The tidy peeled spruce log cabins, cooking stoves, 
furniture, comfortable beds and other features of crv- 
iUzation met with elsewhere, here give way to the canvas 
tent, the bark lean-to, bough beds upon the earth, and 
cooking before and over the open fire. 
What the guides lack in skill and efficiency is com- 
pensated for m a measure by faithful service cheerfully 
■ and promptly rendered. And what if the sportsman is 
introduced to a new and more robust and adventurous 
experience? — thrown a little more upon his own re- 
sources? Has it not its advantages? 
The examination of baggage, payment of customs c yes 
arid other formalities, are no more onerous or burden- 
some when going to the maritime provinces than when 
going to any other foreign country; and the sportsman 
from the United States must not forget that his own 
country may be the most strict and exacting in this re- 
gard. » , 
I have many, very many, times crossed the Dorder and 
temporarily sojourned in the Dominion of Canada, and 
I bear most waUing testimony to the uniform courtesy 
and forebearance of railway and Government officials, 
and their efforts to discharge their duties in the most 
form.al and least objectionable manner possible. 
If, when you are making your toilet, you see the re- 
flection of a gentleman in the looking-glass, rest assured 
you will meet in your travels many as clearly entitled to 
that designation, not only in public station, but also in 
the many other walks of life, and your reasonable ex- 
pectations are not likely to suffer disappointment. 
I have no special interest in any steamship line, rail- 
way, hotel, camp-owner or guide, and so may be excused 
from following the too frequent custom of paying remit- 
ted bills and favors received by cheap advertising. The 
usual folders, hand-books of travel, sportsman's journals 
and other sources of information are easily available to 
all who may contemplate a trip to this attractive country; 
but should more extended or specific information be de- 
sired a letter of inquiry addressed to the Crown Lands 
department, Fredericton, N. B., or to the Chief Game 
Commissioner. St. John. N. B„ will probably bring all 
needed information. Dr. Geo. McAleer. 
Worcester, Mass. 
Through the Parsonage Windows. 
11. 
The curtain rises to-day on a field of snow. The gray- 
ish white ol the buhalo grass is buried beneath dazzling 
white snowdrilts. 'ihe snow is still tailing, and has ob- 
literated many of the objectionable features in the land- 
scape, such as wheat helds and other marks, showing 
where man has interfered with the original works of 
nature. Away in the distance the hills snow but dimly 
through the misty whiteness. Ihese hills will be the 
stage to-day. iSut see! They draw nearer and become 
more distinct. They also change m form; here and there 
dark gulches and deep caiions mar the symmetry of 
form. Mow and then we see their even slope break 
suddenly away, leaving a perpendicular wall of lime- 
stone 30 or 40 feet in height. They are the bluffs that 
border the Stinking Water on the north. The stream 
lies in a deep, narrow valley between them and the still 
higher range just across on the south. That range on 
the south lorms the divide between the Stinking Water 
and the VVhiteman's Fork of the Republican only four 
miles away. . ,,11 
There comes the Parson, too, or perhaps it would be bet- 
ter to say, the future Farson. Indolence in gait and 
manner show that he is little worried about the par- 
ticular mission he is on. Yet he is out after meat. He 
has changed some since first he appeared on the stage. 
There is a very scant growth of fuzzy stuff on his neg- 
lected chin, not unlike a meager crop of buffalo grass, 
for the Farson has been on the buffalo range for the last 
two months, and consequently out of reach of the ton- 
sorial artist. 
But let us throw off the disguise and assume the first 
person. I am armed with a needle-gun, resighted and 
fitted for hunting purposes. Just such a gun as Buffalo 
Bin won his spurs with. In fact, the gun that redeemed 
the wild West from the reign of butialo and Indian and 
brought (or commanded) it to a state of civilization with 
attendant thralldom. 
The buffalo had drifted out of our section of country, 
and I was getting tired of dried meat more than a month 
old, and was out looking for something more palatable. 
■ I stopped and loitered about at the mouth of one of the 
larger caiions near a grove of a dozen large Cottonwood 
trees scattered over a little plateau, where the canon 
opened out on the creek bottom. There was a sharptail 
grouse leisurely picking buds on the top of one of the 
trees, which made a ver>' tempting target at about 50 
yards range. 
I knew even then that grouse are rather bitter meat 
after feeding for a month on Cottonwood buds, but I 
would just take a look at him through the rifle sights. 
