June 8, 1895.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
461 
felt the greater weight of the toboggan." There"were 
several bends that we cut across, but I question whether 
it helped us. We had to get up the bank and the crust 
was the heavier. But before 2 o'clock I saw the gap in 
the woods and the house. Just as we came up Nuel said: 
"You stay for a moment, Doc'or. Want to go quiet. 
Skunk might be home. Me make p'etend dog there. 
Youp! Youp! He fright him maybe, if he chance." 
So, as Nuel suggested, I heard the noise of a dog, then a 
pounding against the house. Finally Nuel called out, 
'"No one home Doc'or." 
We did not arrive any too soon. The rain commenced 
shortly after the skin was housed. We had only time to 
secure some fresh twigs and plenty of wood , before a 
drizzling rain began and it did not stop until evening. 
But meanwhile Nuel was happy. "Now," he said, "me 
glad me here. If river open we hab canoe. Got house 
too. If frose in, all same, we have toboggan. Me berry 
happy. We mus' hang up skin so mouse can't eat it. Me 
bang it up." 
But I saw myself that the skin was hung up from one 
of the rafters by a good strong cord. 
Night soon set in. It seemed as dark as ink by 7 
o'clock, but the fire looked cheerful and Nuel beamed on 
his wreath of smoke. He did not seem at all tired, but 
appeared as though he wanted to talk to me. One of his 
suggestions was. "Doc'or, s'pose wees go some time for 
bear, if we lib. You wan' cacajou— Indian devil an' wolf. 
Wat you say? Me tell you lots; eberyt'ing 'bout de wood, 
bir's nes' an' fish. Nice time togeder. Eat pancake 
much. He! he! Me like to lib wid you." 
"Thank you, Nuel. I like to hunt with you too. But if 
we ever go hunting again we must have another Indian 
with us. There is danger in having only one. You 
might have been sick or I might have been as sick as the 
Englishman that once lived in this house. How then?'' 
"Yees, sart'in. Me understan' you. Dat bes' Gabrel. he 
good man. Good hunter too — mose so good as me. Den 
you not fear, eh?" 
"Well, well, we will see sometime. I am getting old and 
stiff, Nuel." 
"Well, if you eber go, take me, Doc'or. Me take good 
care Ob you. Me like you much. You don't 'plain w'en 
big moose won't come an' turn cou'se behine me by lake. 
An' now w'en ticulum spoil my hunt you not say cuss 
words. You alway' say: 'Nev' mind, Nuel, bettie bisk 
nex' time.' You nice an' you beat squaw an' white cook. 
Make almose so good as calleboo. Gabrel, he eat much, 
w'en eberyt'ing so nice. Me like urn some, too, He! he! 
w'at you t'ink, Doc'or?" 
"All right, Nuel. We only have provisions for three 
days now. What do you say to that? Coffee and sugar 
most gone." 
"Nev' mind, we be home 'fore free days. Blenty calle- 
boo. But hark! W'at dat? Ke-yo-ke-e. Dat a lying 
bird. Me don't belebe him no more. He say no luck. 
He a bankee debil. Me did fix wigwam dat Paul tore 
down, an' did get ober ticulum. An' we see skin an' 
horn hangin' up dare. He! he, makes my belly an' heart 
glad. I no hate nobody. No, not Paul." 
"But we are not home yet, Nuel; we must go a good 
distance." 
"You 'larmed, Doc'or. (Nuel's face looked grave at 
once.) You t'ink me dround, get sick, starbe?" 
"Oh, no, I am not alarmed if I have you and you take 
care." 
"Den I be careful an' me not be 'fraid wid you. You 
shut up yob mouf, you, Ke-yo-ke-e. Doc'or roun' an' me 
go 'sleep. Doc'or, me 'wake firs'.. Skunk hole stop. You 
warm? Me feel good." 
From time to time I heard the slushing of the frothy 
sap, and the pushing of the green wood and the snapping 
of the spruce, and occasionally the drip, drip, drip beneath 
our eves. 
Next morning found the snow soft and I could see a lit- 
tle water above the ice. There was no rain, but the mist 
was thick enough to satisfy any one and we could hear 
the dripping of the trees. Such a muggy morning I never 
saw, and there was a peculiar smell of woods and spruce 
trees that was indescribable to me. Perhaps a decoction 
of birch bark, dying leaves and old hay would describe 
this smell most. 
