422 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 26, 1898. 
A Thanksgiving Dinner in the 
Woods. 
As Thanksgiving draws near I am reminded how we 
boys were wont to spend the day, in the times when 
each Governor independently exercised the right of his 
sovereignty in appointing for the feast whatever day it 
pleased him. Then the holiday was likely enough to 
dribble through the several commonwealths during the 
whole of November and over into December, so that 
if one's kinsfolks were properly distributed he might 
have the luck to eat three or four Thanksgiving dinners 
in one year. But we wildwoods ranging boys were lucky 
if we got more than the cold remnants of one at even- 
tide, or rather were apt to count ourselves unlucky 
if we were obliged to waste a rare holiday in idle home 
staying and mere gorging. Better a crust in the woods 
and contentment therewith than a stuffed -turkey in a 
house with continual longing to be abroad. So if the 
morning was not too stormy, our company was pretty 
sure to muster at some convenient central point, each 
member provided with a pocketable scant ration of bread 
and butter and a little salt, and each armed with a gun 
of some sort, upon which we depended for game to eke 
out our stores. Sometimes good fortune more than 
skill gave us a partridge or a hare, and we feasted sav- 
agely, but if only squirrels furnished our roast we 
were quite content, and scoffed at home dainties. 
Thus we met on one particular Thanksgiving morning, 
a particularly cold and sour one, with a chilling northerly 
air astir and a gray, sunless sky that boded snow. Cer- 
tainly our good Governor had been unfortunate in 
his choice of a day, and we blamed him for it; but 
since we had got away from home before it snowed, and 
now had the freedom of the woods for the whole day, 
we were not greatly dissatisfied. There were four of 
us, George, nicknamed Apple Tree, for some unknown 
: cause; Charley, called Spry because he was not; Lias, 
rechristened Ben Hardin, after Davy Crockett's comrade; 
and another, hailed as Little Man, because his father 
so called him when he had grown so tall that the pet 
name was ridiculous. 
"Well, our ol' Gov'nor do' know much, - ' George re- 
marked. "Just look what a Thanksgiving the Gov'nor o' 
York State picked out last week, right in Injin sum- 
mer." 
"Guess our Gov'nor wouldn't have us Green Moun- 
tain boys givin' thanks the same day York State was." 
"Oh, this is good enough day for us," Lias shouted 
in the joy of freedom from work. 
"Oumph!" Charley grunted, as he tumbled over a 
cradle knoll, and the grunt passed as a remark that 
might be taken either way. 
The hemlock woods were gloomy and solemn enough 
to have awed any one of us had he been alone, but 
not so as we were, and we broke their brooding silence 
with merry gabble and laughter, until a frightened part- 
ridge, bursting to flight unseen and far out of range, 
made us aware that game was not to be got by such 
noisy stalking. Then we separated and hunted more 
stealthily, each imagining himself a Leather Stocking or 
a Last Mohican. But we gained nothing from it but 
a conviction that the partridge was the last of its kind 
to depart to some place distant and unknown, where 
perhaps all the tribe had gathered to celebrate the day 
in safe sequestration. 
To such remoteness too the hares and the squirrels 
seemed to have betaken themselves. Not one timid, 
crouching form, conspicuous in winter disguise on the 
brown floor of the woods, not one savory tawny-coated 
fugitive darting up a gray trunk or cocked on a hori- 
zontal branch, was to lue seen anywhere. Apparently 
the woods were deserted by all but us and one uneatable 
old horned owl, a hermit whom we came upon moping 
in the dim shadow of an evergreen. At last Lias did 
by some chance find and slaughter one red squirrel. 
It was past noon, and we dressed our meager quarry 
and prepared for its roasting a most disproportionately 
generous fire on an old coal-pit bottom, where there 
was no danger of setting the woods afire. Poor little 
fellow, he looked lonesome enough, impaled on his roast- 
ing stakes, tilted against the great fire, and exceedingly 
small, considering a quarter to each of four hungry 
boys. Charley grunted and gave other audible expres- 
sion to his longing for the flesh pots of home, but his 
jolly brother Lias declared that enough was as good 
as a feast, and for his part he was not meat hungry, 
while I, though sharing the grumbler's feelings, ad- 
mired his brother's cheerful philosophy. 
