Sept. ll, 1997.J 
FOREST AND STHEAM, 
20S 
denly came upon a huge bear. The creature fell from a 
tree not twenty yards distant, and at once rose upon his hind 
feet. "He was in the aft of looking up to the branch from 
which he had slipped," writes Ashe, "when I fired, and. 
lodged a ball in his groin. He staggered, and leaned up 
against a tree; but. recovering a little from the pain and 
surprise, he deliberately stooped and picked up a quantity of 
clean leaves, which, with the greatest nrecaution, he stuffed 
into the wound, and this stopped the flow of blood.'" This 
was certainly a surprising surgical operation. Ashe was 
about to fire again, but his h^art relented at this conduct on 
the part of the bear. The animal made no demonstration 
whatever against his enc my. quite unlike what might have 
been expected; but, attempting to climb The tree again, the 
blood rushed forth afresh, and he fell to the ground, uttered 
a deep groan, and immediately expired. "He was a very 
large animal," says Ashe; "his tusks being Sin. long, and 
his paw 15 by Sin". " 
The most famous town on the line of the road between 
Carlisle and Pittsburg is Ligonier. A fort Was built here by 
General Forbes, and named Fort L'gonier. in honor of Sir 
John Ligonier, afterwards Lord Enniskillen, one of the 
heroes of Blenheim, Eamilies, and Malplaquet. The place 
was fiercely assailed by a body of French and Indians under 
T)e Vitri, in October, 1758, in retaliation of the premature 
and disastrous attempt by Major Grant upon the French at 
Fort Duquesne a short time previously. The attack was 
unsuccessful, and the enemy was beaten off with severe loss. 
Nearly five years later, the fort was repeatedly assailed by 
the savages in the uprising known as Pontiac's war, but 
never with success. Even during the dark days of the 
Revolution the fort was maintained herej so that the little 
town of Ligonier has a stirring history behind it. 
Three or four miles north of Ligonierj on the crest of the 
Chestnut Ridgp. near the public road between that town and 
t)erry, on the Pennsylvania R, R , is a tract of land once the 
property of the famous but unfortunate Gen, Arthur St. 
Plair. When I first knew the place, nearly forty years ago, 
it had the appearance of having been long abandoned, and 
the clearing was in an advancfd stage of the way to its 
former wilderness condition. Gen. St. Clair had filled many 
and high positions, both civil and military. He was with 
Amherst at the taking of Louisburg; was a lieutenant under 
Wolfe, at Quebec; was a major-general and one of Washing- 
ton's most trusted friends in the Revolution ; was appointed 
Governor of the Northwest Territory in 1788; was general- 
in-chief of the United States Armv, and was most miserably 
defeated by the Indians near the Wabash in November, 1791. 
This was the end of his public career. His star hastened to 
its setting. , St. Clair's defeat was the most calamitous that 
the white men have ever rectived from the Indians, All his 
former services and successes seemed forgotten in a moment, 
and only reproaches and taunts were to be his future portion. 
Scurrilous songs were sung all through the Western country, 
perpetuating his humiliation. 
" 'Twas November the fo urth, ia the year of 'Nmety-iDne, 
We had a sore en-ga-ge-ment near to Fort Jefferson ; 
St. Clair was our com-man-di er, which may remembered be, 
Tor there we lost nine hundred men in the Western Terri-to-ree." 
St. Clair withdrew from the public gaze as far as posnble, 
and sought seclusion in the loveliness of the Chestnut Ridge. 
As if to complete the crushing ruin of the man, his wife 
became a raving maniac and his son the oppressor of the 
fallen hero, his father. It was a sad ending of an adven- 
turous and useful life, and may be read in Frank Cowan's 
"Southwestern Pennsylvania in Song and Story." St. Clair 
died in the year 1818, and is buried in the cemetery at 
Greensburg. where his grave is marked by an unostentatious 
monument. Truly, "what shadows we are, and what 
shadows we pursue!" 
Only a few miles distant from the St. Clair tract is a 
cavern in the side of the Ridge, which is called the Bear 
Cave. It is called by this name, I suppose, on the principle 
that the man called a certain box his "tool chest," because 
it never had any tools in it. I never heard of any bears being 
found Id or about the Bear Cave. But it Is famous in that 
region, and is every year visited by curiosity seekers. It is 
scarcely a cave at all, but only a vast crevice or series of 
crevices, opening out one from another, and forming a laby- 
rinth that would have puzzled Theseus himself. Parties are 
reported to have penetrated this great fissure to the distance 
of a quarter of a mile without reaching the end. In a 
little book, "The Valley of the Conemaugh," published 
over thirty years ago, the author sums up his 
description of the Bear Cave in these words: "There 
have been many stories circulated in that vicinity about 
spacious apartments, magnificent with natural decora- 
tions, of beautiful altars, and columns, and other wonderful 
formations that have been discovered in this cavern, but 
upon our visit we saw nothing of the kind— nothing in the 
main but a long, tortuous maze with blackened walls and 
uneven floors ; dark, yawning chasms that seemed to have 
no bottom, and gloomy side passages iuto which if one should 
wander he might never return." 
