June 3, 1899.I 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
quently getting stuck in the shallow water and marsh, 
all gave more zest to the square mile than a hundred 
hunts in the North could do. The Indians have a keen 
sense of humor, and knowing I had never killed bear, 
deer or alligators, said: 'Indians have fun ojus, with 
white man,' and as they continued to laugh and talk 
together with significant looks, I took the spirit of the 
fun and asked the question, 'Nock-a-tel?' (what is it?) 
at every opportunity. As we poled along I enjoyed the 
sport with these childish friendly Indians and caught fish, 
too, as never before — till we were tired pulling them in. 
Coming upon an alligator asleep, Tallahassee said, 'Alla- 
pata, big sleep' (dead). I punched him and got dashed 
full of water as he disappeared under the surface of the 
water. 
"One feature of the canoe trip worthy of note was 
the exhibition of Indian skill in throwing the spear and 
guiding the canoe at the same time. I could see no 
sign of life anywhere except the swaying of the large 
lily pods on top of the water. Whiz, went the spear with 
a long rope attached, and 30ft. away a great commotion 
was gomg on. Pulling in the rope, 1 saw a fine trout, 
which proved to weigh I2lbs. Time and again the In- 
dian threw, always with the same success. Seeing is be- 
lieving, otherwise it would not have been possible to 
have accredited the feat of Capt. Tom Tiger. Whiz, 
went the spear again, and drawing in the rope, no fish 
was attached. Laughingly I chided Tom for missing 
his mark. 'Me hit him— no kill— cut him.' I insisted 
not when an instant later the report of the rifle was 
heard and the daring chief had struck a large 'gator just 
between the eyes as he had seen him dart for the wound- 
ed fish speared but a moment before. With a dexterous 
pull of the pole we were soon alongside tlie alHgator, 
and with a hook he was landed in the boat with the 
fish still clenched between his teeth. I could only ex- 
claim, 'Glorious! wonderful!' The pride of the chief as 
he showed me the cut on the fish from his spear was 
greater than for all the trophies of the day, for he had 
silenced my contradictions and proved to "me that 'In- 
dians no lie.' 
"Reaching the objective point of our trip, the Indians 
tied up the canoe and after a hearty repast we were 
ready for the alligator hunt. No game laws obstructed 
our progress, no signboards read, 'Penalty to trespas- 
sers,' and soon we were equipped for the' night hunt. 
Leaving old Tallahassee to watch camp, with a bull's- 
eye lantern attached to my cap, I took my seat in the 
bow, while Tom Tiger, standing in the stern, propelled 
the canoe with long, dexterous strokes. Reaching a deep 
ba3'OU, where the Seminoles kill hundreds of 'g'ators 
each year, I was directed to throw the light quietly over 
the water, and the presence of the saurian would be re- 
vealed by the reflection. Silently, slowly, our canoe 
cleaved the dark waters. Truly, the scene was worthy 
the pencil of a Dore. A moonless sky, a wild expanse 
of bleak water, a canoe propelled by a savage, splendid 
and .careless in his unconscious grace, and as silent as the 
oarsman of the River Styx. Soon the dismal solitude 
was broken by our entrance into the alligator haunt. 
With stealthy glide through the still, dark water, we were 
soon aware of being near a very large 'gator, the two 
balls of fire shining in the darkness told the tale. With- 
out a ripple the Indian glided his canoe within loft. of 
the monster, and a shot between the eyes from a .38 
Winchester blew the top of its head into small pieces. 
Before the reptile could flounder out of reach the car- 
cass was grabbed and pulled into the canoe by Tom 
Tiger, and the sptnal cord was severed with an axe to 
prevent any future trouble. 
At the first approach of our light the alligators gazed 
at it in the most fatuous manner, allowing the boat to 
approach within a very close position; but after one of 
their number had been slain they commenced a vibrating 
roaring, playing see-saw with their head and tail and 
slowly rolling forth their feelings in deep, thundering 
tones. To me, there seemed to be 500 alligators in that 
body of black water that night, and each and every one 
seemed to turn his burning eyes on my little search- 
light—and they shone like stars. I could easily tell a 
big fellow by noticing if his glaring balls were close 
together or far apart. _ After killing four or five I called 
out 'Enough!' The picture was growing too gruesome. 