George, the bravest hunter of us all, had some time 
since gone aloof from us according to his wont, and now 
we heard the unmistakable voice of the long gun away 
over toward Louis Creek — the lucky old gun which 
his grandfather had brought from Rhode Island, and had 
killed a deer with at Thompson's Point, and with 
which one uncle had killed an otter with in Louis Creek 
and another a silver-gray fox on Mount Philo; and still 
something was sure to come down when that old gun 
spoke. With one accord we lifted up our voices, and 
with a great shout called George to a very small dinner. 
Then we turned the squirrel, and each took a sniff at 
the fragrance that made us hungrier, and sat waiting 
deploring the scarcity of game in that too thickly settled 
country, and unanimously agreeing that we would go to 
the wildest West as soon as we got old enough. None 
of us have ever got old enough. By and by George 
silently materialized out of the shadows of the woods, 
bearing two skinny things headless and footless. 
"What be they, Apple Tree?" Lias asked. 
"I'll tell you when we've eat 'em," he answered. 
"Mushrat, I'll bet," Charley ventured too disgustedly, 
for his palate was not yet educated to that delicacy. 
"D'ye ever see a two-legged muskrat?" George asked, 
exhibiting the evidence in a pair of legs and a pair of 
wings to each of his trophies. 
"They hain't crows, be they?" Lias asked, suspiciously. 
"You don't suppose I'd eat crows, an' I'm a-goin' to 
eat some o' these ere," George answered, settling that 
question, _ . . . 
So without further spoken objection the unknown 
fowl were spitted, basted with butter scraped from our 
bread, as they had timely turns over the glowing coals, 
and after what seemed an unnecessarily long time were 
pronounced done by Charley, who was always cook, and 
made the best pohnnycakes I ever ate since my grand- 
mother's, which were baked on a board. Then the 
birds were served upon birch bark, with abundant Spar- 
tan sauce, which had been for hours accumulating, and 
we fell to, tooth, nail and jackknife. The first and last 
could not well be too sharp for the service required, for 
the meat was inordinately tough, and the sauce could not 
quite disguise a certain rank and suspiciously fishlike 
flavor. Nevertheless we made away with them down 
to the bones, and as we polished these we demanded of 
George the name of the original owners. 
"Well," he answered, as he tossed a scoured thigh bone 
into the fire, "they was sheldrake." 
"Oumph," Charley groaned, rather than grunted, for 
he was fastidious. 
"Well, by grab, sheldrake is almighty good," Lias de- 
clared. • 
Dear comrades of that happy day, how are ye scattered 
about the wide and dreary world, and out of it. How 
long ago. yet what a little while since we feasted on 
fish and fowl, and were thankful. 
Rowland E. Robinson. 
Just About a Boy.- XIV. 
"Say, I reckon that ain't more'n haff bad fer one 
night's work, huh?" said the boy as he finished stretching 
the last muskrat hide over a bent willow stick and hung 
it in company with a dozen of its kindred, a couple of 
coon skins and five fine beaver pelts that dangled from 
the low elm limb in front of the shanty, 
"That's whut I c'nsider a purty fait- night's work — 
that is seein' that trappin' ain-t nuthin' like it ust to be 
when old man Hagey trapped up 'n' down th' river here 
— he list to git fifteen "r twenty beaver '11 a night, 'n' 
never took no 'count o' mussrats 'n' such stuff. Them 
was trappin' times, but now they's so many folks cum in 
'n' settled 'long th' river that trappin's petered out com- 
plete. 
"I missed one old beaver up there by that old Cot- 
tonwood log — guess I set the trap a little too deep fer 
him. maybe — anyways it was sprung 'n' on'y a few hairs 
in th' jaws. 
_ "He'll be mighty cute now, 'n' I dunno if I kin git him 
right away er not. Gee, I'm hungry — bin up since day- 
light, 'n' I like to froze 'fore I got warm pullin' up to 
th' traps. This north wind has got a mighty snowy feel 
to it, 'n' ducks are thick on th' river this mornin', so 
I wouldn't be s'prised if we git snowed up here good V 
plenty 'fore we know it. Got plenty o' grub though, so 
let 'er snow, whut d' we care, huh?" 
I had breakfast all ready when the boy finished his 
hide stretching operations, and after a dip in the icy 
current of the river and a scrub with a rough towel the 
youngster came in to the table, his face aglow with 
health, and his appetite in keeping with his looks. 
"Say, I'll tell yeh whut less do after breakfast — less go 
'n' git some ducks 'n' have a reg'lar barbecue — whut d'ye 
say?" 
"All right, I'm with you. Won't you have anything 
more to do with the traps to-day?" 
