b-£c. 30, 1899.} 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
The old man piiiTed hard at his cigar; the old bachelor 
lied his glass and looked as though he knew there was 
ething else to follow; the young fellow said, "Must 
been jolly old cove,"' and bent a pin into a fishhook 
i _ looked as if he'd tie a string to it if no one was by to 
e : the young married man moved in his chair uneasily 
ad then got up, said he had an engagement — 1 think he 
lay just nave remembered that, perhaps, somebody had 
Jt slippers to wait beside his chair; any way he hurried 
Lit. I saw the old bachelor smile, and so did the old 
ian, but they were ditferent — very different kinds of 
rules. 
Don't believe," said the old man, "I ever told you of 
harlie's dream — his fishing dream we used to call it. 
v'ell, he had a friend living in St. Louis whose name 
as L ; a banker, I believe. He and Charlie had a 
lend in common, a clergyman, who don't figure except in 
le dream. Charlie made an engagement to go fishing 
ith L. up at Minnetonka. They were to meet in Minne- 
polis on a certain Monday morning. That Sunday pre- 
ading that Monday Charlie had his dream. He dreamt 
lat he had 'shufliied off his mortal coil' and found him- 
If, forthwith, in paradise, which he beheld as a fair, 
eautiful country not unlike, he claimed, his beloved 
lark region,' with hills sloping down to waters that 
niled and glistened and sparkled in the sunlight. He 
3uld hear the splash and gurgle of brooks and streams, 
he air was full of wildwood fragrance. There were 
lady dells, and in the distance pleasant valleys, with a 
ver winding through. There was a deep woods too, with 
aths leading into its soft twilight, and groups of people 
ere and there in friendly converse. In the nearest one 
f these, Charlie saw his friend, the clergyman, who ad- 
anced to meet him, saying, 'Well, Charlie, you're a little 
ite. Jo (meaning L.) has been waiting for you some 
me. And there he is now. See, coming through the 
oods there.' Charlie hastened forward to greet his 
iend, struck the while with the disconsolate expression 
f his countenance. 'What's the matter?' said he. 'Isn't 
"lere any fish here?' 'Fish!' ejaculated L. 'Why, the 
lace is lull of fish.' "Well ' resumed Charlie. 'But,' in- 
rposed his friend, 'there isn't a single fishhook in the 
"^hole place.' 
"All that day Monday Charlie Shivel haunted the depot 
Minneapolis, scrutinizing the passengers as they 
lighted, but no L. appeared. Tuesday morning as he sat 
t breakfast at the West Hotel, at the same time reading 
is paper, his eye caught a paragraph that settled that 
reakfast. The friend he had been looking for had been 
und, early Monday morning, dead in his bed. 'Had 
etired in his usual health on Sunday evening,' the paper 
ated, adding that it was supposed he died of heart 
isease. , 
True? Yes, just as I've given it to you, and I'll vouch 
or Charlie's veracity every time. Perhaps it's because 
f his genial nature, his big heart and mind, perhaps it's 
ecause Well, whatever it is, there is something in 
le bouquet and something in the golden gleam of it, as I 
old it twixt me and the light, that makes me think of 
iharlie — T think he called it 'bottled sunshine from the 
/arm hillsides of old P'rance.' " 
"Here, waiter, bring another bottle of Sauterne," 
rdered the old bachelor. 
"To-morrow night," said the old man, rising slowly 
rom his chair. "Good night." Lambert Russell. 
t 
Curiosity. 
Wh-en the cold nights of the latter end of October had 
et in and the leaves were crisp underfoot, I decided to 
;o and set up a line of marten traps through a stretch of 
reen timber, between two large lakes. The distance 
vas considered about eight miles. 
I took an Indian youtn as companion, for it is louely 
vork setting traps in the deep gloom of the forest alone. 
)ur blankets, axes, two days' provisions, a square of cot- 
on that we call a canopy, to keep off the wind, and 
ny rifle, made up our necessary equipment, with a few 
)aits to start work upon. 
During the summer I had got an Indian to leave an old 
anoe on the shore of the big lake where we expected to 
:ome out; this would save our coming back on our 
racks, as we could return by the canoe route, which was 
considerably longer, but much easier. 
