284 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Apri 1 , 
a lot of money, I know, and can let me have some just as 
well as not. Come, don't be foolish, now: let me have 
it, and I'll make it all right witn H. (the manager) when 
I get back to camp." 
I was obdurate, however, and when in a moment 
Martin began cursing me violently for my meanness, t 
turned on my heel and le ft him. Hastening to where my 
horse was stabled, I ordered him saddled, and in a few 
moments was on my way back to camp. I had gone 
four or five miles, I should think, when the sound of a 
fast galloping horse on the road behind me came to my 
ears. The very first hoof-beats sent a thrill of apprehen- 
sion over me, for I seemed to realize almost intuitively 
that the new comer was none other than Martin, and 
such it proved to be. 
"What is the scheme now," I asked myself, with a 
nervous start, for when I recalled his great anger at our 
recent parting, and the desperate frame of mind he 
seemed to be in, his evident desire to overtake me now 
seemed to presage trouble of some sort for me. The 
horse's foam flecked-breast, dripping flanks and fast heav- 
ing sides, told the story of the hard ride which Martin 
had made, and I thought that I knew him well enough 
to know that he had not done it without some clearly de- 
fined object in view. I kept my eye upon him as he ap- 
proached, and as he drew near to me, it was very ap- 
parent that his feelings toward me had undergone a great 
change since our recent parting. He very contritely 
begged my pardon for his display of anger and the harsh 
language which he had used toward me, but pleaded in 
extenuation that he had felt so desperate at the loss of 
his money, and the disgrace and trouble that were certain 
to follow, that he scarcely knew what he said or did. "I 
did perfectly right in refusing him the money," he said, 
"and he only hoped that I wouldn't feel angry at him for 
the manner in which he had acted." Of course I couldn't 
fail to respond to such a frank acknowledgment of 
wrong as this, and I assured him that I treasured up no 
hard feelings against him for what he had said to me, 
but at the same time I could not disabuse my mind of 
a certain vague suspicion which I entertained concern- 
ing him. From what I had heard and knew of the man, 
I found myself very strangely disposed to doubt his pro- 
fession of repentance, and to see in them merely a cloak 
for concealing his real designs toward me. As to what 
they were there was of course little doubt; for if he was 
actuated by any sinister purpose whatever, it was un- 
ouestionably robbery. 
I hurriedly ran the situation o^er in my mind, and fig- 
ured it out about thus wise: That after having squandered 
the money due on his contract, he would hardly dare re- 
turn to camp and face the anger of his partner — a fellow 
that would bear mighty little trifling with — and their 
employees to whom tin re were due several weeks' wages; 
that having decided to seek other pastures, he had de- 
termined to go away as well heeled as possible, and 
knowing that I had a considerable sum of money about 
me, he had decided to try and despoil me of it. That he 
would not hesitate to shoot me if it became necessary to 
the success of his scheme, I hadn't the slightest doubt, 
and as I considered the many miles of dreary mountain 
road and trail ahead, where, despite the utmost precau- 
tion on my part, undoubted opportunities would be given 
him for carrying out his purpose, a feeling of despair and 
terror came over me. 
My first impulse was to turn about and return to 
Georgetown, but thinking that this would probably pre- 
cipitate a hostile demonstration on his part, I decided to 
wait a while in the hope that I would meet some one on 
the road whom I would make acquainted with my fears 
and ask to be permitted to return with him. And 
t'rus we rode side by side for several miles, he mourning 
tie loss of his money and formulating no end of good 
resolutions for the future, while I watched with con- 
stantly increasing anxiety for the sight of some friendly 
traveler. None appeared, however, and when at length 
we approached the spot where the trail we were to follow 
led from .the main road, I could with difficulty control 
my agitation for I knew that it probably would be some- 
where on this trail that he would seek to put his malign 
purpose into execution. It was a lonely, rugged trail, 
traveled by few people, just the spot one would seek for 
the commission of a dark deed, and, glancing at Martin's 
face, I fancied that I could detect in his eyes the gleam 
of sinister anticipation. 
One thing I had decided upon, and that was under no 
circumstances would I lead on trail, which I had no 
doubt he would endeavor to have me do, as it would give 
him just the opportunity he wanted, provided he had de- 
signs upon me. If he declined to lead himself, it would 
be ample confirmation of all my suspicions. In a mo- 
ment mole we drew up before the entrance to the trail, 
and almost simultaneously brought our horses to a 
standstill. 