"No, I left /em all set when I cum down, 'n' I'll go 
look at 'em juss 'fore dark again, 'n' set them other 
two er three mussrat traps, nen I guess they'll do the 
rest." 
Breakfast over, we got the guns, and crossing the 
river, were soon tramping through the sighing woods in 
the direction of a string of ponds that the boy knew of. 
"We don't want to hunt along th' river, cos the more 
racket we make the more we are li'ble to scare the 
beaver I'm after," said the young trapper. 
About noon the chill wind that had been moaning 
among the trees all day lulled itself to comparative quiet, 
and a few big flakes of snow floated down through the 
gray branches. 
"Less git back to camp. We got ducks nuff, 'n' it's 
goin' to snow plenty. We better git a stock o' wool 
up to camp 'fore it comes too — hard work, yeh know, 
huntin' wood when the snow's got it all buried up, I 
don't like the looks o' this weather a whole lot, cos I 
rigger a good, old-time storm's a-comin' sure, 'n' if it 
does we'll juss haff to hoof it back to town when it 
clears up, 'n' leave th' boat 'n' outfit tull the ice gits 
hard 'nuff to bring 'em back on a sled." 
We were walking back toward the boat as Ave talked 
and by mid-afternoon had crossed the river again amid a 
flying swirl of downy flakes that half hid the fast whiten- 
ing landscape, and after our guns and game were stowed 
away inside the cabin we put in the rest of the afternoon 
hustling good, dry wood, and building a rough pole and 
grass shelter over it to keep the snow off. 
"Well, I'm goin' 'round to see if th' traps is all right — 
goin' 'long?" asked the boy, as the signs of evening 
came into the sky. 
A good deal of scraping and brushing of snow was 
necessary before we got the old "mud hen" in shape for 
the journey, but in time she slipped out into midstream 
and pushed her now icy nose up the current amid a 
cloud of flying flakes until we reached the beaver 
grounds. 
The river looked strangely black in the new white of 
the rest of the landscape, and every solid object bore a 
great burden of snow where the wind did not sweep it 
off as fast as it fell. Our voices sounded muffled and 
echoeless in the increasing storm, and there was a 
strange hurrying sound in the air that rushed along 
above the tree tops. 
When the traps were all inspected, the boy cast a quick 
glance aloft and around the sky, and said: "We're goin' 
to have a chance to break ice along shore in th' mornin' 
when we look at these traps, 'n' I wouldn't wonder if 
to-night's the last of it till it freezes up solid 'nuff to 
travel on skates — looks that way 't any rate, so we 
might 's well git ready to break camp to-morrow, 'less 
you want to stay tell it freezes up." 
An hour later we were snug inside the cabin, with 
a booming blaze in the dug-out fireplace, giving a cheer- 
ful warmth to' the little home in the white wilderness. 
"Say, when are we goin' to take that trip west?" said 
the boy, as he finished hanging his stock of green pelts 
up over the fireplace so they would dry, and then pitched 
a huge section of dry limb on to the blaze, so it would 
need no more attention for some time. 
"In the spring, I suppose; say when grass gets good — 
about the last of May or first of June," I answered. 
"Where'll we head for? I'd like to go to them Black 
Hills, up there 'n Wyoming, where you was— that's a 
good huntin' country, ain't it — 'n' mount'ins 'n' pine 
timber 'nuff too, I reckon- — less go up there." 
"All right, that suits me. It isn't so faT away as the 
main chain, and it's as good a game country as there 
is in the States to-day. Besides, it has this advantage, 
we can drive all over the country up there with a wagon, 
which makes it a mighty pleasant place to spend the 
summer in. The water isn't anything to brag about, but 
we don't need to go into the alkali country much if we 
don't want to; the water in the hills is all right, except 
in a few places, and I know where they arc." 
"All right then, that's a go. How'll we go, wagon or 
pack horses?" 
"I think a wagon the better. Take a good broncho 
team and a light outfit that won't wear the horses out 
and then travel slowly, and we will be all right for the 
summer if we want to stay that long. There is plenty 
of good mineral in the hills, and we might do a little 
prospecting too if We want to as we go along. Who 
knows, we might strike a gold mine before we get back." 
"Well. I dunno much about rocks V stuff, but I 
reckon I kin learn, an' I'll prospect all right. I reckon 
I'd know a chunk o' gold if I see it gfowin' on a 
tree, anyhow; so I'll try it with yeh. What I Want more 
than anything else, though, is to git a crack at them 
deer 'n' elk 'n' bears Up there." 
