March 26, 1898.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
248 
about the rest of his days; hence our yearning for that 
turtle. 
After going over the set lines next moi-ning,- and find- 
ing no turtle — only three or four cats — I went up to 
the farmhouse and neighbor Riggles and the old house 
dog swooped down on a fat young dominick rooster 
in a corner of the chicken yard, and T carried him down 
to camp to take the place of the turtle that we didn't 
and stuck to it till we were just too full for utterance, 
and never was a dinner better i^elished, the only draw- 
back being that we had no company to Itelp us out, for 
Bradway was too intent on his fishing or too modest to 
come up after several more *'holl|erin's" for him. 
T have eaten chicken stews, venison stews, rabbit, 
squirrel, grouse, goose and divers other kinds of stews 
off and on for a matter of fiftv years or more — soine 
THE ELK 
Photo for the Eorest and 
get. I didn't keep him long in suspense, but cut his head 
off with the hatchet; and then took place a circus that 
was something astonishing. 
After the manner of most chickens with their heads 
cut off, he began to flop and jump, and turn somersaults, 
having, as it seemed, the muscles of a kangarod in his 
legs; and soon he was thrashing around in the weeds 
back of the tent, and then back he came, zigzagging 
in aimless leaps toward the fireplace, and before I could 
intercept him he went sailing over the bank into the 
water. 
He kept flopping till he was 20ft. or more out from the 
bank, and then lay quiet — "must 'a' drownded," I reckon 
—and then I w^as in a category as to how to get him 
ashore. I had to scratch my head a few times before I 
could formulate a plan, and then I took my rod, and at 
the second cast dropped the line over him, and reeling 
slowly in till the hook caught in the feathers towed him 
gently down to the wash stand, and landed him with a 
shout that brought Tom up from his rock below to see 
what had happened. 
When I explained the episode to him, he remarked, 
with the inevitable dry chuckle, as he started back to 
his rock, "Well, Hickory, if you can't catch bass, you're 
at the head o' the class at snarin' dead chickens," which 
moved me to sail a club after him to hasten his move- 
ments, but he dodged it and went chuckling through 
the bushes, to appear a minute or so after at the crib 
below anchored complacently on his favorite seat. 
Lest some doubting Thomas (not Tom Smarr) may 
think I don't know how to prepai'e a chicken for the 
pot, I will say that I soused that rooster into the camp 
kettle two-thirds full of scalding water, when, after the 
proper amount of gyrating and twisting, I yanked him 
out, and sat down on a camp stool and picked the 
feathers off clean, and then singed him in the blaze of 
the fire, as provided for in the regulations. Then I split 
him open on the back with the hatchet, disembowled 
him and cut him up secundum artem— that is, with the 
hatchet and butcher knife — and the job was done, and 
the remains ready for the post mortem by Dr. Tom, who 
had promised to convert him into a stew that would lay 
all the chicken stews of ancient and modern times in 
the shade. 
I hived the dissected rooster in a tin pan, covering it 
with another to keep flies and bugs out, and Bradway 
coming along just then we went down below to fish 
a while, he joining Tom at their "forty-five bass hole," 
while I went on down to the wide water to have an- 
other try for my big bass with the sprained jaw, Tom 
and Bradway conceding that according to angling ethics 
I was entitled by right of discovery to the first cast. I 
got nothing in a half hour's fishing, and went up and 
joined the other two till it was time to go up and start 
the stew to brewing. 
Friend Smith had evidently slipped a cog or missed 
his train, for he didn't come, and he "missed the chance 
of his life," as Tom said. 
I built a fire just to Tom's pleasement, and he put 
the chicken in the camp kettle half filled with water, 
sat it on the iron bars and "let 'er go" till it came to 
a boil, skimming off the scum as occasion required, 
He cut up some bacon into small squares, sliced a couple 
of potatoes, chopped fine a half of an onion, chucked 
all in the kettle, put in seasoning quantum suf. and sat 
down on a camp stool to watch it boil and simmer, add- 
ing a stick of wood to the fire from time to time till 
it got to a consistency that would exactly suit him. 
I left him stewing over his stew and went down and 
fished a while with Bradway, going back in half an hour 
or so to see how the dinner was coming on. At last Tom 
announced the stew to be just between a soup and a 
potpie, which he said was the proper thickness for a 
stew, and we hollered for Brer Bradway to come up and 
"jine," but he hollered back that he had just eaten his 
snack and couldn't come, as he was looking for a bite 
every minute. Tom said, "Let 'im alone; that feller 
would rather fish than eat," 
We sat down to that famous stew, fried fish, fried 
potatoes, bread, butter, honey, coffee, "et settery &c.," 
PADDOCK. 