We worked away all the day we left the post, and 
when camping time came we found a pretty, sheltered 
Dlace, the back of a large, fiat-sided boulder. Ten feet in 
ront of this lay a large fallen pine tree, against whicli 
we built our fire. Then we cut a lot of pitch pine dry 
wood in short lengths and split, ready to replenisli the 
ire from time to time during the autumn night. 
It is cheerful when one wakes during the night to have 
I bright blaze in a few moments. 
The boy had worked pretty hard all day, and, after 
ating to repletion, rolled himself in his blanket and 
fell asleep. With me it was different. I lay back half- 
reclining, half-sitting, enjoying the congenial heat and 
wondering what luck we would have from the traps when 
we made our first visit. My rifie lay alongside of me on 
the balsam brush, with the muzzle pointing toward the 
fire, and, unconsciously my hand grasped the stock and 
mv fore finger toyed with the trigger. I mention all 
these details to show how easy what followed came to 
pass. 
The sparks had all gone out of the wood and onlj' a 
bright glow remained, enough, however, to light up the 
trunk of the pine log and a considerable distance each 
side of the fireplace. All at once I heard the crushing 
of dried leaves and the breaking of twigs, at some lutle 
distance off in the forest. The sounds were evidently 
made bv some large animal, and I soon realized it was 
coming 'slowly with steady steps toward the camp. 
My first thought was to chuck on some fresh fuel- to-^ 
scare whatever it was away ; but the next moment I de- 
cided to keep quiet and await developments. 
With my thumb I drew back the hammer of the rifle 
and waited. I kept my eyes steadfast in the direction 
whence the sounds came, and in a minute (it appeared an 
hour to me) I saw the head and forequarters of an im- 
mense black bear, which stood gazing down on the camp 
from behind the fallen tree. t. • 1 
To raise my rifle and sight it point blank at Brum s 
chest was the work of ati instant. Crash went the bul- 
let, true to the mark, and the bear fell backward, making 
the woods echo with its death roars. 
The boy sprang to his feet in a stupid, bewildered 
way, asking what was the matter. I did not take time to 
answer him, being occupied in getting, a fresh shell into- 
the barrel, for one never knows when a bear is reaily 
dead. The safest way is to have your gun ready and 
stand off at a reasonable distance and wait until he kicks 
himself stiff. In this case, however, it was soon over 
with its bearship, for the bullet had gone right through 
the heart. 
The joy of the Indian boy knew no bounds when he 
saw the result of the shot, for he saw tnany gorges ahead 
of him. 
I had always been led to believe that smoke, or the 
blaze from a camp-fire, would keep away the denizens of 
the Canadian forests, and when I told this bear ad- 
venture to old hunters they simply listened and gave 
a polite smile. 
In this instance it must have been a case of inordinate 
curiosity, accounted for in a manner hom the fact of 
its being a female bear. Martin Hunter. 
Cowpunching as an Athletic Sport. 
In no part of the West is a ranchman's life such an 
ideal one as in California. In this land of flowers are no 
rolling prairies, with their ever-present dreariness, and 
portions of barren waste, but grand mountains and 
beautiful hills. The ranch house is usually tucked away 
by the side of some glade beneath the shadows 
of enormous oak and sycamore trees, a whirligig 
sprinkler sputters and splatters on its bit of green lawn 
and the air is filled with the hum of bees and other 
insects, while the cattle wander by hundreds in the broad 
cafion bottoms or over the flat surface of some far away 
mesa. The western fence is the Pacific Ocean, the east- 
ern the Santa Ynes Range. Could anything be more 
peaceful or any climate more conducive to outdoor life 
and exercise? 
It was the first day of the rodeo at Las Encinas. For 
many weeks R. and I had practiced throwing a riata 
wth tliis great event in view, tor this was to be our first 
experience at the real work of roping cattle. On this 
day we were to ride forth for the first time into an 
inclosed field to take part in a contest teeming with 
opportunities for grandstand plays, but yet open to 
"flukes'' of a very dangerous character. By 12 o'clock 
the first drove had been parted out and corralled; by 
1:30 dinner v.^as over; by 2 R. and I found ourselves 
mounted and standing expectant and nervous before the 
corral gate. Then we chose partners. In corral work 
each man has a partner who, if he catch by the head, 
ropes the feet, and vice versa, for in this way a steer is 
thrown by both parties backing their horses in opposite 
directions. It was my good fortune on this occasion 
to fall into the hands of an exceptionally good vaquero, 
who was known to us all by the title of Doc, and his 
words as we entered the gate are still keen in my 
memory: "Take your time; don't get excited, and I'll 
see you through." But six or eight of us were allowed 
to enter, and the bars closed behind us with a snap. 