After peering through the foggy trees for a few 
moments, Nuel said: "Guess goin' to be cold af'er dinnie. 
Feel dat smell. See dat leetle dim line? Goin' kort. Yes, 
goin' to be cold an' only snow squall. See too dat skunk 
track, goin' out an' comin' in. Don't know w'at he libs 
on now, but he wants to come to his home, all same. 
He knows. He likes to run out on snow rainy night. But 
you see, fros' enight." 
And sure enough by afternoon a light was seen toward 
the west. At a distance you could hear the wind blowing 
and soon we had squalls of white hail, and flurries of 
snow found their way through the rear of our home, and 
some of it sifted into our faces. However, the real gust 
was soon over, and we made ourselves very comfortable 
before 6 o'clock. 
Nuel found the foggy day exceedingly irksome. There 
was only one thing that amused him, and that was a wish 
that I expressed for partridges, because I liked them bet- 
ter than caribou. Then I said to him, "Nuel, you can- 
not get any partridges for me, can you? I want to eat - 
some." 
"Better dan calleboo?" 
"Yes, I like them." 
"Engleseman funny, Doc'or, isn't he? Same as likin' 
Ingin corn cakes better dan wheat." 
"Why, Nuel, don't yo like corn meal?" 
"Like um? No, Hate um! Just fit for nigger." 
But Nuel secured the partridges — four — big and fat. 
When I asked where he got them and how he got them 
his reply was: "Well, Doc'or, you said las' mornin', 'not 
many partridges on tree.' You wan' to know how? Me 
tole you. Birds buried in snow an' crus' ober dem. Now 
crus' gone off. Not so much snow. He fly on birch an' 
fill he belly — he crop — wid buds. 
"You mus' 'member, Doc'or, w'en you hang up partsie, 
don't you eber hang head up, but feet up an' head down; 
an' cut out crop. If he hang up crop up an' buds stay in 
it, and it gets sof, goes all t'rough de nice white meat 
bird juice. May be poison laurel. I tole white man 'bout 
poison an' udders. You un'erstan', Doc'or? Me heard 
such men." 
"Oh, yes; and I think freezing and thawing and espe- 
cially the crops hanging above the breast might be in , 
jurious." 
"Yes, Doc'or, in-u-re-us. Mus'n't do it, Me un'erstan' 
eberyt'ing yo say. Me 'edicated,' you call. Can't read 
book, Ingin can't. Ingin read inw r atyou call nater. I 
don't alway say 'me' an' udder t'ings. Only say as me see 
udder Ingin do an' common white man say so, teach me." 
"Well, how does it happen, Nuel, you are so well edu- 
cated?" 
"Don't happen at all. When I a boy, 'bout 12 year, an' 
white boy too, same time, we go hunting — partsie, musk- 
quash, mink, rabbit — hunt much. Den do we grow older, 
hunt big t'ings. My wigwam not far from his house. Me 
tell you, I like to go to his house! I like um eat! Better 
eat dan my place. 
_ "We talk great deal. Hunt too. He like um me. Me 
like him too, much. He almose cry w'en we hab to leave. 
We^went to wood an' have a good hug an' han' shake an' 
kiss him (me not 'shame to tell it). You 'minds me, 
what me t'ink he would be, Doc'or, had he lib." 
"Did he die, Nuel ?"' 
"Oh yees. Die in Canada. He mose grow up. Logs 
jam, drown him. [In a vacant way, as though Nuel was 
trying to think.] He was good. Make me better Ingin. 
He used to show me how me speak. Laugh at me much. 
Say me can't talk at all. 1 tongue tie. Don't I try berry 
much. Now you see me talk jus' like white man. He 
tell me I can't speak 'brudder' an I spell letter, b-r-o-(little 
sound) e-r. An I say brudder. Isn't dat right?" 
"Oh yes. I answers just as well." 
' 'But isn't it d e same. I wan' to go to sam e place as Foce 
w'en me die. Dat I knows will be a good place. Jesu be 
dare. Ah, ah, me forgib you, Paul. Jesu said I mus'. 