The quivering mass of reptiles in our canoe made me 
think longingly of home. 'Ungah' (all right), from the 
Indian reassured me, and the canoe was turned toward 
camp. During the evening the Indian chief had killed 
an lift, 'gator, and so lifeless did it seem when dragged 
into the canoe that it was not considered necessary to 
cut the neck and back. The extraordinary vitality of 
an alligator keeps it from dying for some time,' the 
nerves often living for several hours after the head has 
been severed. Our canoe was loaded to the water's 
edge, with this large saurian in the bottom. Presently a 
low breathing greeted my ears; soon it grew louder, and 
a faint motion could be felt in the boat. Still I remained 
passive, the Indian poling through the deep, tortuous 
stream. I had instinctively drawn my feet up, when the 
great mouth, which was toward me, opened and began 
snapping angrily. His body began to writhe and twist 
and wriggle, which set all the other alligators in motion. 
The situation was growing critical and dangerous, when 
Capt. Tom, perceiving the trouble, came to the rescue 
with his axe, and none too soon, for the huge saurian 
began lashing his tail from side to side, and had the 
Indian been less skillful in handling the canoe we cer- 
tainlj' would have been turned overboard. With the 
hideous cargo silenced, the Indian, always cool arid 
nerveless, looked up, and with a humorous twinkle in 
his eye said, 'White man 'fraid ojus" (heap). Thus ended 
my first and last alligator hunt." 
The fate of the alligator is alread}^ sealed. Thousands 
are killed every year for their hides and teeth, while other 
thousands are killed or wounded by the ambitious tourist. 
The alligators of Florida are a great attraction to vis- 
itors and should be protected just as the famous seals 
are at San Francisco. They are universal water scav- 
engers, destroying snakes and . rendering the coast coun- 
ties safer to the hunter than the interior. 
Minnie Moore- Willson. 
KiSSIMMEE, Fla. 
The Forest akd Stream is put to press each week on Tuesday. 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach us at the 
latest bj Monday and as much earlier as practicable. 
Just About a Boy.-XXI, 
"S.\Y, is all this country juss desert like it is here?" 
asked the boy, as he helped himself to his second cup of 
black coflFee. 
"Pretty much the same from here clear over to the 
Bighorn Mountains, then it changes to rough, mounjtain 
country, with plenty of good water, grass and timber in 
spots, until you get across into Idaho, then it is lava and 
sand with sage brush, and a little grass mixed in until the 
Cascade country begins, just across the Columbia River. 
Over on the Pacific side of that range it is hills and 
timber clear to the ocean." 
"Gee! That's where I'l like to go! Seems s'ough 
this old desert is too much alike— all cactus 'n' horn 
toads 'n' things 'tull a feller gits plumb tired of 'era. 
Nen th' water up here's purt' near worsen whisky — 
guess that's why s' many fellers drinks whisky here too. 
Ain't no fishin' I reckon in a thousan' mild o' country 
like this nuther. What's suh use o' such country, any- 
how?" 
"Don't you see the cattle all around you? That's use, 
isn't it? The beef for half the country comes from 
these very hills, my boy, in spite of all this desert and 
desolation. There are men who live out their lives among 
these buttes and coulees, and light the desert, the In- 
dians, the varmints, water, rattlesnakes, heat and all — 
just to see that you have beef and plenty of it down in 
the States. 
"There are thousands of wild things up here too; deer, 
antelope, bear, wolves and a host more than furnish meat, 
pelts or sport too — 
"We hain't seen but mighty few of 'em. Where do 
they range anyhow? Seem's like we'd dought to seen 
somp'n moren kiotes in "all the country we've been trav- 
elin'. if they're so plenty." 
"Well, in the first place, we are not hunting, for the 
season is not right, and in the next place, we have been 
following the trail. These wild things keep back in the 
hills and don't cross as plain a trail as we have been 
following unless they shift their feeding places. Do you 
see that blue line of hills off to the west, there? That 
is the divide between this river and the Powder, and 
it is a rough bit of country too — full of gulches and 
cedar patches, and with some pretty good springs scat- 
tered here and there through it, and it is a game country. 
Now, I'll tell you what I don't mind doing. We can 
drive up to Ward's ranch and visit with Ike and Phil 
this evening, and then if they happen to be out' of meat 
we can all go hunting up Mt. Zahn way to-morrow, and 
get a blacktail buck for a change of grub. Mind you, 
no does, and not more than one buck, even if we see 
a dozen. Anything else besides deer and antelope you 
can call game unless we ran into a bunch of elk or 
a stray buffalo or sheep — these we will let go, even if we 
get no deer — understand?" 