The cattle were huddled together on the further side of 
the corral and seemed to meet us with looks mixed with 
defiance and fear, while their low, subdued bellowing 
might easily be compared to the sounds heard between 
the halves at a Yale vs. Harvard game. But a few min- 
utes of delay followed, in which every one tightened his 
cinch or shook the kinks out of his rope, when the boss 
said, "All right, boys. Let her go. Don't handle 'em 
too rough." Then came a sudden rush, and in an 
instant I found myself in a surging mass of cattle and 
horses. The dust arose in clouds, and the noise seemed 
like a menagerie let loose. 
Doc was close behind me, and suddenly I was able to 
hear him say, "Snake that brown heifer! Snake that 
brown heifer! Quick, lad, quick!" Snake that brown 
heifer? Ye gods! There seemed to be ten brown heifers, 
and each one either ducking under niy horse's belly or 
disappearing like a loon in that sea of animals and 
coming up far out of my reach. Nevertheless I aimed for 
one and threw. The rope fell just a little short, but it's 
always the beginner who wins the game, and in some re- 
markable way, just as the loop slid off that brown heifer's 
shoulder a little brown calf happened along and put 
his head through it. "Viva! Viva!" came ensemble 
from the audience (to whom both R. and I, were the 
center of attraction, being tenderfeet). And even Doc, 
with a wink of one eye, said, "Well done, partner," as 
I drove my catch to a clear part of the corral, w'nere he 
could get a good chance at the feet, and the brander 
could apply the iron. This took but an instant, and we 
were at it again. My next attempt prov^ed far more ex- 
citing, for this time I managed to rope something "kind — 
cr — bronco" (as the vaqueros would say). A nice lively 
fellow, who for two years had wandered the mountains 
and hills his own master, never having felt a rope and 
never having known a power of will superior to his own. 
This was real sport. The rope was no sooner thrown 
than the fight began. First it started in a series of fierce 
lunges and mighty pulls that caused my horse to squat 
low to the ground in his efforts to hold. Then began an 
exhibition of running and dodging first on one side and 
then on another, very apt to end when the riata came 
taut with El Torro sprawling in the dust, his wrath 
increasing, but his strength growing less. But at each 
nalt I was able to take in a little slack line, until near 
enough to follow him with little danger of encountering 
the ropes of other men, and then, "Look out, boys! 
Here we come!" and out into the open space we came 
and within almost the time - it takes to write it No. 2 
was caught by the feet, branded and turned loose again. 
'And so it went on. Now some fellow was in one sort 
of trouble or another in another. _ The sport seemed 
never the same, each .successful throw develop- 
ing a new series of conditions tha^.follpwed each other 
in rapid' succession, while the numeropfe^^ot to mention 
poor) attempts gave.a continual impui^&Xto "do better 
finally, when one or two remained,\none but the sharpest 
eyes could detect them among the ever-moving drove. 
When one of these "left-overs" was discovered it meant 
the signal for a general assault, as each man good- 
naturedly rivaled the others in the effort to catch him 
first. FinaUy the last brand was applied, and the day 
was over. The cool, sparkling water of a mountain 
spring bubbled in a trough not far from the corral, and 
both men and horses were soon enjoying its refreshing 
iciness, especially welcome after such violent exercise. 
Among these mountains and hills there is but little 
twilight, and as the darkness increased all gathered 
about the outdoor fire while the "round-up" cook pre- 
pared the evening meal. Then began that post-mortem 
sort of conversation which I had so often heard after 
football games and other athletic events. Each man had 
his history of the day and explanations for his own .mis- 
takes and those of his colleagues. After this came stories 
of past experience, and it was well on in the night when 
R. and I retired to our welcome beds to dreajn of this 
■'king of sports" in the sleep only known to those who 
are able to do hard manual labor and from which it is a 
pleasure to be awakened by a continual knocking on the 
door and a voice in Spanish saying, '"Arriba! Arriba! 
Hace una maiiana hermosa." Louis N. Stott. . 