"Go on," he said, quietly, indicating by a motion of 
his hand that I was to lead. 
"Go on, yourself," I replied in as quiet and uncon- 
cerned a voice as I was able to command, although it 
struck me right away that it sounded strangely unnat- 
ural. Martin was not slow to notice it, and as he glanced 
at me, I think he must have suspected my reason for 
not wishing to lead. 
For a moment he eyed me with a scowling visage, and 
then with the suggestion of a sardonic leer upon his face, 
he asked in a mocking tone: "Pray, what is your reason 
for not wishing to lead?" 
"I have no particular reason," I answered, uneasily, for 
there was an ugly threatening look to his face, "only 
that I prefer to have you." 
"Oh, you do. eh?" he answered, in the same mocking 
tone, but there was to it now a ring of anger, suggestive 
of a realization of balked hopes. 
Then for a moment we sat there eyeing one another, a 
flush of anger slowly deepening on his face, while with me 
the feeling rapidly developed into a conviction that each 
succeeding moment would see him reach for his revolver 
a ad make an attempt on my life. I had some time before 
quietly loosened my revolver in the holster, so that I 
could use it quickly in case of emergency, and the pro- 
truding handle and my right hand resting carelessly on 
the pommel of my saddle only a few inches away, told 
Martin's experienced eye that in case of a break I was 
very liable to get into action quicker than he. 
1 don't know how long it would have been before hos- 
tilities would have begun, but just at that instant the 
sound of hoofs]canie to our'ears, and ^in'another'moment 
there appeared around the shoulder of the mountain on 
the main road a' man 'whom x recognized as George 
O'Connor, a resident of Georgetown, and who had visited 
our camp on one or two occasions. If I could have named 
any particular person whom I should have wanted to ap- 
pear on the scene at that critical moment it would have 
undoubtedly been George O'Connor. He was a great big 
fellow with the thews of an ox and courage of a lion — he 
was subsequently, for a number of years, city marshal of 
Leadville — and as my eyes rested upon him a great wave 
of joy and thankfulness rushed over me. Martin's dis- 
comfiture was so complete that for several moments he 
stared at O'Connor in a foolish, helpless sort of away, 
and then realizing that his game was up, he struck the 
spurs into bis horse and started onto the trail, remarking 
to me at the same time, in a tone of mock politeness: 
"Since it is your wish, why I'll go ahead;" and he went 
on without waiting for me. 
When O'Connor came up I explained the matter to 
him, and he agreed with me that there was little doubt 
that Martin intended to do away with me and then rob 
me. At his suggestion I returned with him to George- 
town, and on the following day he accompanied me back 
to camp. We found on our arrival there that Martin 
had not shown up, as we susppcted, and indeed he never 
did, much to the disgust of his partner and their em- 
ployees. 
The manager was a little nervous because of my failure 
to turn up the day before, as it was expected I would, and 
he had, he said, a presentiment that it was occasioned by 
trouble of some kind with Martin. As I finished, he re- 
marked with a laugh that O'Connor had a happy faculty 
of turning up just when he was wantei, and then told a 
thrilling story of how he once rescued him (the manager) 
from a very perilous position, which I may possibly at 
some future time give to the Forest and Stream. 
Sancho. 
THE SUNNY SOUTH.— VIII. 
NINE DAYS IN THE FORTUNATE ISLES. 
Chicago, 111., March 20. — History recounts that less 
thau one hundred years ago a large slice of the country 
in the Mississippi valley, not far from Memphis, sunk 
from sight, and became the bottom uf an inland sea, 
which sea was afterwards run fcr the accomodation of 
ducks, geese, and other wild fowl. I have no doubt 
whatever, that after a while some more of this country 
will sink, an I leave Memphis alone standing above the 
surface of the surrounding country the perfect realization 
of the imaginary land known as the Fortunate Isles, 
which we read about in the poetry books. Indeed I am not 
sure that the title may not apply to Memphis in advance, 
for already it is a spot fortunate to visit for one w T ho is a 
lover of the sports of the field. Certainly I was very well 
content to be situated at Memphis with nine good, long, 
glorii us autumn days on my hands between my Louis- 
iana and Texas trips. 
