Aug. 31, 1897. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
147 
PARK STAGE ROBBERY. 
{Special Dispatch to the Baltimore' Sun.) 
Mammoth Hot Springs, Wyoming, Aug. 15. — Five stage 
coaches were held up and robbed yesterday morning near 
the Grand Cafion Hotel, in Yellowstone Park, by two 
I masked highwaymen. 
When the news first reached here it was not credited, 
but a telegram to the stage office removed all doubts. 
Intense excitement prevailed, as such an occurrence has 
never happened before. The arrival of the stages were 
awaited with the utmost anxiety. They rolled up at Mam- 
moth Hot Springs Hotel about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, 
and the passengers, as they alighted, were besieged by im- 
patient inquiries. 
Thfere were about sixty passengers in the five coaches, 
of whom more than half were guests. The robbers had 
sacks over their heads, with holes for eyes, and sacks also 
over their feet. The first coach was stopped by the high- 
waymen with bullets from six-shooters, and the male pas- 
sengers ordered to get out and hold their hands up. The 
ladies were quieted with promises that they would not be 
disturbed. There was nothing for the gentlemen to do 
but comply. They were totally unarmed, as the carr}iing 
of arms within the park limits is prohibited. One by one 
the unfortunates were compelled to disgorge. 
As the stages which were in the rear came up the same 
load in turn they were all put through the same experi- 
ence and drivers ordered to remain still until told to move 
on. The ladies in the last coach did not fare as well as 
those in the first, as they were also roughly ordered to de- 
liver up their valuables. 
The robbers were after money and did not care much 
for watches and jewelry. The watch of one man was 
taken and then thrown back to him. 
When the highwaymen stopped the first coach the pas- 
sengers thought it a joke, but were not long in realizing 
how serious it was. ' The ladies all behaved beautifully 
while under cover of the weapons of the robbers, but when 
out of harm their strained nerves gave way and some of 
them became hysterical, and when they reached the hotel 
here they had to be put to bed. 
An army ambulance, with two officers, was just behind 
the stages. The officers were also without means of de- 
fense and had to hand out their money the same as the 
coach passengers. 
The robbers did not realize more than $700, as it is not 
customary to carry much money through the Park, and 
many of the passengers found an opportunity to secrete 
their purses. A gentleman threw unobserved into a 
bunker a fat pocketbook, which he recovered after the 
robbers walked ofi". A lady in a bicycle suit secreted in 
its recesses a big roll of notes handed her by her hus- 
band as he was getting out. 
The highwaymen were scarcely out of sight before sol- 
diers and scouts were on their trail, but as these were on 
foot the chances of catching up with the robbers are not 
promising. Colonel Young, in command at Fort Yellow- 
stone, ordered out every man possible. He also telegraphed 
.tiae Interior Department at Washington asking permission 
.to offer a reward for the capture of the robbers, but was 
informed that the department had no authority to do so. 
Naturally, the affair has put in a flutter of apprehension 
tourists preparing for the trip through the Park. This 
: alarm is doubtless without reason, as a repetition is as one 
■chance in ten thousand. 
"That reminds me." 
Twice-Told Tales. 
Editor Torest and Stream: 
Forest ksd Stream of August 7, under "Camp Fire 
Flickerings," has a practical illustration of the variations 
through which a fishing legend may run. In this case, as it 
happens, the variation is m Forest ahd Stream itself. 
i. S. Van C.'s "What Are We Here For?" is the same story 
which, I think, was better told of the bishop in Fokest akd 
Stream of March 31, 1894, and there credited lo Harpe fs 
Magazine. H. S. D. 
Forest and Stream, Augiist 7, 1897. 
"What Are We Here For?" 
Some two or three years ago a party of anglers, including 
a minister as one of their number, were fishing in the jSforth 
woods, and when Sunday came the question arose whether 
the party other than the minister should not refrain from 
fishing, out of respect to his feelings. 
One of the party, however, made bold to ask him whether 
he thought that it was wicked to fish on Sunday, and he 
declined to express" any opinion, on the ground that he was 
there as an angler and not by virtue of his calling, and that 
every person must act according to the dictates of his own 
conscience. He referred, however, to the following incident 
which had occurred not long before within his personal 
knowledge, 
A man and woman called at the house of a minister for 
the purpose of being married. After going through the pre- 
liminary part of the service, the minister asked the usual 
.question, "Do you, John, take this woman to be your law- 
ful, wedded wife?" This was met by the rejoinder, "What 
in thunder do you suppose I came here for?" 