"Uh-huh, I savie. Think we kin git a deer, do yeh? 
Gee, but I'd like to git a crack at a nold buck with a 
set o' horns like a plum thicket! Wouldn't I, though?" 
"Well, you can have the chance, for I think I can 
just about put my finger on several unless the Indians 
have been raiding down through here or something else 
happened to drive the deer out. I know their runways up 
there all over that country, and I can find a buck without 
much trouble, I guess. 
"Now, let's hook up and get to Ward's, for the sun 
is getting up, and it is a big twenty miles from here to 
that line of hills and Ward's cabin is in the flat just 
this side of the hills." 
Soon our outfit wended its crooked way across the 
desolate landscape that basked in the first rays of the 
early sun. 
It was still cool and delightful and the boy was all 
animation and chatter as we went along, following 
the gray thread of a trail that wandered up and down, 
twisting back against the bluffs to cross some little 
cafion, then curving back toward Donkey Creek again 
as though it was afraid to lose sight of that miserable 
little excuse for a water course. 
There is always a companionship some way about a 
stream and a trail, and they keep close cojnpany where- 
ever they can in the wilderness, be it desert, woods or 
mountains. 
"What's all them rocks 'n a circle that way for?" 
suddenly asked the youngster, as he noted them beside 
the trail. 
"Teepee rings," I answered. "What you see there is 
a sign, a record, of a past camp, where some Indians have 
pitched their teepee — probably for a few days, while 
hunting or just traveling. The rocks were piled around 
the lower edge of the teepee skins — the tent walls, you 
know — and when the teepee was taken down the rocks 
were simply rolled off of the edge of the skins, so they 
remained in a circle, just as the squaws left them when 
they folded up their house and vanished. See, there are 
more of them over there, too — -there has been a hunting 
partj'^ here in all probability, but it was a year or over 
ago, for you see the grass has grown up against the 
rocks and browned there, and there is new grass growing 
around them again." 
"That's th' way they do up here, huh? Don't use no 
tent pins — juss roll rocks onto th' bottom o' th' tent 'n' 
hole it down that way? Well, that ain't a bad idee 
nuther, 'n' a feller will find out things as he goes along, 
won't he ? 
"What's them white spots 'way over 'n that flat crost th' 
creek?" 
"Antelope. Take the glass and count them." 
"Gee, they's a whole bunch of 'em, 'bout forty er fifty, I 
reckon— 'n' they's a lot more 'way on up- — 'n' more on th' 
side o' th' hill! Gee! They's a whole herd of 'em! Lot 
o' big bucks 'mongst 'em, too — I kin see their hqrns — 
little black shiny ones that curl back 'n' end in a kind o' 
a hook, nen they's a little prong, looks like, juss above 'ur 
eye. Gee, they are purty, ain't they ? Less git one o' them 
bucks." 
"Do you want to shoot one of them or wait for a black- 
tail buck in the morning?" 
The boy looked through the glass again ; then heaved a 
big sigh. _ "Guess I'd druther wait — but they's a mighty 
big buck in that bunch," he said. 
A few moments later we drove in between the hills and 
lost sight of the bunch of antelope, so the boy had to 
hunt something else to interest him. 
He asked about the big slag boulders that littered the 
country, and had to hear the whole geology of the edge of 
the bad lines before he was satisfied ; then it was points 
on the poison of the centipede that interested him ; then 
prairie dogs came in to the conversation, and he freely 
expressed his contempt for the theory that they did with- 
out water and lived pleasantly in company with owls and 
rattlesnakes. 
"Ain't I killed more 'n one ole rattler with a belly full- 
o' young prairie dogs? You bet, I have, 'n' nobody wants 
to tell me 'at dogs lives right 'long 'n th' same holes 'ith 
snakes — I know better. Th' rattler ain't doin' nothin' but 
huntin' pups when he calls on a fambly o' dogs, nen when 
he's et up all he kin swaller comf'table he crawls out 'n 
th' sun 'n' goes tu sleep fer true, 'n' nen's when I git him." 
While he was dilating on the subject of prairie dogs we 
drove out from the hills and began to cross the last flat 
before reaching Ward's place, and by 2 o'clock we had 
hailed those worthy brothers and introduced each other 
there on the hot desert. 
Our team was soon taken care of, and we enjoyed our 
first meal that was cooked over a stove for many days 
when we sat down in the rough cabin so far from people 
and things. 