Stream by N. i^. Stebbins. ' 
good, some better — but that stew of Tom's seemed to lay 
over 'em all, and I stand ready to back him against all 
the camp cooks on the continent as the concoctor of 
a savory, palatable stew that will reach the spot with the 
most directness and satisfying results. Brer Smith and 
Brer Bradway will never find out what they missed by 
not "j'inin' " us on that perfect ^October Sunday. 
We left the table as it stood, dishes unwashed, and 
went dowm the stream to put in the afternoon fishing 
till it would be time to pack up and break camp. We 
wanted the big bass that got away to take home with 
us, and we all three went down to the wide water deter- 
mined to circumvent him if patient and careful fishing 
would accomplish it, but after an hour's still-fishing 
along the willows, and casting with the most enticing 
minnows, up, down and across the stream, over every 
square yard of water to be reached by short and long 
casts without sign of a strike we gave it up; he was too 
branch at home in which he kept a good supply of 
minnows during the fishing season, and we gave him 
all we had left — about 150 in all — to take home with him, 
to remember us by, and after a brotherly shake all around 
he took his way up the river through the corn to his 
buggy at the head of the field, and that was the last we 
saw of Brer Bradway, but we will always remember 
him as a quiet-mannered, gentlemanly and companion- 
able comrade to be out with along a stream. 
Tom and I sampled the stew again — we couldn't hold 
much more of it — washed the dishes and started in to 
pack up, wondering the while why our friend Bill had 
not put in an appearance during the day. 
When everything was ready and our fish packed in 
a big chip basket that we had brought along full of 
delicacies, we were loth to leave the place where we 
had passed four such happy daj^s, but the sun was down 
and it was time to think of getting the outfit out to the 
road, and if Bill failed us we could likely get neighbor 
Riggles to take us to town, 
Out at the road we sat on the big canvas bag and 
smoked and waited for Bill till the dusk of the evening 
came down on us, when to our relief f^andlord H. him- 
self came along, and we were soon on our way to town. 
On asking why Bill had not come up after us, he said 
that "on the money we paid Bill for the minnows he 
got gloriously and hilariously drunk and was laid up 
somewhere for repairs and trying to reduce the size of 
his head to conform to the number of his hat." He said 
also that he had "fired" Bill and told him not to come 
back, but I trust that the natural kindness of his heart 
prompted him to reconsider his action after we were gone, 
for Tom and I took it to ourselves that we were in a 
measure responsible for Bill's swelled head, although 
he had got no "licker" at our camp. (Bill had said down 
in town that "the ole gray-headed feller up at the camp 
was a purty good sort of an ole chap, but he didn't have 
no licker along.") 
Alas, poor devil! Like many another good fellow, 
he couldn't stand prosperity, even though it came to him 
only in the shape of a measly dollar or two. We felt 
only sorry for Bill, but our sympathy was doubtless 
wasted, for had we given him a $5 or $10 note he Avould 
have been drunk that much longer, and it would have 
required the waste of a corresponding amount of sym- 
pathy to enen the case up. * 
We got home about 11 P. M. that night and went to 
business next morning with a new lease on life, for we 
had enjoyed our trip to the full measure of our capacity 
and notions of solid comfort, albeit we didn't get many 
fish, but enough for our needs and a few to bring home. 
Tom caught the most of them, and as a consequence 
snubs me and chuckles over it at every good opportunity. 
The only way I can sciuelch him is to remind him 
of the "darlin' " which both he and Bradway conceded 
would weigh 3J^lbs., and had I only saved the big one 
that got away, his peace of mind would have been ut- 
terly destroyed — till he caught a bigger one. 
But Tom and I will never have a misunderstanding 
about the fish we take; our ideas of sport and our tastes 
run too much in the same channel for that; we both 
AMIABLE SUBJECTS FOR THE CAMERA. 
Photo for the Forest and Stream by N. L. Stebbins. 
wary and smart for us or had not yet forgotten the big 
yaller chub that was loaded, and he's there yet to the 
best of oitr knowledge and belief. 
When the sun touched the top of the hill across the 
river we reeled up and went to camp, leaving the old 
warrior for Bradway to practice his arts on at a future 
time, and j'^et I am fain to admit that Tom and I were 
a trifle sore at having to leave the stream without him. 
Tom and I are only human, same as some other people. 
Bradway said he had a big box tank in his spring 
love the woods and the streams, and it creates a bond 
of fejlowsliip that I trust will not soon be broken. , 
We think of going back next fall and making a camp 
on the same spot for a few days, but we will try and pick 
a time when the water is clear— and our skunk away 
from home — and then, if some other fish crank has not 
inveigled him, "the bronzed warrior of Riggles' Bend" 
will more than likely lose his scalp at the hand of one 
or the other of the two cranks, Tom Smarr or 
Kingfisher. 