The party other than the minister went fishing, while he 
Temained at home with ample opportunity for rest and med- 
itation. J. S, Van C. 
Forest and Stream, March SI, 18%. 
Sunday Fishing. 
'Some years ago a number of gentlemen visited the moun- 
tains of Colorado for the purpose of fishing. Among the 
party was a bishop of an Eastern diocese of the Episcopal 
church. Fishing was the sole occupation and amusement 
of the visitors; so when Sunday came, as there was nothing 
•else' to do, the laymen of the party got out their rods, pre- 
paratory to casting a line. But they were in a quandary as 
to the bishop. They did not want to hurt his feelings by 
leaving him l)ehind, nor did they want to offend his 
religious principles by inviting him to go fishing on Sunday. 
Finally one of them plucked up courage and told him of 
their dilemma, whereupon the good man said that he would 
tell them of a happening in his earlier life which he thought 
-rather apropos. "Some years ago," he said, "when I had 
charge of the affairs of a parish, I was awakened about 2 
o'clock one morning, and upon inquiring who was there, 
heard a man's voice reply that he was there with Miss 
Blank, and that they wanted to get married. I reasoned 
with him about the untimely hour, but to no avail; he meant 
to get married right then and there. So I put on my clothes 
and gown, and went down stairs and began the marriage 
service. Everything went along as dictated in the service 
till I asked the man, 'Wilt thou take this woman to be thy 
wedded wife?' to which he replied, 'What 'm I here fur?' " 
They waited for the bishop. H. S. D. 
A Dead Bear and a Dude. 
Its one of my spring hunts for bear in York county, New 
Brunswick, I had for a short time as visitor in camp a city 
young man, whose highest ambition was to shoot a bear, one 
fast in a trap even. His desire had been gratified, and one 
day only remained of his stay, which was spent on a line 
where I had set up a deadfall, As the deadfall came into 
view a huge bear was seen fast under the fall. The young 
man was delighted, and offered his assistance to set up the 
prop, when 1 raised the fall-log. There had been twenty- 
four hours of very warm, humid weather, so that the car- 
cass was greatly swollen with gas. The front of the deadfall 
being on the height of a knoll, the carcass, when released, at 
once rolled away, the pent up gas at the same time finding 
vent through nose and mouth, made a hissing, guttural 
noise, startling to a novice. At the movement and the 
alarming noise the youth sprang away, shouting: "Great 
Cajsar! the bear's alive. Run for your life." And acting 
up to his words, he sprinted to cainp. Madawasica. 
Proprietors of fishing resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream. 
The "Game Laws in Brief." 
The current edition of ttie Game Laws in Brief (index page dated 
Aug. 1) contains tlie fish and game laws for 1897, with a few excep- 
tions, as they will continue in force during the year. As about forty 
States and Provinces have amended their laws this year, the Brief 
has been practically done over new. Sent postpaid by the Forest 
and Stream Pub. Co, on receipt of price, 25 cents. AU dealers sell it 
AN AFTERNOON IN JULY. 
"Say, Bob, what do you say about giving the bass a little 
whirl this afternoon?" 
"All right. Where?" 
"Out on the creek. It's too late to go anywhere else, 
and by the time we get there we will just about catch them 
coming up from the lake to feed." 
"Well, I'll go you. You go and get into your clothes, 
and I will dig some worms to catch minnows; and, by the 
way, you can hitch up the mare." 
In short order everything was in readiness, and we were 
on our way to one of the best bass stream for its size in the 
State of Michigan. 
It is an inlet to a lake that was in the past noted for its 
great bass fishing, but for some unaccountable reason has 
been abandoned for years and left to the frogs and turtles. 
I have often heard my father tell of the great bass and 
pickerel he had taken out of it in days gone by. Yet I 
never remember seeing any one, with the exception of some 
boys, fishing on it. The lake at one time was very large, 
but it is now well overgrown with bog land, and the water 
space wouldn't cover an area of four acres at the most, yet 
it is very deep and clear. 
The stream is from 10 to 13ft. wide, very crooked, and 
running very deep at each bend. The nearer you go to the 
lake the deeper it gets. The banks are hard and clear in 
places, and there is no timber to bother one when casting. 