After dinner our pipes were lit and we sprawled at 
length across some buffalo robes flung on the ground where 
the shadow fell north of the cabin, and there we talked 
the lore of the desert and planned to kill a big buck on 
the morrow, for we were a healthy company, with a long- 
ing for the juicy steaks of venison. 
"Reckon we'd best go too-woard th' red buttes north o' 
hyer airly 'n th' momin', C'manch," said big Ike Ward 
as he looked up into the sky from his point of vantage on 
the flat of his back across the big buffalo robe. 
The blue smoke curled upward from his black pipe, his 
long hair curled about his square features, and one leg 
rocked up and down across the other bent knee, as Ike 
unfolded the plan for to-morrow, a plan that meant the 
ending of the days for one big buck, for Ike was a man 
who took one, or not more than two cartridges when he 
went after deer, and he always got meat. too. 
I've seen him shoot, and it is a nice bit of action — just 
as cool and easy as though his target was as big as a 
house and standing still, instead of a blue buck no bigger 
than your hand, bouncing across a rough hillside 500yds. 
away — ^just bouncing like a blue rubber ball for a few 
moments, then when the gun spits its lead and the dust 
flew against the hillside, the buck fell headlong, and did 
not rise. Then Ike would wipe the smoke out of the 
barrel and take a fresh nip of tobacco and go to the buck. 
That was the man who outlined the way that the buck 
was to die to-morrow. 
"Ef we don't ketch one clost to th' spring, we'll hunt 
into them cedar canons where th' lion like to fetched Phil 
th' time he got th' bull elk up there ; reckon we cain't miss 
a-gittin' one in thar shore — 'n' git back 'fore it gits hot, 
too." 
And so it was planned. 
"How was it about Phil and the lion, Ike?" I asked. 
"Ast Phil," chuckled big Ike. But that is another story. 
El Comancho. 
Three Brief Notes. 
In regard to the former abundance of salmon in cer- 
tain streams of our country, where they are now rare, 
several references to which have appeared of late in 
Forest and Stream, the same conditions would seem to 
prevail in other quarters of the world. In reading again 
very recently Scott's "Old Mortality," my attention was 
called to the following in the description of the dinner at 
Milnwood, in the eighth chapter: "A large boiled sal- 
mon would nowadays have indicated more liberal house- 
keeping; but at that period salmon was caught in such 
plenty in the considerable rivers in Scotland, that instead 
of being accounted a delicacy, it was generally applied to 
feed the servants, who are said sometimes to have stipu- 
lated that they should not be required to eat a food so 
luscious and surfeiting in its quality above five times a 
week." The "period" referred to was the latter part of 
the seventeenth century; the "nowadays" was the early 
part of the nineteenth century, "Old Mortality" having 
been first published in the year 1816 ; so that in the course 
of a century the salmon in Scotland would appear to 
have been reduced in numbers from abundance to com- 
parative scarcity. 
I have no desire to take a hand in the scrap now going 
on among the brethren in reference to the intelligence 
of animals ; but I don't see how a man that has ever seen 
a dog can doubt that creature's intelligence. His every 
act would indicate the possession of mental faculties— 
not perhaps the clear intellect of the cultivated man, 
though the same in kind ; perhaps only the feeble, con- 
fused, half-sentient gropings of a little child. I not only 
believe that the dog possesses certain intellectual facul- 
ties — memory, reason, imagination, will, etc. — but to some 
extent a moral nature — the feelings of affection, of grati- 
tude, of anger, of jealousy, of resentment, of modesty, of 
shame. I am not naming these things at random; I am 
guarding my words as I write. Even Dr. Thomas Reid, 
who wrote under the old dispensation, thinks that the 
desire of esteem, of power, and of knowledge, exists in 
"some degree in brute animals of the more sagacious 
kind." The very term "more sagacious" implies differ- 
ences in mental acumen, in discernment and judgment, 
and hence an intellectual system. But, as Hamlet says, 
"Too much of this." 
Emerson is so well known as a philosopher and essay- 
ist, that we seldom think of him as a poet, and still more 
rarely as a naturalist, yet in his degree he is as distinctive- 
ly the poet of nature as is Wordsworth. His "Mon- 
adnoc," "Musketaquid," and "Woodnotes" are full of the 
love of forest and stream. What can be more poetically 
beautiful than 
"April's bird 
Bliie-coated, flying before from tree to tree" — 
or, 
"Yonder ragged cliff 
Has thousand faces in a thousand hours"? J 