"Well, we can get our outfit together this winter and 
hit the trail as soon as grass is good. The details we can 
figure on as we go along, and we'll be ready before we 
know it. What do you say to getting this barbecue of 
ours going about now?" 
' "That's so; I'd furgot all about that bunch o' ducks. 
What'll we do, chuck the ducks V squirrels 'n' snipes 
all in together 'n' make a potpie of 'em?" 
"I reckon I'm good for half of that kind of a stew if 
you can handle the rest," I answered. 
"Here they go then. You get the 'taters V onions 
'11' things ready, V I'll yank the pelts off this bunch o' 
game while yeh wait, as th' shoemaker sez 'bout half- 
solin' shoes down '11 town." 
The big stew kettle was soon giving forth savory odors, 
and we hustled around, fixing up a camp supper that was 
good for hungry outdoor folks, but probably a little 
rich for dyspeptics to sleep on. 
"Gee! we're sure in fer it now, snow's a foot deep this 
minit, 'n' still comin' down like th' ole scratch." said 
the boy, as he opened the door and squinted out into the 
night with the air of one who knew the signs. 
El Comancho. 
A Tennessee Thanksgiving. 
Memphis, Tenn,— Editor Forest and Stream; I cannot 
resist the temptation of giving to our brethren an ac- 
count of a bird hunt I had the pleasure of participating 
in one Thanksgiving Day, Until that year I have never 
known what Thanksgiving Day meant. It means that 
it is one of the few days that are set aside in this busy 
nation of ours to try and act as a lock, or scotch, or 
breakwater, or hindrance to keep the American people 
from working themselves to death, 
For weeks my good friend, Sam Wester, and I had 
had this hunt "cut and dried," to use an old expression. 
We found a Mr. Alfred Swind, who is a sportsman, and 
owned four fine bird dogs, and soon persuaded him to 
take his dogs and go with us; or rather, allow us to go 
with him. We had all arrangements made to meet Mr. 
Swind at the depot at 5 o'clock of the evening before 
Thanksgiving. About noon on that dav I read a note 
from Mr. Swind, requesting that I call to see him at 
once. I grabbed my hat and made a break for his place 
of business, as I "smelled a rat," and knew something 
was the matter about our hunt. I found Mr. Swind was 
very sick, and would be unable to keep his appointment. 
My heart sank, and I think my face must have shown 
it, for Mr. Swind laughed and said not to be disap- 
pointed; but to take two of his dogs and go anyway. 
He said we were welcome to all four of them; but only 
two would hunt with strangers. I was somewhat du- 
bious about the work we would get out of the dogs, and 
regretted deeply that we would be deprived of Mr. 
Swind's company. Wester and I were at the depot with 
the two dogs, and a happier pair never boarded a train 
for a day's outing, 
We reached Collierville, Tenn., and after supper at 
the hotel we were preparing to walk around and try 
to pick up a few points about localities, when we were 
called upon by Mr. Joe Irby, a cousin of my wife, who 
had received word from his brother in Memphis that 
we were coming out to hunt on Thanksgiving, so he 
had made all arrangements for us. To say that we were 
pleased is putting it mildly. If my reader has never 
hunted in Mississippi or west Tennessee, as the guest 
of some friend, he just does not know what clever treat- 
ment is. Now I had never seen Mr. Irby in my life, just 
knew of the relationship that existed between his family 
and that of my wife, and had gone to Collierville on my 
own hook, and was not his invited guest at all. So when 
I found that he had been notified by his brother, and 
had all arrangements made to insure us a pleasant 
time, I was both grateful and delighted. Well, the 
horses were all ready, the lunch was prepared, and we 
were to have a negro go with us to hold our ho-ses, and 
Mr. Irby and his friend, Mr. Hart, were to accompany 
us, thus giving to each a shooting companion who 
knew the covers and best roules to get at the birds. 
The weather was fine, the moon shone her silvery 
beams upon the little city, and the planets, from 
red-eyed Mars to blue-eyed Venus, and even old stern- 
faced Jupiter, smiled benignly upon us. Wc were happy, 
and as anticipation is half the pleasure, we slept sound- 
ly. But in the morning, as we climbed out of bed, our 
spirits were much subdued. The sky was dark and 
threatening, and old TEolus had opened his flood gates 
and was now pouring his pent up winds upon us. How 