It hard sometime, ain't it, Doc'or ? But me like to hear 
eberyt'ing in de win', except w'en I t'ink cuss word. T'o't 
me was goin' to sleep, Doc'or, but can't. Do me tire you ?" 
"No, no. Tell me more about Foce." 
CHUOKOR PARTRIDGE. 
"Oh, my! Can't talk sometime 'bout Foce. Only t'ink 
ob him an' Jesu. Day seem as dough day like dat nice 
boy— I guess he was like Jesu. He like to be in wil'neress, 
same as Foce. He like to be in mountain ; so Force. He 
like to cross de lake; so Foce, too. An' me, too. Me wan' 
to be wid Jesu an' Foce. We bof e be berry still. Not say 
a bad t'ing. An' Jesu was kick 'bout city worse 'an Ingin 
ever had. Me of 'en t'ink 'bout Him w'en de win' blow an' 
de t'under roll, an' de bird sing in de f'esh green bud, an' 
de sunshine, an' de bright sky, an' de big white cloud roll 
up. Oh! so sof. Make me lie on fedders an' sleep inPar- 
idee. Better 'an huntin' place. You know, Doc'or. Yes, 
me want to be like Foce. Dat my pet name, you call it. 
Putty name! He was so funny. When me caught otter 
or moose or udder nice f ing, he slap um me on my back 
an' say, 'Good for Ingin.' (Don't mean any f ing.) An' 
w'en Foce catch um fox or bear or any good f ing, den me 
would grab roun' his rib an' squees him, an' say, 'Good 
for white face.' (Don't mean any t'ing.) An' he say me 
great worse dan big she old bear. * An' we laugh. Oh! it 
seem berry ofen to me me see Foce. W'en me hunt um 
me fink me hear somefin' say, 'Now be careful. Nuel. 
Keep um still. Watch um.' Same as me hunt for 
bogislan. You 'member. Big bush before me, an' me 
move berry slow an' move from side to side. Den it seem 
Foce jus' behine me. Leetle branch an' twig jus' tap my 
back, and it seem to say, 'You wise hunter. Putty hard, 
Nuel.' An' all kine good t'ings make me careful an' talk 
of all good t'ings. But I mus' go sleep now. Maybe some 
time me tell you more of Foce. ^Good night, Doc'or." 
As Nuel prophesied, the air was cool and crisp, with 
just enough roughness over the ice to give a good hold on 
the feet. We did not start until broad light. Nuel said: 
"Mus' see de ice. No fin place; no spring hole; no air 
hole. Don't want horn an' skin wet, he! he!" 
I agreed with him, and when we started everything 
was in the sunshine. For several miles we journeyed 
along very nicely. Then came an air hole and we had to 
hug the bank. Then came in a spring brook and that 
made a large hole; then a rift that had piled up the ice 
and snow and made the sledding uncertain. We had to 
leave the stream quite often, and I found it pretty hard 
in some places. 
There was not much to be seen, only quite a school of 
large trout and suckers at several springs, and an owl flew 
attus; and high up three crows and a few bluejays ap- 
peared in one place, with from time to time a nuthatch 
and a chickadee. But before noon we had to leave our 
high road; there were signs of a clearing, and soon we 
hailed the stumps and a shanty. But, oh, what a forlorn 
home! What a life for any poor woman to have to live, 
though she seemed to be satisfied with her husband and 
her baby. Finally Nuel and myself before dark walked into 
the inn, and seating ourselves in the dining-room ordered 
our tea and lodgings. 
When we were alone T gave Nuel his money and the 
cloth. I also gave him his comforter and mine, too. I 
said, "Nuel, this is for Gabrel, remember, when you go 
hunting." 
"My!'' exclaimed Nuel. "My! I rich! I great man. 
Money in bank, more dan fifty crown. Some to eat, too. 
I glad for Gabrel. He poor. Not much pork; not much 
beef. He sqnaw hab to eat rabbit mose. 
"Good-by, Doc'or. Me hope you come again. Shake 
um han' Me lub you much. Me take good care ob you." 
As we left the inn I heard him saying to himself, "He, 
he! Me got um calleboo. Doc'or all well, too. So'me. 
I berry glad." S. 
Illinois Wolves. 
Jersey ville, 111., May 27.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
About a week ago Harry Ely discovered a litter of six 
young wolves in a hollow cottonwood on Dr. Joe Enos's 
farm, about two miles southeast of town. 