Tnere is a legend that once upon a time a party of Indians 
ran a white man into this cavern. The entrance was then 
only a narrow opening under a rock. The white man did 
not seem to be awed, and one of the Indians attempted to 
crawl in after him. But the man had a keen-edged dagger 
which he at once plunged into the neck of the savage, killing 
him instantly. He then took him by the shoulders and drew 
him into ohe cave. Another Indian, seeing how easily his 
comrade had entered, followed his example, and received a 
severe wound. He withdrew, yelling. The rest knew bet- 
ter than to make any further attempts of that kind, but sat 
down at the door of the cave, determined to starve their vic- 
tim out, But the man, following the course of a small stream 
of water, which in wet weather flows through the cave, 
found an exit and made his escape, leaving his enemies 
.awaiting him a mile away. This is fiction doubtless; but in 
real life it has been paralleled in part by the heroism of Mrs. 
Merrill, of Kentucky, as we may read in Howe's "Great 
West,'' who killed, with an axe, five Indians that crept in 
one after another through a hole they had cut in the door of 
her cabin. Truth sometimes outdoes fiction 
T. J. Chapman. 
PirrsBORa, Pa. 
Forest and 8trkam is fair, clesui and good all the way through ; but 
you will pardon me if I say that now and then I go down into my 
trunk and bring up an old copy of Forest asd Stream and look 
longingly at the picture on the first page, and then look at the pic 
ture as it is now printed, and shake my head and feel sad. I would 
not give the knowledge that I have received in Forsst and Stream 
of the geography of the Korth western Slates for all that the paper 
has cost me. Qilmam K. Ball. 
OLD TIMES ON THE TRINCHARA RANGE. 
In Two Parts— Part One. 
In the early fieventies, when the Indian who lived near 
Camp Supply, I. T., felt the need of a little recreation, he 
would saddle his best horse, and in the company of a few 
kindred spirits slip out west toward the Rockies, without 
going through the ceremony of bidding: adieu to the agent, 
and give the Texans, Americans, Mexicans and Ute In- 
dians a little touch-up and a gentle reminder of old times 
by running them around, killing a few men, stealing 
horses, and occasionally basking in the smiles of the Mex- 
ican women, who were not proof against their winning 
ways and the good greenbacks of Uncle Sam with which, 
strange to say, they were sometimes liberally provided. A 
wild Cheyene is a man, gentle reader, in every sense of 
the word, seldom pious from a white man's standpoint, but 
still more seldom a fool. 
We, Don Gordo Jones and I, were camped on the Jimmy 
Hunt Canon, in Los Ammas county, Col., at an outside 
ranch owned by Thomas A. Perley and myself. ' Don 
Gordo Was as big as Falstaff, and as jolly. He had been 
a hunting companion of Kit Carson, and was as good a 
man as I ever saw for a frontier chum. He would swear 
like a pirate, but somehow it didn't sound wicked when 
Jones swore. With his bright blue eyes and long hair 
and flowing white beard, he always reminded me of an 
old lion. He lived on San Francisco Creek, where it joins 
the Purgatoire; and I used to hire him for companionship 
— for he wouldn't work much. God bless him. He is 
long gone over the divide, but his memory is still green in 
the hearts of the men that loved him. 
We were pretending to take care of the cattle that be- 
longed to Perley and me, and really were having a very 
nice time htinting and riding around after mavericks, and 
we always played seven-up after each meal to see who 
should wash the dishes. I generally washed them, for 
Don Gordo was an artist with cards, but we both enjoyed 
We had as a partner in our joys a dog, ctu-ly-tailed, blue- 
bodied and white-headed, with blue ears. He was a kind . 
of a cross between — well, I guess it was just a cross between 
two dogs. He looked like a sausage on four legs, but gen- 
erally ran on three, and I never saw a respectable sausage 
do that. His name was Perro (pronounced Paro, and 
meaning just ''He-dog" in Mexican), tie belonged to Mrs. 
Virginia Jones, wife of Don Gordo. Mrs. Virginia was 
one of the ugliest-looking old Greasers that I ever saw, but 
she was a good woman, kind, hospitable and virtuous, and 
Jones loved her, but he didn't like Perro, and Perro would 
follow him like Mary's little lamb. 
I have often seen a broad grin overspread Mrs. J.'s 
leathery visage when Don Gordo started from home on an 
expedition— and they were many — and she would say, 
Cuidado su Padreciio ])erro mio — ('Take care of your little 
father, my dog"). 
