 
Lagoon. Gradually the distance was widened between us 
and the shore, until about noon we ran under the lee . of 
Cannon Island. There we might have climbed to the top 
of the island, which was perhaps 150ft. in height, and 
looked upon the ancient cannon which once served the 
purpose of guarding this the stronghold of those pious 
gentlemen who then enjoyed a lucrative business along 
this shore. They levied tolls upon vessels plying to or 
from the Spanish Main. Heavy tolls they were, that took 
ship and cargo, life, liberty and honor. 
We breakfasted and dined on the shore of the island, 
and slept there until the dawn faintly lighted the east. 
Then we got away and were soon facing the surf on the 
bar. My men paddled near to the inner line of breakers; 
they surveyed it dubiously. The man who steered stood 
up and looked long and anxiously at the wall of tumbling 
water. He turned to me. 
"Me no 'f raid, boss. Go troo?" 
It was my turn to stand and gaze. A single glance was 
enough. I had no especial reason for hurrying. There 
was really nothing to call me to La Criba that day. Be- 
sides, I had never felt any great passion for surf bathing; 
and my acquaintance with sharks was already as close as 
I wished. If it had not been I could, I clearly saw, get 
both by trying to go beyond that line of breakers — for 
triangular fins moved to and fro between us and the surf, 
I sat down. 
"Just as you think best," I said with as much indiffer- 
ence as I really felt, following with my eyes the move- 
ment of the nearest shark. The eyes of the men followed 
him, too. 
"Plenty shaak hereaway, boss. Shaak de debbil to 
ketch white mans." 
"Yes? Well, do as you like. I'm in no hurry to get -to 
La Criba to-day." 
"Land breeze come off to-night, suah, suah, please God. 
Mabbe so." 
"Likely enough. . Go ashore then, if you wish to,' and 
wait for the land breeze." 
So we got out of that problem. Ten minutes later we 
were on the sahdspit. Three hours of that was more. than 
enough for me. My notebook fully written up J more 
sleep during the last week than I needed; nothing of in- 
terest for me to see, and only seven miles of smooth sand, 
packed as hard as rock by the sea, between nie and the 
house of a white settler. >...... 
"Come on to La Criba as soon as the sea run's, down," 
said I to the captain. "I go." 
The walk along the beach in the morning was delight- 
ful change for one who had been sitting in canoes for 
weeks. There was interest in the coarse sedges, the man- 
grove grape trees, the coco plums with their, cheeks of pink 
shading, like the cheek of the toper, into purple. There 
was interest, too, in the worm-eaten ribs and decayed 
stem of the ship, that lay where the waves washed to 
and fro among their iron fastenings, and through the 
stone-lined tunnels that the teredo had bored through 
solid pine and hard oak. I wondered whether she had 
been driven ashore by some norther, or had been beached 
on this shelving shore to collect her insurance. 
A deer stood on a sand dune and stared impudently at 
me. I raised my gun, then lowered it again, and whooped 
at that beast for the fun of seeing it turn, tail and fly. 
Then I jogged on, flattering myself upon my self-denial 
in not murdering a deer I could not use. 
There was more of present interest later, when I saw 
the broad footprints of a jaguar that had prowled on the 
sands in search of belated turtle, and had unearthed her 
eggs. The tough, empty shells were shriveling in the 
sunshine on the sand. It would have been a pleasure to 
have followed those tracks and put a bullet through the 
spotted hide of the chap that made them; but I had no 
dog, and I had a vivid recollection of the tale told me, 
only the day before, of a Waikna who was looking 
through a thicket near the beach for a promising heifer. 
He found a promising jaguar. It lay, gorged ana sleepy, 
its head 61ose to the broken neck of the heifer. The man 
was so surprised, and perhaps displeased by finding his 
cow in such plight, that he pushed the jaguar away with 
the muzzle of his gun. Lucidly for him, the gun hap- 
pened to be cocked, and in his excitement the hammer 
fell, and the beast went down with a charge of shot 
blown through her interior, 
I had missed no cow, and feared that I would not have 
presence of mind to poke the muzzle of my rifle against 
the ribs of any jaguar I might find, and the brute might 
not be gorged and sleepy, so I decided that I would not 
look for the fellow that made those footprints. 
I came to the mouth of the Rio Platano, on the banks 
of which dwell, far back from the sea, a small remnant 
of the race that once occupied the hills and plains there- 
about. Possibly they are descendants of the people who 
carved curious devices on the walls of caves in the moun- 
tains not far from their villages on the Platano, and of 
the artists who cut intricate scrolls and fret in the massive 
boulders of dark granite that stand in the. middle of the 
river. 
Perhaps it was the skill and. patience of their fore- 
fathers that carved from granite and from scoria black 
and porous, and adorned with graceful lines the vases 
and bowls, the benches and tables, the metlatls and 
beaters which are thickly strewn over a mountain not far 
away. 
At all events this poor remnant of the great Lenca race 
are hospitable, peaceful and kindly, as well as industrious 
and shy. They should be studied, their language, beliefs 
and habits of thought put upon record quickly, for they 
will probably soon pass away, and with them take a 
number of the few links that connect our day with pre- 
Columbian history and art of America. 
But dreaming of these things did nothing toward setting 
me across the still, dark, deep river. It might be that 
one could safely wade across, by following the bar that 
lay a little out from the coist line, but I had no knowl- 
edge of the depth of water there, and the surf ran high 
enough to wet one completely, if it did not indeed sweep 
him from his feet. And I thought of sharks, then shouted 
in hope of catching the attention of some stray Mosquito. 
,1 waited, then once more carefully studied the soft, suc- 
culent stems that run, pink and almost translucent, here 
and there upon the dry sand of the shore; and hold boldly 
1 up a foot above the ground blossoms that are in shape and 
size much like morning-glories; but these .have petals 
that are pink and thick and fleshy, instead of thin and 
delicate like those of the gem of the morning. 
An ancient wieck of a canoe lay on the sandy shore of 
■ the-river. One side was burned to the water's edge, and 
the other side seemed to be half rotten, I dragged the 
wreck to the river and found by carefully balancing I 
could make it carry me in still water, I stepped ashore 
' and yelled again, then waited for the Indian who did 
not come to ferry me across. 
In answer to my cry a dozen, feet of alligator rose to 
the smooth surface of the river, in the cove sheltered by 
the mangrove bushes and willows. He lay too low to 
shoot at with any hope of success, so I silently waited, 
while he drifted toward me. I was vexed by the delay 
about crossing the river, and by the fact that I was hun- 
gry; therefore, I determined to kill that ugly brute if 
possible. I had heard that the barking of a dog would 
attract any alligator that could hear it, so I tried bark- 
ing. Experience on the Red River of the South at the 
time of General Banks's cotton capturing expedition had 
shown me that the squealing of a pig would lure the 
