I 
S2 
Through the Parsonage Windows. — I 
The Parsonage stands dh the outskirts -of a "Very small 
town in the erstwhile pampas of North America. Sup- 
posing the Parsonage to have been here, one might have 
looked out through its windows thirty years ago and have 
seen those far-stretching hills and valleys, white carpeted 
with buffalo grass, dotted all over with great rolling hulks 
of buffalo. Huge, dusky and ragged they roved at will, 
knowing no herdsman but the north wind, with its lashes 
pointed with frost, which drove them south in winter; 
and no corral but tliat framed by the Missouri River 
and the Rocky Mountains. 
Just over that low-lying range of hills to the south is 
where the original Texas cattle trail leading north crossed 
the old Santa Fe wagon trail leading west. There is little 
left to call to mind either of these once great thorough- 
fares. Here and there a deep gully washed in some 
bank with minor gullies slanting into it, marks the spot 
where cattle paths concentrated in crossing some streams. 
Here and theiT a dozen of these gullies winding over some 
hill mark the course of the old Santa Fe trail. Keeping 
ip one track until wind and water had carried the loosened 
earth out of the wheel tracks, and until the axle began to 
drag on the ridge between, the freighters would move over 
and sometimes a dozen of these abandoned tracks would 
be seen abreast. But time and cultivation have obliterated 
both trails, until it is now a rare thing to find any of 
these marked characteristics. 
Ah ! the footsteps of time have indeed pressed heavily 
cin the face of nature round about; but looked at by one 
whose first impressions of the outside world, were formed 
on these white carpeted prairies, as the Parson's were, 
there are still little patches, enough to form stages, where 
memory can re-enact the scenes of yore. 
Just outside the Parsonage window ts o,ne of these. It 
is a very small patch, laid out in city lots when the village 
was 'expected to rival Chicago. It is too small for a 
field, and too large for a garden ; and has thus escaped 
the march of progress, and is still of the primeval sod. 
It is a mixture of bunch grass and of buffalo grass. The 
bunch grass predominates, giving it a reddish cast, but 
there are round, white patthes of buffalo grass all 
through it, so that one can have the stage carpeted to suit. 
Away in the distance is another little spot of unpolluted 
nature, where the hills are too rocky for cultivation, 
making another little stage to which the scenes of old 
rnay be transferred. Of course, to get a good reproduc- 
tion of one's adventures, one must sit at just the right 
angle and have the curtains adjusted to a nicety, else the 
corner of some tall hedge, wheat field, barn or farm- 
house will thrust itslf into the negative and shatter it 
as one might shatter the most delicate piece of china by a 
blow with a hammer. 
The scenes to be played on this little stage were written 
by events in years past. The Parson's life, or the impres- 
sionable part of it, has been an adventurous one. Not 
thrilling adventures made up of desperate hand to hand 
encounters with grizzlies and Indians, such as the travelers 
in the West are sure to bump up against nowadays, but 
adventures of a rnild sort, such as one met in real life on 
the plains thirty years ago. 
To be sure, there were bears and Indians in it; but tlje 
bears ran away just as real bears do; and the Indians were 
friendly and feasted you or feasted with you, as the case 
rnight be. in the day, and stole your duffle or ponies at 
night. Sometimes they would stab a white man in the 
back, or shoot him from ambush in revenge for some in- 
,?ult, real or fancied, just as white pfeople stab and stab at 
the reputation of their nearest and dearest neighbors when 
the neighbors are looking the other way. Now and then 
a war party would swoop on some emigrant train, un- 
able to resist the temptation of much spoil, just as you see 
great Christian nations swooping down on weaker ones 
from the same cause. Yes, the noble red man was 
very like the rest of us, Cooper to the contrary notwith- 
.standing; though more simple hearted, they remembered 
a kindness longer and seldom severed a friendship with- 
out good and sufficient cause. The Parson, however, has 
been worse frightened at unexpectedly meeting roving 
bands of white men in the wilds of the West than he 
ever was by Indians, and lost more duffle by them too. 