How I Was Lost in the Woods, 
A FEW evenings ago at the club I told how I was lost 
in the woods of Maine this summer. When I had done 
one of my friends said: "That story ought to be pub- 
lished just as you have told it." 
A man who has been in the woods as much as I have 
ought not to get lost, but I did it this summer. To find 
where the Bonnie Brook flows into the Dead River, where 
good fish are to be found, which seemed to be a secret, 
without telling any one where I was going, I went to find 
it. My plan was to follow the brook down to the river. 
Near the junction of the two I jumped the brook and 
lost my spectacles and could not find them. Having 
found the place I wanted, I started for home, and seeing 
an ugly clump of trees near the, river, I went around 
it, leaving the brook behind me. I went up hill and soon 
found myself in burnt land with thick underbrush, many 
of the logs rotten, and they broke down under my feet. 
The mosquitoes and flies annoyed me very much. After 
,a time I realized that I was lost. It was impossible to 
go many feet in a straight line without running into an 
obstruction. 
After a time I lay down to rest ray weary mind and 
body. In an hour, refreshed, I reasoned that I must 
make a strenuous effort to extricate myself from my 
position. I called at intervals for help, and once I 
thought I heard a reply. Finally, having taken my bear- 
ings, I made my way for a tall dead tree. Having reached 
it, I selected other bearings, and finally, to my delight, I 
found myself in a growth of large trees. Soon I reached 
the river" and a man appeared on the other side and asked 
me if I was in trouble, I told him I had been. He told 
me the farm hands had replied to my calls, but I could 
not hear them, as the wind was in the opposite direction. 
Having reached a ford, the man crossed' with his wagon 
and kindly drove me home in an exhausted condition. 
There were two mistakes I made : First, I should not 
have gone far from home without having told somebody 
where I was going; secondly, I should not have deserted 
both river and brook. Also, I constantly underestimated 
distance. Edward L. Parks. 
Ttccs on the Western Plains. 
Last week we referred to the spread of trees on the 
Western plains which has taken place since their" settle- 
ment. Other interesting observations on this subject are 
likely to be reported beiore long, and one of these, ti eat- 
ing of the forest trees of Dubuque, county, Iowa, wiil ap- 
pear in the tenth volume of the Report of the iowa Geo- 
logical Survey. 
In this paper Professor Macbride considers the forest 
conditions of Iowa of the past, when Dubuque county was 
practically a prairie, with narrow fringes of trees along 
the streams, and in a few other protective situations. He 
then goes on to say: "On the advent of civilization, the 
cueckmg of prairie fires gave the forest here, as else- 
where, great relief. Young trees came up in every direc- 
tion, partly from seed, partly from the so-called bench- 
grubs, old stump-like stocks which had been in the days 
of prairie fires again and again burned off, only to start in 
shoots and suckers with the advent of spring , but destined 
so long as fires swept over them never to attain tree-like 
dimension. These bench-grubs sometimes were very old 
and possessed an extensive root system. This accour.ts in 
part for the rapidity with which the forests of Iowa be- 
gan to spread with the arrival of civilized man. In the 
case before us, the early farmers selected, of course, the 
more level country ; the steeper and poorer hills 
were left to nature, and became qtuckly forested, 
covered with what is called second growth, an assemblage 
of trees denser and darker than ever occur in nature un- 
der any other circumstances. In Julien and Peru lovvn- 
ships, some of these second growth forests may yet be 
seen which have been growing at least fifty or sixty ycirs. 
So that the oft-repeated remark as to the number of 
Iowa trees, to the effect that their number has greatly in- 
crased since the country has been, is strictly true." 
Oologists* Association. 
An association of oologists has recently been formed, 
and it is hoped that it will hold a meeting in Washington 
in the autumn of igoo. The secretary of the association is 
Mr. Jno, W. Daniel, Jr., of Lynchburg, Va. 
NOTICE. 
The New York Clearing House has adopted new regulation* 
governing the collection of checks and drafts on banks ontside of 
the city. This entails a collection expense on those who receive 
such checks. Our patrons are requested, theretore, in making 
next time," which is a great proof of any sport's in-^ 1 their remittances to send postal or express mohey order, postage 
fatuation. ' As tihe number of unbranded cattle ^rew less. I atamps, or check or draft on a N'-r York «tx ItaaK or otb«r New 
and less things became more and more exciting, andl t York cnrrcnt hn^s. c ^ 