Mr. Ely took out the pups and brought them to town, 
and they have been on exhibition ever since at Scheffe's 
shoe store, where they have attracted much attention, 
being the first native-born wolves seen in this county for 
several years. 
As soon as the news of the wolves spread over town 
there was an immediate start for the old wolf. In the 
next two days several parties werehuntingforwolf scalps, 
and although they had several exciting chases and a num- 
ber of shots were fired, there has been no blood shed, and 
the old wolf has taken herself to parts unknown, where 
the climate is better suited to her health. 
This wolf is supposed to be the same one that has been 
seen for several years past about five miles east of town. 
Several hunts have been had there for her, but the dogs 
were never able to get her up, although her tracks have 
been seen frequently, and several farmers in that vicinity 
have seen her on several different occasions. 
There has been no other wolf seen nor heard of near 
this section, and some are inclined to think that the pup- 
pies are half dog. 
They certainly do resemble shepherd pups very much, 
but as we are not an expert on wolves we must leave the 
matter to Forest and Stream. Did any of the readers 
ever know of such a cross? L. S. Hansell. 
[Such crosses have been recorded in these columns 
before, and are not at all uncommon.] 
India Arrow-Proof Armor. 
In our issue of May 4 we printed a portrait and sketch 
of the Win tun chief Colchoolooloo. The photo was by 
Master C. E. Stone, a son of Mr. Livingston Stone, of the 
Baird salmon station. In a number of the McCloud River 
Salmon Fly just received we note the death of another 
old chief, of whom the young editor writes: "The Mc- 
Cloud River Indian chief, commonly known by the pro- 
saic name of Jim Mitchell, died Wednesday, the 8th inst., 
in his cabin, on the east bank of the river, about half a 
mile below the U. S. Fishery. He had been an almost 
blind and helpless paralytic for several years, but when 
he was in his prime he was a decidedly remarkable man. 
He had the brains as well as the hereditary authority to 
rule his tribe, and he had the gifts which enabled him to 
do it with ease. When he was buried an arrow-proof elk 
skin armor was placed in his coffin with him, which the 
Smithsonian Institution wanted to get for the Centennial 
Exhibition at Philadelphia in 1876, but the Chief refused 
$40 for it— he said he wanted to' keep it to be buried with 
him— and it was not purchased. The writer knows that 
the armor was arrow-proof, for the Chief, after putting it 
on, allowed the writer to shoot arrows at him at a dis- 
tance of 10ft. till he was tired. The arrows were shot 
from one of the very powerful bows of the tribe, which 
like Robin Hood's were made from the yew tree, but they 
all glanced harmlessly off the armor and the man was 
perfectly safe iDside. Indians are growing scarcer every 
year on the McCloud, and now that Jim Mitchell is gone, 
Alexander is the only chief left of the good old times 
when white men coming to the river either left it within 
twenty-four hours or never left it alive." 
How the Mother Goose Does it. 
Oroville, Wash., May 15.— I bad to make a trip from 
our claim on the Columbia to Spokane Falls. It was 
much nearer to go through the mountains on a cayuse 
than around by Davenport on the stage. I started quite 
early one morning and was riding along up the Spokane 
River when, as I came over a small rocky point, I noticed 
a very large bird soar down from a tree and carry some- 
thing in its mouth. At first I thought it was an eagle, 
but as soon as I climbed a little higher I could see it was 
an old gray goose, and that it had deposited its burden in 
the water, where I could see several small ones swimming 
around. 
I stopped, got off from my cayuse and watched the per- 
formance. I had waited but a few moments when one 
of the geese rose out of the water and flew straight to a 
cottonwood tree, alighted on a limb near a big nest, 
then took a few steps toward the nest, and reaching over 
into the nest took a voung gosling out and sailed down to 
her companions. When she let the youngster touch the 
water it cut all kinds of capers. 
She again returned to the nest and got another, which 
was the last. 
After watching them for quite a while I mounted my 
cayuse and rode on. When I came into plain view of the 
family the old ones fluttered away and the youngsters 
disappeared. There were seven little ones, as near as I 
could count. I have watched the wood duck carry her 
young from a tree, but this was the only time I ever saw 
a goose make the transfer, Lew Wilmot. 