There was a light fog hanging over the hills, with scat- 
tering flakes of fine snow drifting softly down the half- 
nickle muzzle sight showed splendidly against the grouse 
and gray banks of fog beyond. I did not intend to 
shoot, but cocked the gun and looked again. The bead 
-was so good that my finger closed on the trigger without 
orders, and the next instant the thunder of almost three 
drams of black powder went rumbling up tne canon. 
There is a great dift'erence in the effect of a large cali- 
ber rifle ball on feathered game. Usually a needle-gun 
would make a hole in a grouse about as large as one's 
fist, while now and then a bird would be entirely ruined; 
and again I have shot them through the body, making 
a hole no larger than the bullet. This shot was ex- 
ceptionally unlucky in its effects, however, and the bird 
came down in sections, the two larger fragments falling 
at least 20 feet apart. There were the head and one wing 
in one section, and one leg and the other wing in another, 
while one leg and the main part of the bodv were no- 
where to be found. There was not much meat left, and I 
never retrieved the bird, but turned my footsteps up 
the cafion, as being as likely as any other place to furnish 
amusement, and incidentallv meat. 
I had gone but a short distance up the canon, though, 
when I came upon fresh deer tracks in the snow. By 
this evidence I soon learned that three of them had been 
feeding about the cafion for several hours. By the same 
tokign I located the exact spot where they had become 
alarmed at the report of my gun, for tlie short, choppy 
steps and ziijzag wanderings suddenly changed to three 
straight Unes of freckles in the snow, with said freckles 
in bunches of four every 20 feet. I gave myself a mental 
cuff on the ear, and concluded, that, even though I did 
have a faint show of whiskers on my chin, I was still only 
a kid; and then I started out on the trail. 
For the first half-mile the 20-foot average was kept up, 
and then it dropped to 15; then 12, and then I noted 
where the deer had stopped and looked back on the trail. 
At the breakaway from this the pumps increased to 15 
feet again, but soon dropped to 10; then to a trot and 
finally to a walk. I was now on the alert, for the trail 
had led up the side of the canon and across tbe miners' 
gullies that opened into it. There were gullies, points and 
Knobs all around where the deer might be within 50 
yards of me and still be hid from view. 
The tracks showed that the deer had loitered more 
and more as they proceeded, and at last I rounded a 
rcckj' point and saw then close at hand. 
I threw the gun to shoulder and took a snap-shot at 
them as tliey disappeared into a cafion at a single bound, 
as one might take a snap-shot at a ruffed grouse as it 
Hashed through an opening in the woods. Hastily re- 
loading, I ran to a point that commanded the canon, 
and soon saw two deer come out on the opposite side. 
They stopped on the crest of the next hill to look. It 
was a long shot, but I took it and saw that one of them 
was hit. Crossing over I took up the trail, and soon 
found blood; and then began the most remarkable deer 
chase of all my experience. 
I followed them till dusk warned me it was time to tttrn 
cainpward. I got several shots at long range, and twice 
I found hairs scattered along the trail of the bullet, but 
nothing more. I had been totally absorbed in the 
chase, and had paid no attention to whither I was drift- 
ing. When I came to myself I was totally bewildered. 
The fog had thickened until objects were indistinct at 
100 yards. The hills all looked alike through the mist 
and there was absolutely nothing to indicate the points 
of the compass. 
I was lost! I thought of getting into some woodeo 
cafion and building a fire without making any attempt 
to find camp. This was dispelled by reflecting that I 
could follow my back track and reach camp before 
morning. My tracks were plainly visible in the snow, 
and would be throughout the night, for there was a full 
moon behind the fog. But this reflection was in turn 
dispelled by the strangely familiar look of a cotton- 
wood tree near which I was standing. 
I was so thoroughly bewildered that it took me a long 
time to get anything through my wool, and then it 
slowly dawned upon me that I had stood at the camp 
door and shot grouse from the top of that very tree. I 
had passed through all the horrors of realizing that I 
was lost, and within 100 yards of camp. In five min- 
utes I was seated at supper, which was just ready as I 
dropped in. 