But it is of pleasanter things we wish to speak, so let 
us adjust the curtains and see what comes first upon the 
stage. Ah ! there they come ! the Parson and another 
"kid" (the Parson was a "kid" then). They are following 
a trail not unlike the Santa Fe trail, yet it is not th^t To 
the north is a river with clusters of great cottonwood 
trees here and there along its winding course. To the 
south is a range of sand hills. The level prairie b(;tween 
reaches in places to the abrupt embankment of the river 
and looks down into the mad whirl of muddy waters ; at 
Other points there are dense thickets between where the 
river ha,s changed its course and left bars where cotton- 
wood, willow and grape seed have taken root and grown 
up in a promiscuous tangle. Some of these sandy bars 
have withstood the lashes of time for fifty years, and 
cottonwood trees several feet in diameter cluster upon 
them ; others are of last year's origin, and only low 
bushes cover them 
The stream is the Loup River: the trail is a Pawnee 
Indian trail leading south from their village only a few 
miles above, and just across the river, that sand ridge, 
along whose foot the trail follows, is Vinter's Ridge; so 
called at that time anyhow- The Parson and the other kid 
were on an exnedition up into the Indian reservation 
after big game It was an impromptu expedition, launched 
on the spur of the moment, and the outfit was not 
elaborate — such provisions as were deemed unnecessary 
for a five days' trin and two light guns, with not a blanket 
nor a change of clothes. 
There was no sign of human habitation along the trail 
at this point, and Ave had begun to cons;ratulate our- 
selves on gcttinfr' bevond the nale of civilizition at last, 
when wc sighted a dry goods box lying upon the prairie 
some 200 yards ahead. What bo\- with a new rifle ever 
saw such a mark without responding with a bullet? 
•T had an elegant Frank Wesson .44-ral. single-shot rifle 
of which T was verv proud. It was a fine shooter, and at 
250 yards Ij §QV!l4 nh^^ mj bullet in 'an iS-inch circle with 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
absolute certainty. There was a black spot on the box 
about the size of the crown of a hat, very likely the trade- 
mark of the company that had shipped goods in it. I 
very promptly bet my interest in the first deer brought 
down on the trip that I could place a bullet in the black 
spot from the top of the little knoll over which we first 
sighted the box. 
I was soon stretched on the ground, and had a fine bead 
on the black spot with finger resting lightlj'- on the 
trigger of the rifle, when my companion suggested that 
perhaps there might be sometliing of value in the box. 
Pausing a moment to discuss the probability of this, we 
decided that it would be better to examine be- 
fore sh90ting, though neither of us thought there 
was the slightest chance of there being anything of value 
within two miles of us, as the trail had gone out of use 
since the advent of the Union Pacific Railroad, and grass 
growing up about the box gave it the appearance of having 
lain there at least a year. 
The mere hint of possible damage, however, was 
enough to defer the shooting until an examination should 
be made. The box was some 4 feet square, and the side 
opposite our position was open. Imagine our sui'prise 
then on going round it to find a young lady on the inside. 
Her father had recently made settlement in the hills just 
off the trail, and she was herding the cattle. The box 
had been brought out to shelter her from sun and shower, 
and her only companion was a coach dog. The cattle 
were just out of sight in a ravine, thus escaping our 
notice. 
We stopped and chatted for half an hour, but it was a 
half-hour of nightmare for us. I noted with morbid 
curiosity that the central point t)etween her shoulders, as 
she sat on a bag of hay inside the box, just lined with 
the center of the bullseye made by the trademark on 
tlie outside. I even made a mental calculation of just 
where the bullet would have come througli the bosom of 
her dress and settled on the particular button that would 
have likely been shot awa)% We never told her of her 
danger; but if there had been any service we could have 
rendered her, at a cost less thdn our lives, we would 
have been only too happy in rendering it, and all because 
I did not finish pulling the trigger, already beginning to 
yield to the pressure of my finger when my friend in- 
terrupted me. 
It was weeks before I could look through the sight of a 
rifle without that face rising between and blurring it. It 
was a g®od lesson to the Parson, and from that day to this 
he has never fired at anything (unless, indeed, it might 
have been with rhetoric) without having full knowledge of 
the nature of his target. If any person, boy or man, who 
owns a rifle shall read this, let him call it to mind when 
he is tempted to shoot without knowing just what he 
is shooting at. 
We were just about opposite the Pawnee village when 
nightfall warned us to go into camp. We did not expect 
to make a point of concealing ourselves, but having read 
some of Cooper's tales, we thought it best not to make 
ourselves too prominent. In selecting a camp, we built 
our fire down in a pocket at the side of a draw, where it 
could not be seen from 10 yards away. We thought this 
plan equal to the strategy of the white man in the Indian 
country, who built a very small fire and sat astride it to 
conceal it. We were a little afraid of the Indian.s, despite 
our profession of faith; for we did not know but there 
might be bad Indians as well as bad white men, though 
there is no dotibt we were much safer than we would have 
been camped on a vacant lot in New York City. We 
could hear the Indian youth at play across the river, here a 
quarter of a mile wide, but saw none on our side, and 
with our camp so well concealed we felt that there was 
no great danger o£ our being even discovered. So much 
for our caution. 