Then Gordo would shake his fist at Perro and hurl an 
imprecation at the "Mexican cur," while Perro would sit 
at a respectful distance looking wise, with one ear cocked 
up, and watching Gordo, with his head turned sidewise. 
But the minute Jones started the dog would, too, and he 
would make camp promptly when we began to unsaddle. 
But all bright things must end, and we were awakened 
one night at about 2 A. M. by the trampling of a horse 
at the door. Jones rose up in his blankets, pointed a 
Sharp's .50cal.' rifle at the door, and cheerfullv inquired: 
"Who's there?" 
"It's me, Sol Mays, boss," said an unmistakably African 
voice. "I has a letter for Mr. Dick." 
In five minutes Sol's horse was eating corn out of a 
morale (Mexican, nosebag), and he himself was before the 
fire eating a big chunk of beefsteak and some sour dough 
bread, and drinking coflFee blacker than it ought to be for 
any one who had even a suspicion of nerves or anything 
frailer than a cast iron stomach. Then, while he was eat- 
ing, I read Lew's letter: 
Dear Dick— The Indians from tha east have broke loose again and 
are south of ihe Ratons. They will be this side of the mountains 
soon. They are killing men and raising heU generally. Look out for 
them. Yours, J. " w. Leweling. 
I read it to Jones, whose early book education had been 
neglected, but who was a professor when it came to any- 
thing that was needed on the frontier, such as hunting, 
trapping, fighting, or running away discreetly. He smiled 
a gentle smile, and said that he wasn't going to follow- 
Lew's advice and look outdoors for 'em just that minute, 
for it was very dark, and he "didn't want to find an Injun 
nohow." 
"What are you doing down here, Sol?" asked Jones. 
"I come down to get Boss Lew's horses and take 'em to 
him, and 1 think he is so worked up he will put 'em under 
his bed." 
It was evident that Solomon was not much pleased with 
the expedition and was disposed to be mildly sarcastic. 
"There is good grass down in Lew's pasture here, and if 
I was him I'd leave 'em here, instead of taking them up to 
Trinidad and starving 'em to death," said Jones. 
"No," said Sol, "I'll do just as the boss told me to. lam 
goin' to get 'em to-night and start back." And suiting the 
action to the word, he began to gird up his loins by re- 
strapping the belt that answered for suspenders and a pis- 
tol belt. I put a loaf of bread, a big chunk of boiled meat 
and some salt in a flour sack and gave him some matches; 
and in a moment I heard the horse grunt and start as he 
mounted and prodded it with his big Mexican spurs. 
I replenished the fire and Jones rofled a cigarette. 
"What had we better do, Jones?" said I, for I knew he 
was a general, while I was a private in business like this. 
"My idea is to put all our horses to-morrow in the canon 
where Sol is going to take Lew's from, all but our two 
horses to ride; and go up to the home ranch by way of the 
Picketwire Cafi.on." 
Picketwire is American for Purgatoire in Mexican. It 
is a canon 2,000ft. deep, with a small river in it, and plains 
Indians don't like to fool around in deep, rough places. 
So the iiext morning at daybreak we got the horses and 
put them in the little deep canon pasture which Lew'b 
horses had just vacated. Then we stopped up the gap and 
started gaily for camp, to get grub and go home. 
When we had ridden about a mile from the house, which 
was below us in a shallow canon, Jones stopped his horse 
with a sharp jerk on the bridle, and said: '"They have got 
our house." I looked and saw a big smoke pour up at the 
Jacal (pole-house) where we lived. 
"Is it Indians?" 
"I guess so," said Jones, "and I ain't goin' to see" 
We headed, without a word, for the going-down place 
into the Purgatoire Canon, and — went. For the next hour 
I was l)usy sending mv willing pony down steep places, 
through between big rocks, down, down, down, 
till at last we were at the bottom of the Purgatoire 
with Jones and his little dog, and not a bite to eat and 
no breakfast. I rode all day and Jones wouldn't let 
me kill a calf; he said that the Indians would 
hear us if we shot off' again; and told me -that if I got too 
hungry we would eat the dog. The dog seemed cheerful 
and trotted along behind and I grew awfully hollow. 
Jones was fat and I believe could have existed on his own 
tallow for a week. He tormented me by telling how good 
dinner would taste. on the morrow. When it got dark we 
had to camp, for the trail up the Purgatoire cannot bft - 
followed with any comfort in the night. At daybreak I 
woke up. My stomach felt awful. Jones was asleep. I 
got my horse. Looked all around to see that there was 
no one in sight, and then shot a calf that was inspecting 
us, with a small bunch of Texas cattle about 100yds. away . 