The next morning I was out early, and again took up 
the trail. Soon after the tracks separated, and I followed 
the one that showed most blood. I jumped that deer at 
least a dozen times, and shot at it quite as often, pulling 
the wool out of it several times, yet an hour before sun- 
down it was still going. It then took to a swamp, where 
the ice was too thin to bear my weight. I could see 
where it had broken through in several places, and gave 
np in disgust. I went clear round the swamp, but could 
find no trail leading out of it; and so I started for camp. 
When I was within 400 yards of camp I sighted a deer 
standing in the tall grass along the creek bottoms. He 
was about half-way between me and camp, and it was 
hard for me to make him out for sure; but a movement 
of tlie head finally disclosed his horns. It was too late 
for any maneuvering to get a better shot, and I fired 
from where I stood when I first discovered him. 
When the smoke cleared there was no deer in sight. 
At the report of my gun one of the men at camp came 
out and I motioned him to come across the bottom. 
He got his gun, and met me half-way, but there was no 
need for guns, for the deer was dead — shot squarely 
through the shoulders. Thus for the second time what 
appeared to be a bad situation ended happily. 
Two weeks later, as I was rambling in the hills I 
found myself in the vicinity of the place where I had 
first started those three deer. As I came near the spot 
the events of that day came tripping through my mind, 
and then it occurred to me that I had followed the tracks 
of three deer, and that there had been three when I first 
sighted and shot at them. What had become of the 
third deer? It was the first time the thought had come 
to me, and I started to investigate. Well I found that 
deer just 15 feet from where I had shot at them the firs! 
time. It was a small blacktail (mule deer) buck, and 
the bullet had cut the black tassel from his tail, and 
then passed on through the body lengthwise. He lay on 
the north side of a steep bank and was solidly frozen, 
so that I saved the hide. It just finished the number 
required to make my first buckskin suit. 
Ah! But those were palmy days, and seem very like 
a paradise that is lost forever, as those distant hills fade 
out in the twilight. The Parson. 
In the Dark. 
IMoRGANTOWN, W. Va. — Editor Forest and Stream: The 
editorial, "The First Night in Camp," in a recent issue of 
your paper, interests me and set me to thinking, then to 
writing. 
Much of the natural timidity which humanity generally 
feels in the dark could be traced back to improper im- 
pressions made on the mind in childhood. Numerous in- 
stances show how indelible are the impressions left on the 
mind during the first few years of life. 
What parent, however careful of the development of 
the child's mind, morally or intellectually, has not left the 
impression on that mind that there was something in the 
dark to be fearful of? Possibly not knowingly or inten- 
tionally, but that fact does not lessen the discomfort which 
comes at intervals all through the life of one as the effect 
of such early impressions. Ofttimes such impressions are 
made while trying to do a kindness, such as trjdng to coax 
the child in out of the cold, when it may be in the dark, by 
saying, "Come in, the 'boogies' will catch you," etc., 
never thinking that g lifelong hofm dl the A&fk ii bum*- 
systematically mstiUed into that young mind. ^ 
It does not stop at childhood. In my boyhood it was 
my delight to listen to old-timers relate their early ex-, 
periences, among which were a few favorite stories o 
supposed narrow escapes from being pounced upon bjl 
"painters" (panthers), in each of which cases the dreadeci 
animal had done everything except make the actual ati 
tack. In every case was the old man tehmg the exact; 
truth, so far as he knew it, but never did it occur to thd 
good old soul that he was as safe at the moment of hii 
supposed extreme danger as if he had been compassed 
roundabout by Roosevelt's army of Rough Riders. The}' 
had been taught, no doubt, from infancy to fear the 
"painter" as sure death to all who came in their way. 
Not until years later did I learn of the cowardice anc 
harmlessness of this animal Spending much of my tim^ 
in the woods of the Rocky Mountains, where they were 
numerous (going by the name of mountain lion in that; 
locality), many times sleeping under trees, without tent 
and without any companion, with a feeling of perfect safe- 
t3', having learned by experience and a certain knowledge 
of their habits, that they were not to be feared. 
Thus it w^ould seem that tl:e more we are educated alon^ 
the line of natural history, the less we would feel this dis-i 
position to "shy" in the dark; and it would seem possi'' 
ble to eliminate this from our natures to a great extern' 
if proper precaution were taken and proper instrnctiot: 
given the tender minds of children. 
Emerson Carney. 