We had no blankets ; but by keeping a small fire going 
we could sleep very comfortably beside it on the ground. 
We kept alternate watches to keep the fire going, until 
after midnight, and then we both inadvertently closed 
our eyes at once. When we opened them a moment later 
there was only a bed of cold gray ashes, where an instant 
before had been glowing embers. Day was breaking, and 
our teeth chattered some as we rebuilt the fire and began 
to prepare for breakfast. Bethinking me to take a survey 
of our surroundings, I climbed the bank and was susprised 
to see three Indians camped within 50 yards of us; they 
had a knowing smile on their faces as I walked up to 
them. They had, no doubt, discovered and made a com- 
plete analysis of our camp during the night, and theli 
being too polite to disturb us, had gone 50 yards away 
to make their camp. 
We met a number of Indians after this, during our 
stay on the reservation; and from all of them we got 
pressing invitation to "come to Pawnee house," which 
meant for us to come and visit them at their homes. They 
all seemed to know who we were; and we were never 
questioned as to whither our footsteps were directed. We 
wondered at this, but later learned it was from our asso- 
ciation with Major Frank North, for we had spent the 
summer at his farm, twenty miles down the river. 
We followed up the south bank of the Loup till opposite 
the mouth of Cedar River. Here we crossed the Loup to 
the north side. We had had one experience in hiding 
our camp, and we now determined to select the most 
prominent point we could find; and an hour before sun- 
down we were occupying the high bluff on the west of, 
and overhanging, the Cedar River, just where the two 
valleys meet. 
To the south of us we had a fine view of the valley of 
the Loup with its long line of green cottonwood and wil- 
low. To the north we could trace the valley of the Cedar 
for many miles. The bluffs at this point are very high, 
and we had a fine view. Every hill and stream in that 
countr}'- was associated with Indian adventures, and we 
enjoyed the prospect greatly. The bluffs on the west 
side of the Cedar are very abrupt, rising sheer from the 
river ; on the .east side they slant back for more than a 
mile. 
As we sat enjoying our surroundings, we noticed a 
white spot on this slope. Watching it, we saw that it 
moved, and was coming toward the river At the time 
neither of us had ever seen a wild antelope, but we decided 
that this was one coming down to the river for water. I 
was soon scrambling down the side of the bluff, and 
across the low ground that bordered the stream. There 
was a thick tangle of underbrush and vines for me to 
work my way through. At one place I came to a thicket 
tjAJsr. 13, igoo. 
of plums; great yellow feUows that hting in a golden- 
wall all about me. I stopped and ate several before 
moving on, which should testify as to their flavor. As 
I came out to the edge of the prairie land there ytas an 
abrupt embankment 4 feet high, overlooking a little flat 
some hundred yards in extent. A tree growing on the 
lower ground drooped one of its 1$-anches over on this 
little table and concealed me from anything on it. As' 
I looked out from behind this screen I could hardly be-'i 
lieve my eyes when I saw the very thing I was in search ■ 
of, a real live buck antelope, standing there and looking 
about him. 
The bank in front of me was just high enough for me to 
rest my arms on, so that I could hold my rifle solid as a 
rock, but the sights would blur. Twice the face of a; 
girl in a setting of flaxen hair intruded and spoiled the 
bead, and then I got mad and thrust it away, and fixing 
the copper-colored muzzle sight against the antelope'si 
ribs, just back of the shoulders, I held it firmly there and. 
pressed the trigger. At the crack of the rifle the antelopei 
gave one frantic bound and then stopped, as if to. look* 
about, then oblivion stole softly over him, his forelegs 1 
trembled and gave way under him, and he plunged for- 
ward to rise no more. For a minute or two I was very 
proud of my prize, and then I began to wonder what 1 
was to do with it. 
Dusk was already crescping on, and that tangle bi un- 
derbrush was between me and camp. We had been 
killing grouse wherever we wanted to, and broiled grouse 
had been the greater part of our hving. After locating 
camp my companion, who carried a shotgun, had .sho" 
four to supply our wants for supper and breakfast. 