I do not recollect that 1 went out hunting more than 
three different days, but I could have gone every day, 
and when one is conscious of ability to do a thing, he isn't 
always so particular about actually doing it. We would 
all round up early in the day at Tom Divine's office, and 
tell shooting stones and make plans and discuss shooting 
localities ansl keep Tom Divine from transacting a day s 
business. Then we would go out and eat something and 
come back and do it all over again. The first quail hunt 
that actually materialized, out of all our threatening, 
was one which Mr. W. F. Allen and I had together. We 
took his black pointer, Jess, and Mr. Sim's setter, Jim, 
both very good field dogs, and I am pleased to say, not 
field trial winners, which latter I carefully avoid when- 
ever possible. And rode out one glorious morning six or 
eight miles into the rough hill country near the once 
celebrated, but now dilapidated village of Raleigh. The 
modern part of Raleigh consists of some mineral springs 
ana a fine hotel, an electric road connecting the same 
with Memphis. The ancient part, which is older than 
Memphis itself, is represented by a few weather-beaten 
buildings, which speak appeaaugly of the past. All 
around the little village are forests and fields, cotton 
patches, briar thickets, sorghum grounds, everything 
necessary for a perfect quail country. The sun had not 
become warm when Mr. Allen and I delivered our horse 
and buggy into the hands of a colored man we picked up, 
with the instructions that he drive around to a farm 
house, about three miles distant, meeting us there in 
time for lunch, after we had hunted across the inter- 
vening fields. 
THE NEGRO IN SPORT. 
The negro makes a large factor in the field sports of the 
South. In the North we do our own camp work, team- 
driving, etc., to a large extent, and when you speak of 
this to a Southern sportsman it always causes surprise. 
The Southern idea of comfort m camp means a large 
tent, abundant camp furniture and two or three servants 
to do the work — an idea which certainly grows upon one, 
and which one is not disposed to call a bad one after he lias 
gained acquaintance with it. The negro, too, is the 
general errand boy of the South, and there is one of him 
always present whichever way you look, either in the 
city or in the country. In the North if you want your 
team taken around three or four miles through the 
country, you may or may not be able to get a farmer's 
boy to do it, and usually fou compromise by letting one 
of your own party do it. In the South you simply hail 
the first negro, and the negro doesn't ask any questions, 
and doesn't say anything about any pay. A good deal 
of the time he doesn't get any pay, but he has put in the 
time just the same, and feels just as happy. The Southern 
men say that if you go to putting exact values upon the 
services of the colored population, and thanking them for 
what they do, and treating them as if you were under 
obligations to them, you spoil them so that you can't 
get along with them at all. I don't know anything 
about the theory of these things, and do not wish to in- 
volve the constitution of the United States in any serious 
argument, but I know that practically the two races get 
along better and more pleasantly in the South than they 
do in the North, and they both seem to be about as happy 
as they do in this country. If I could have one of the 
most sincere wishes of my heart gratified, I would export 
about four thirds of all the Chicago city npgroes, and I 
wouldn't send them to Liberia either. We don't under- 
stand them here, and we are not good enough for them. 
^ I would like to have them all have a liberal education 
among people who are on to them. 
THE OFFNESS OF AN OFF DAY. 
Well, anyhow, our negro man got around to the farm 
house all right, and was asleep on the sunny bank wben 
we got there about the middle of the day. Then we 
sent the horse and buggy on over to another plantation 
where we rounded up in the evening, and that was the 
end of the negro. I can't just figure out where he laid 
up very much money at it, for I don't remember that 
either of us ever gave him anything before his disap- 
pearance. I simply give this incident in its bald simplic- 
ity to show the difference between the ways of the North 
and those of the South. I suppose that Mr. Allen will 
give him a sack of meal some day or something of that 
sort if his future services as a driver should reach a value 
of that magnitude. I don't understand just how they do 
fix these things up. 