As you approach the lake, it gets very mucky, and is fuU of 
muskrat and mink holes, some of which are very large and 
covered with tall marsh hay and weeds, consequently one 
must keep his eyes open or out of sight; he goes. It was 
while hunting mink on this stream that my brother and I 
discovered that bass were running up here and using it for a 
feeding ground. 
Bob and I arrived at the small bridge about 4:30 P. M., 
and in short order had about fifteen good minnows of a 
medium size. We started down stream. I was to fish to 
the first bend. Bob to the second, and so on. 
Before going any further, I must tell you of our different 
opinions in regard to tackle. Bob believes in the old-fash- 
ioned outfit. A good strong cane pole (not rod), with a line 
as heavy as possible and about 3ft. longer than the pole; and 
as to the hook — well, on a pinch it could be used for a gaff. 
On the contrary, 1 use a light outfit — a lOoz. rod, leader and 
reel to correspond. Mind you, I believed as he did, until 1 
was laughed out of it while on a fishing trip in the northern 
part of the State last year. 
Well, after this brother of mine had relieved his mind of 
some remarks about the dude fisherman and his fine tackle, 
and had promised to show me how to hook and land bass, 
we each hooked on a minnow and started for our different 
parts of the stream, 
Swash goes the bait, and I draw it slowly toward me 
without a strike. Again and again I send it down stream, 
each time walking toward it and fishing very slowly. 
I had gone probably 30ft. without getting a ripple, but on 
the next cast the minnow barely touched the water when a 
two-pounder jumped clear a foot for it. He hooked himself 
well and away he went, making the line sing as it cut 
through the water. I held him up as short as possible, 
wishing to land him as soon as I could. Alter throwing 
himself out clear of the water a couple of times, he turned 
on his side. Getting a net under him was but little bother, and 
he was landed in no time. My fishing friend asked to see 
him, so I held him up, and got for my trouble the remark 
that he thought it was a ten-pounder by the fuss I made in 
landing him. I said nothing, as I knew my time would 
come; and putting on a fresh minnow was just about to cast, 
when I heard a whoop, and turned in time to see Bob throw- 
ing a poor bass almost out of sight, by giving him one of his 
famous jerks. Fortunately, the fish was well hooked, other- 
wise he would surely have torn his head off. 1 had an op- 
portunity then to make a few remarks about butchers slaugh- 
tering fish, etc., which I did in the finest way possible. 
Feeling that I had, in a measure, repaid him for a few 
of his past remarks, I sent my bait well down stream 
and got a strike at once; foolishly I pulled too quickly and 
lost minnow and all. Quickly putting on another bait I sent 
it after him, and found thai he was still in the same ppot 
and open for business, as he struck it the minute it touched 
the water. Thinking that now I would square accounts, I 
tried to set the hook, but failed, and again lost my minnow. 
I returned to the bucket, and while fishing around in it for 
another bait saw a small grass frog and took him instead, 
hooked him on, and walking carefully to one of the deep 
holes in the bend of the creek dropped him lightly over the 
edge of the bank. He gave just one kick and the water 
boiled around and under him. The result was another bass 
of about the same size as the first one. Upon returning to 
the minnow pail I found that Eob had exhausted our supply 
and had a dogfish, pickerel and bass to show for it. I told 
him of my experience with the frog, so we both set about it, 
and in a few minutes bad a dozen or fifteen good ones with 
one of unusual size. For the rest of the afternoon the fish- 
ing was good. 
In all we had a dozen fine bass, averaging about Slbs, 
One of them was what we call a "whale." I must tell you 
about him. We were well down toward the lake and just 
about to return, when looking ahead a few yards I saw a 
particularly fine piece of water which looked very fishy. 
(Have you ever seen water like that?) Wishing to try it I 
made a long back cast, for the purpose of reaching the spot, 
and just as I was about to cast forward there was a swirl 
and swash behind. My line went out of the reel and set up 
an unusual buzzing. For a moment I was dumfounded, 
and just as I was about to return to earth the villain, on my 
hook, made straight for me, trying to get into the lake. By 
some unknown power I managed to keep the line taut, 
and away he went headed for the lake, taking out 100ft. of 
line before I knew it. I had to stop that, so I made the old 
fellow fight for every inch after that, and it was a fight, I 
tell you. Backward and forward he went, first on one side 
of the stream and then on the other, then again he would 
turn and run directly toward me, then, as quick as a flash, 
for the lake he would go. Bob looked over and asked if I 
wanted any help. I said no, but if I landed this one I 
would show him a corker. This remark and my struggles 
rather excited his curiosity, and he began to run toward me. 