Thinking this over, I decided to use what daylight there 
was yet left in making my way back to camp, and left the 
buck lying as he fell. 
In the morning the antelope was beginning to spoil. 
This was lesson No. 2 for the Parson, and taught him 
never to shoot game on the spur of the moment with- 
out some idea of how he is to utilize it. The desruction 
of valuable game, killed and left to rot, is the worst crime 
a hunter can be guilty of. A glance at the map shows 
that we must have left that antelope lying on the site nowii 
occupied by the town of Fullerton, Neb. 
We had expected to go into camp the third night on 
the Loup River, some eight miles above the Pawnee vil- 
lage, but at night there was a dark cloud rising in the 
west, and the distant rumble of thunder warned us that 
It was useless to expect to keep a camp-fire burning 
through the night, and without it we should suffer with 
the cold, so, after preparing and eating supper, we pushed 
on toward the village, our objective point being Indian 
trader Piatt's barn, half a mile beyond. 
It was far into, the night when we reached the village) i 
and the rain was pouring down. As we threaded o'uri 
way among those dome-like mud huts in the inky dark- 
ness, we scarcely breathed, expecting each moment to 
hear the yell of a dozen Indian dogs at our heels, but we 
got through all right, and reached Piatt's barn in safety 
wjiere we crawled up into the loft and found a great heap 
of buffalo robes. Maybe there was not luxury in those 
smoky old robes, but we thought there was. 
Next day we made oitr way back to the North farm 
where we had been making experiments in fruit growing- 
in the far West. On our way down river we shot a dozen ' 
fine green-wmg teal. We Avere keeping bach at the time 
and after dressmg them were preparing to cook them 
but Mrs. North, the Major's mother, took pity on us and' 
took the job off our hands, and we took stipper at the 
Major s that mght. But night is rolling down the curtain 
and the scene fades. The Parson 
Sam's Boy.-VIL 
Not many days after this the old shoemaker and his' 
little comrade were strolling along the brook in the idle- 
observation of many curious and beautiful things. Now 
It was trout flashing from one hiding place to another - 
now the golden shimmer of a sand bank beneath sunlit 
ripples; now a sandpiper flitting before them on sickle- 
shaped wmgs, or alighting in the water's edge and bal- 
ancing Itself on its slender legs with odd. jerky teetering 
of Its body; now the mossy nest of a phebe-bird, stuck 
like a pocket on the face of a rock, and one of its little 
P.ii.^'^f'"^ ^J}^ owners calling sharply from various perches, 
"Phebe, Phebe !" 
"That's his wife's name, and he's forever a-callin' of her 
so's 't I should think she'd git sick an' tired o' hearin' 
on t,' Uncle Lisha explained. 
They were approaching a grove out of which the brook 
came, and with its changing babble was heard the clear 
resonant sound of measured strokes mingling with their- 
own cool, shivering echoes, such as are heard only in 
leafy woodland interiors, and which alone repeat the bell 
and flute of the wood and hermit thrushes. 
"Someb'dy or 'nother 's a-paoundin' basket stuff." said 
Uncle LLsha, after Hstening a moment: "but who on 
airth it is is more'n I can guess." 
But the riddle was solved when, upon entering the 
woods, they discovered a dingy tent pitched beside the 
brook and near it two men and a woman, all with faces, 
the color of new copper cents, and eyes and hair as blade 
as a crow's wing. 
One of the men was belaboring a peeled ash log from 
end to end with the head of an axe; the other was split- 
ting long, slender spruce roots in twain; and the woman 
was weaving a pretty basket of red, blue and yellow 
splints. 
"Why, good airth an' seas ; if it hain*t Injuns !'■ Uncle 
Lisha exclaimed; and at the name and the recollections 
of _ Gran'ther Hill's tales Sammy's heart sank and his 
hair arose. . * 
"Injuns! Oh, le's run, Unc' Ltsher!" he gasped, with 
a backward tug at the finger he clung to. 
"Why, bless his heart, they won't hurt nob'dy, an' mebby 
we'll git a pooty baskit or so'thin' tu kerry home wi' us," 
said Uncle Lisha reassuringly, and marched straight into 
the camp in the most reckless manner, hailing its occu- 
pants with a hearty "Haow d' du." The man who wa-. 
hammering the log suspended his labor, grinned ami;i{)"]y 
and responded: 
"Quiee." 
The root splitter glanced up at the visitors and made a 
like response, and the woman smiled on the little boy 
in • -'-^^ "-hat quite dispelled his fears. 