''Lik in the Far West.^' 
St. Louis, Mo,, Jan. 15. — Editor Forest and Stream 
Recently I received a letter from a reader of Forest ani 
Stream inquiring where a copy of Ruxton's "Life in thi 
Far West" could be found. Unfortunately, I have mis- 
laid his address. I trust he will accept this note as ar 
apology. 
There were three editions of "Life in the Far West.' 
The first, and best printed, was published by Wm. Black 
wood & Sons, of Edinburgh, in 1849. It is aut of print 
but copies turn up now and then in the second-hand mar- 
ket. It was reprinted by Harper & Bros., of New York 
in the same year, but this edition is likewise out of prini 
and is scarcer than the first. In 1868 the Blackwoodi 
brought out a new and cheaper edition, which was ir 
print a few years ago, but is not now listed on their cat- 
alogue. 
I think that a copy of one or other edition could be pro- 
cured for not over $1.50 from a second-hand dealer, sucl 
as A. S. Clark, 174 Fulton street. New York, or througt. 
an importer, like Gustav E. Stechert, 9 East Sixteentl 
street. New York. 
Ruxton's "Adventures in Mexico" is still in print. I1 
is published by John Murray, Albemarle street, London 
at 3s. 6d. The latter part of it relates to what is now our 
own Southwest. 
An average reader's first impression of "Life in the Fai 
West," is likely to be disagreeable, for the conditions, and 
the men who faced them, were almost inconceivably dif- 
ferent from what they are to-day, and much of tlie narra- 
tive sounds far-fetched. Parts of it read like one of Neri 
Buntline's dime novels. It is coarse and brutal at times, 
But Ruxton is true to the facts, for all that. I have my- 
self camped with white savages of the Killbuck and La 
Bonte type — and that not sixty years ago in the Rockies; 
but six years ago within 200 miles of this city. I hkeg 
them. too. If their obliquities were fearful, their virtues 
were heroic. It is only a pity that Ruxton did not add 
both variety and truth to his book by introducing some 
of the gentler types of frontiersmen, such as Francis 
Parkman's guide, Henri Chatillon. One of Chatillon's 
sons, by the way, is now living in old Carondelet. or Vid^ 
Foche. as the southern part of St. Louis was called. 
Horace Kephart. 
The Nipmuks. 
W^ebster, Mass., Jan. 20— Editor Forest and Slreami 
Will you allow me to attempt to make a correction: 
I have just read the article in the last issue of Forest 
AND Stream, "The Last of the Nipmuks," by Mr. C 
Harry Morse, of Boston, in which he says that Lucyl 
Boston, of Webster, who recently died in the flames of 
her hut, was the last of the Nipmuk tribe of Indians. 
Lucy Boston was not an Indian, but a negro, and Mr' 
Morse's belief that she was an Indian appears to_ have 
been drawn from the sensational output of a notoriously 
irresponsible local reporter of an unreliable city paper. 
The last full-blood Indians of the Nipmuk tribe in this 
town Avere an old blind man, who died some twenty-five 
or thirty years ago, and his wife, who died some years 
later, both of whom I well remember when I came tc 
Webster thirty-three years ago. 
A half-breed Indian and negro, descendant of the Nip-' 
muks, is still living here. 
By the way, referring to our never-to-be-forgotten Ness- 
muk, after many inquiries, I think I located his birth- 
place on a farm some two miles out of Webster, from in- 
form.ation .given by Reuben Dudley, an old fox and coot 
hunter of this town, a story of who.se life of hunting anr 
fishing was published in Forest and Stream several 
years ago, and who is still hale and hearty, and loves tc 
follow the hounds. 
I do not blame Nessmuk for acquiring a love for canoe- 
ing, when he had access to such a beautiful sheet of watet 
as Lake Chanbunagunganiang. m this town, or, as some 
call it. Lake Chan (please read the rest on inclosed card, 
as it takes, too long to write it). 
Charles Gerber. 
Old Subscfibers. 
Sing Sing, Jan. 16. — Editor Forest and Stream: J. H; 
Y-C. B., in your issue of last week, asks "if any of your sub- 
scribers have taken Forest and Stream as long as he 
has" — twenty-seven years. I know of one — ^my father. 1 
heard him say one day that he had taken the Forest ane 
Stream over fifty years, it having changed names three 
times during that period. One of the names he men- 
tioned was the Spirit of the Times. Since he stopped hif 
regular subscription, some years ago, I have taken il 