He plunged on, regardless of danger, and just as I was about 
to caution him about the bog holes, he made a whoop and 
disappeared under the grass and muck. He reappeared as 
quick as he went under, covered with lily roots and mud. 
By this time I had to look after my own troubles, as the bass 
was just churning things. I knew he was a good one, as he 
wouldn't start my way at all. Zigzag he went across the 
stream, and then again he made a terrible plunge for the lake, 
as the old beggar knew if he got there the friendly shelter of 
pond-lily roots would save him. My only way of meeting 
these rushes was to run him into the bank. I was fishing 
with a single 6ft. leader and did not want to tax it too much. 
Bob arrived at this moment, and, grabbing the net. made 
in the direction of the bass. He worked up carefully so as 
not to frighten him, and, looking over the bank, fell back 
and hollowed that it was the largest one he had ever seen. 
He cautioned me about losing him, and suggested that I 
should allow him to go in and get him. All this time the 
struggle was going on in earnest. Bob was dancing like an 
Indian, his eyes standing out like two onions and his hair 
full of muck and weeds. Inch by inch and foot by foot the 
old warhorse was disputing the ground with me, but finally 
I felt him turn, and then, for the first time, he was coming 
iny way. Very slowly I worked him in and felt that, bar- 
ring accident, the battle was mine; yet now and then he 
would show a little fight. After 1 got him well up he 
turned over on his side, and, for the first time, I saw 
him. Well, I must confess, my heart stopped for a mo 
ment, as he looked like the side of a dried codfish and 
was a monster, to be sure. Bob got the net well 
out into the stream while I worked him up toward 
it, and just as Bob was about to raise it over him the 
old fellow caught sight of it and make one more break for 
the lake It was a grand effort, as he had out a bunch of 
line and was pulling like a mule before I knew it. Suddenly 
there was a slack, my rod straightened, and my heart went 
into my shoes. I said: "Bob, 1 have lost him." 
For a minute he said nothing, then turning, with a look of 
pity, said-: "It serves you right for fishing with such an out- 
fit. If I had had him hooked as you did, he would have 
been out and we on our way home by this time. Don't ever 
talk to me again about fishing tackle." 
I couldn't say a word, as my grounds for argument were 
very small, so 1 began to reel in my line, which, by the way, 
felt rather heavy. Thinking I had a bunch of weeds on, I 
began to walk toward my hook, reeling as I went. After 
almost reaching the spot where it was caught, 1 gave the 
fine a slight upward jerk to free the hook, and to my sur- 
prise, received a jerk in return. With renewed hopes I 
tightened upon it and called to Bob, who had started for the 
road in disgust. He turned, and in a few jumps (this time 
looking out for the holes) was on the spot, net in hand. 
Running to where I directed, he let out a shout of joy as he 
saw the old veteran lying on his side, with just a spark of 
life left in him, but still fighting. His last effort had nearly 
killed him. The net was slipped under him and he was 
hauled to the bank and out. 
WeU, Bob and I shook hands— I don't know why — and 
stood and admired the old fellow, for he had given us a 
noble fight. He was an old veteran, to be sure, as he had 
two buckshot in his back, and a long scar on one side, 
caused by a spear, no doubt. His tail was cut, and part of 
it was missing. As he lay on the grass, gasping now and 
then, I must say I felt sorry to see him die, and to think 
that he was at last landed. We put him into the pail and 
started back. Bob took the last frog — the big one — hooked 
him, and threw into the stream to drag as we returned to 
the road. We had almost reached it, when there was a 
commotion about the bait, and away went his line. Bob 
straightened for the task, of course expecting to lift liim 
right out, but he found that his poll wouldn't stand it. 
The bass ran up stream to the end of the line, then he 
started back Again my friend tried to raise him out, but 
had to give it up, and away the bass went for the lake. It 
was but a short run to the end of the line, and we never 
knew when he came to it, as it parted so easily. Bob fell 
on his back and the bass is running yet. My time had come 
at last, and maybe I didn't say a few things about his 
fishing-tackle and ability. He made -no reply, I therefore 
knew that I had struck home. The next day he sent out an 
order to one of the best^tackle houses in the country for a 
complete outfit. 
The bass 1 took weighed, after being out of the water 
nearly two hours, Sflbs. I expected him to weigh more, 
and he would have done so had I lost him, as my friends 
would have heard a lOlbs. bass story. Bear Creek. 