As to the day's hunt, I prefer for personal reasons to 
draw a veil over it. When a fellow is shooting in good 
shape, and doing what is pretty well for him, he doesn't 
mind going into details a little and talking about the 
whirring bevies,and the swift right and left and the little 
puffs of brown feathers that always, at the crack of the 
newspaper gun, or nearly always anyhow, fly forth upon 
the crisp morning air. If I had been quite alone and had 
shot as poorly as I did that day, it might have been differ- 
ent in the telhng,but as it is, a certain regard for Mr. Allen 
leads me to keep a mite closer to the truth. We found 
plenty of birds — a dozen or two of bevies — and the dogs 
did beautifully, but when it came to the swift right and 
left business I didn't see so many puffs of brown feathers 
on the crisp morning air that morning as I would have 
been pleased to note. I don't believe in the unbridled 
slaughter of game, but I would have given a good deal to 
have had the double snaffle and curb off xny gun for 
about one hour that day, and I wouldn't have done a 
thing to them but kill a basketful in pure revenge. As 
it was I didn't get quite a basketful. Mr. Allen is a large 
man, and a mighty polite man all through, and a very 
fine shot. He gave me all the chances, but I think it 
must have caused him pain to see me shoot the way I 
did, unless he was interested in it from a statistical or 
scientific standpoint, wishing to discover how badly a 
man really can shoot sometimes. Usually I can kill a 
bird once in a while, but this day I couldn't have killed 
a mess for supper if I had worked all day. I had a per- 
fect gun, a good load, and besides, I don't think the gun 
and load make very much difference anyhow if you point 
the gun right. I didn't have any headache, wasn't sick, 
didn't have any excuse at all. I just couldn't shoot. 
Mr. Allen could, and so between us,' or between him, we 
got a good little bag, twenty-seven or thirty-seven, or 
somewhere around there. I don't like to talk a\»out that 
hunt. 
"THE CEDARS" REVISITED. 
The next day I went out quail shooting from Memphis. 
I was under the guidance of Irby Bennett, who thought it 
would be a good thing for him to go and live a while at 
his other place, that delightful country house, the 
Cedars, which I have before now mentioned in these 
columns. The Cedars is owned by Mr. Edmund Orgill, 
but Irby Bennett goes out there and lives whenever he 
feels like it. When we went out last summer, Mr. Orgill 
was absent in England, but this time we were fortunate, 
for it was Mr. Orgill himself who drove the drag up to 
the railway station when we got off for the Cedars. 1 
know I ought not to say such specific things under such 
circumstances, "but really I couldn't help thinking, as Mr. 
Orgill drove up that day, that I had never in all my life 
seen a heartier or more sportsmanlike figure. The years 
have never harmed him, and I hope they never may. 
Tall, large and robust, he would do for a type of the 
sportsman, and his beautiful place, the Cedars, is a typi- 
cal sportsman's home. Mr. Orgill is of English birth, 
though of long residence in this country, and he has all 
his native love for sport accentuated by long develop- 
ment in a country where the practice of sport is so easy 
as not always to be appreciated. His love for the 
thoroughbred animal is also apparent, and he will have 
no other kind about him. We had this time the addi- 
tional pleasure of his company on our voyages around 
among the beagles, the fox terriers, the horses, etc. If 
Mr. Orgill isn't a happy man he ought to be ashamed of 
himself, but I reckon he is, anyhow he looks like it and 
acts like it. He didn't even seem to care when Irby Ben- 
nett announced that he had come out to stay awhile, and 
was going to depopulate the covers of the Cedars of all 
their quail. I expect he knew Irby couldn't depopulate 
anything. 
ANOTHER MAN OFF. 
Along about 3 or 8 o'clock in the afternoon we got into 
our shooting clothes, Mr. Will Orgill and Irby Bennett 
and I, and started out to see what we could find. We 
had the pointer Rake with us, which the same might be a 
field trial dog, but was none the less a rattling good meat 
dog. as he proceeded to show to our entire^satisfactiotf , 
finding us six bevies before dusk, and showing as hand- 
some work as any man ever saw. Of course, it was all a 
joke about our wanting to depopulate any quail covers 
here on the Cedars, and we only took a couple of birds 
from each bevy, never going more than three-quarters of 
a mile from the house. I wish it distinctly understood, 
however, that such depopulating as was done, was done 
at first by Mr. Will Orgill and myself. Talk about my 
shooting badly when I was out with Mr. Allen, it was 
nothing to the way Irby Bennett shot that day. I shot 
very badly, it is true, but nobody ever did shoot as badly 
as Irby Bennett did. You know he is the Southern agent 
of the Winchester Repeating Arms Co., and at the trap is 
a hummer, but he was trying to shoot one of the full 
choked Winchester shot guns on quail, a new gun he had 
just received. At his fourteenth or sixteenth shot, or 
somewhere along in there, maybe it was nine or seven, he 
hadn't scored a bird yet, and Mr. Will Orgill and I were 
having more fun guying him than in shooting ourselves. 
"I can't hit a flock on the ground," he said, "and I might 
as well quit. This is my off day." Then I offered to 
trade guns with him, giving him my cylinder for his 
choke bore, and in desperation he did this* As luck 