Jones jumped up and swore when he saw what Iliad, 
done. We saddled our horses, cut off a hindquarter and 
some ribs from the calf, and rode an hour as fast as we 
could. Then we got under a ledge of rocks and built a 
fire of dry sticks; and how I did eat burnt calf's ribs, and 
chunks of meat scorched a little in the fire. After cooking 
the rest after a fashion, we went on to the going-up place, 
which was about five miles from the ranch, hid here till 
night, went up a fearful path and sneaked in home in the 
dark, and found ten men well armed and forted up. We 
ate and slept the sleep of the just, and were safe; 'but the 
outside ranch which we had left was gone, burned by In- 
dians, so I thought. I had packed everything out before 
we left, however, and hid it up the cation in a little cave; 
and so I didn't feel very bad at all, except about the stove 
which I had left in the house. Don Gordo went home the 
next day to San Francisco Creek, to take his family up to 
the settlement on Purgatoire, and I rested. 
W. J. Dixon. 
THE WAYS OF SNAKES. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
A few days s'nce a friend gave me a copy of the Forest 
AND Stream, and the several articles in it concerning snakes 
interested me very much. Havipg been born and raised in 
a "snaky" locality, where game and fiih and birds abounded, 
and the hand of remorseless man had scarcely began to 
despoil the beauties of nature, my opportunities for observ- 
ing the habits and antics of the lower animal life were ex- 
tensive, and a decided penchant in that direction made me 
the more willing and anxious to improve such occasions. 
I have seen numbers of blackmakes in all kinds and sizes 
of trees, but never yet have I seen one either going up or 
coming down. So far as I am able to judge they have three 
motives for climbing trees Oae is to get into a hole for thf. 
purpose of hibernation ; there can be no doubt of . this as I 
have found them in hollow traes cut down in midwinter. 
The next is for the purpose oF "shedding" By crawling 
through the various forks and branches they are enabled to 
rub and loosen the skin so that it more readily comes oil. I 
have seen dozens of snake sheds hanging in trees to one any- 
where else The shed is a curiosity, covering the snake 
entirely, even its eyeballs, being a perfect transparent mould 
of the snake. The old saying, "As blind as a snake during 
dog days," thus had its origin and is absolutely true as 
regards blacksnakes. ' • 
The next and meanest and commonest incentive to their 
climbing is their weakness for feasting on the eggs and young 
of birds; and the old ones, too — if they can catch them. 
Undoubtedly, they are the greatest known enemy to birds — 
not only to those which nest in trees, but those which nest 
on the ground, such as prairie chickens, quail, larks, etc. 
The bad boy isn't in it with a blacksnake. 
It was no rare occurrence to see them in all parts of barns 
— from the basement to the haymow. They have one re- 
deeming feature, and that is, they make it hot for rats and 
mire. 
For this reason there are few farmers who would moleit 
a "barn blacksnake." The rodents give him a wide berth, 
and he can and docs go everywhere they do — follows them 
into their holes and swallows them unceremoniously. 
Some years ago I was living in a large, two-story frame" 
house — a rather old one. Several swallows had built nests 
up under the projecting roof of the gable. One morning 
there was a great disturbance and excitement among them. 
An investigation revealed the presence of a large blacksnake, 
which, with head and part of its body projecting fi'om 
a crack in the weather- boarding, was making heroic efforts 
to reach a nest. Along cane fishing pole was hastily pro- 
cured, a fishhook tied to its end, and the snake was promptly 
snaked out and down and dispatched, to the great relief of 
the little birds. It was mysterious how he got there, and 
still more so how he knew the nests were there. 
I once owned an intelligent shepherd dog, and he was an 
inveterate deadly enemy to snakes of all kinds. He was the 
only dog I ever saw thut would make a special business of 
hunting and killing snakes. The probable cause of it was 
that he had been bitten several times by rattlers, and suft'ered 
severely under the best treatment I could give him. On one 
occasion I was riding along a fenced railroad track. The 
weeds had not been cut, and it was an ideal snake paradise. 
I heard Shep give several long, peculiar barks, and at once 
knew he had found a snake It was raining at the time, and 
I was loth to get down ; but thinking it might be a rattler, 1 
hurriedly hitched my horse, jumped the fence, and dis- 
covered Shep going around and around a large blacksnake, 
which was in a cone-coil, very much like the bygone beehives 
made out of straw twisted into a rope. His head was fol- 
lowing Shep around. It was quite evident that the dog was 
trying to get the snake to make a strike, when he would 
pounce upon and kill it. He had learned this from experi- 
ence. Said I, "Take him, Shep," and he ins'antly grabbed 
him. When he pulled it away, a live rabbit, about half 
grown, was discovered thickly covered with slime from nose 
to the middle of body. It was unhurt, and after making 
several efforts, got on its feet and skipped. In the mean- 
time Shep was shaking the snake, making it pop almost as 
loud as a whip cracker, and shook two more rabbits out of 
it as large as, and no doubt of the same family as the otbcr. 
This was the first lime 1 ever knew how a snake swallows 
