Aug. 4, 1900.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
88 
"Right you are. Doctor. He was one of the salt of 
the airth; but he has passed away, and we may be sure 
there's no Injuns to bother him where he is gone." 
"Speaking of Indians," said I, when John had finished 
his account of old Squire Thompson's peculiarities, "my 
friend Reed, of Boston, tells two or three capital stories 
about an old guide he had employed here in Nova 
Scotia named Peter Glode. Mr. Reed said the old fel- 
low was reticent on shore and in camp, and, as with many 
other Indians, it took a long time to get into his good 
graces; but finally the bond of mutual hardship and 
adventure thawed him out, though even then he would 
rarely talk much except when in a canoe and at some 
distance from the shore, for fear something might hear 
him. 
" 'One day,' said Mr. Reed, 'Peter and I were paddling 
across Cegemacongie when he showed me where there 
had been a fight between his people and a band of Mo- 
hawk invaders. As Mr. Francis Parkman and other his- 
torians had said that the depredations by the Mohawks 
had never extended beyond the St. John River in New 
Brunswick I was naturally much interested at this little 
bit of information and asked old Peter if he knew of any 
other occasions when the Mohawks had come into this 
country. 
" ' "Well," he replied, "yas, long time ago, when I 
was a young feller, 'bout twenty, nineteen years old, there 
was one Mohawk come down here; but he was dis- 
'gree'ble, no 'count kind er man; people didn't like him, 
he was so dis'gree'ble, so Uncle Jim he killed him!" ' 
"Mr. Reed tells another storj' about Peter: 'We were 
making a carry,' he said, 'and had sat down to rest near 
a tree, the bark of which had been torn off by a bear. 
All of us have seen these trees in the woods where 
bears have sharpened their claws much as a cat does hers 
on the legs of a chair or table. Some of these scratches, 
being fresh, attracted our attention, and Peter said that 
it was bear custom when a bear in the course of his 
.travels came to a tree that had been scratched by an- 
other bear for the second one to scratch the same tree 
and by the comparative height of the marks to judge 
whether he or the first one was the bigger, and so decide 
whether it were prudent or not for him to continue in 
that neighborhood; it would not be safe for him to 
remain there if the other were the larger. Then Peter 
began his story: 
'Twas long time ago and a Indian man was mak- 
mg carry— not this carry, but 'nother one, down toward 
Pebluggige— and he, too, get tired and sit down to rest 
him right near where was bear tree where bear sharp 
his daws. Well, the Indian man he sit still .'while and 
don't make no noise, and putty soon, barmbye, he hear 
a stick crack and he look up. There was a little bear, 
oh, a no 'count kind of bear, anyway, and he come 
nosing 'long and he git up to that bear tree. 
" ' "Indian man he sit still, don't say nothin', and 
that little bear git up on his hind legs and reach up that 
tree. Well, he don't come nigh top scratch by 2 foot 
or more. Then he sit down on his hind legs and he 
scratch his head. 
"Then he goes off in the bushes and pooty soon he 
come back a rollih' a bit of ole log. Indian man he 
keep still, don't say nothin', and that little bear he roll 
his log up against the bear tree and then he climb on 
top of it; then he stan' up on his hind legs and he reach 
up, oh, 2 foot above the top scratch; and then, my gra- 
cious he just tear the bark on that tree jess orfuU! Then 
he git down, he roll off that ole log and and he scratch 
up leaves over it, cover it all up; then he come back, he 
sit down on his hind legs and he look at them big 
scratches and that bark all tore off 'way high up, and he 
jess hug himself and laff. Injun man he laff, too, and he 
let him go." ' ". 
"That's a good bear story," said the Doctor, as he arose 
from his recumbent position. "I have seen scratches on 
trees which must have been made by a very long bear or 
by one that had a log to stand on; but it's growing late, 
and as we must be moving before daybreak I think we 
had better turn in." 
In a short time I was alone, and as I did not feel sleepy 
I lighted a fresh pipe, resumed my comfortable position, 
with a huge log for a pillow, and, gazing into the flames 
indulged in a dreamy retrospection of the incidents that 
had been touched on in our conversation. 
Old Squire Thompson and his life of "celebracy," the 
phenomenal mouth of Capt. Bent, old Jim Joseph and the 
drunken quarrel and fatal fight, Peter Glode and the 
"dis'gree'ble Injun," the little, no 'count, but cunning 
bear, all passed before my mental vision. 
At last I lay there drowsily listening to the sounds of 
the night, which to me have a never-ending charm. I 
listened for a while and then I began to doze. I had 
not completely fallen asleep when I was aroused by a 
step near me and then a deep voice uttering the words 
"How do. Boss." Awakening from my half-sleep, I 
looked up, and near me beside the fire stood old Jim 
Joseph. Without moving from my position or showing 
any surprise at the intrusion, for long training among 
Indian guides had accustomed me to restrain many 
natural emotions, I quietly returned his greeting and 
awaited developments. 
The old man sat down, took out his pipe and began 
searching his pockets for tobacco. 
"Huh," he at length uttered; "can't find tobac'. Boss, 
lend me some." 
I quietly took from my pouch enough for several 
smokes and handed it to hira. 
"T'ank you," he said, and without further remark he 
filled his pipe and lighted it. "Boss hunt moose barmby?" 
he asked. 
"Yes, we hope to find one up river here," I replied, 
pointing in the direction of one of the streams. 
"Big moose up tudder river; horns spread orfull — so 
big!" he said, extending his arms so that they measured 
at least 5 feet. "I see him in the water this mornin." 
_ "In the water!" I exclaimed. "I thought that at this 
time of the year they kept in the woods and barrens." 
"Makes no odds," was the reply; "bull moose move 
'bout all the time. Wants to find cow. S'pose he come 
to river, he stop and drink; p'r'aps eat some lily root 
or some grass in the water. Then p'r'aps he t'ink cow 
on tadder side; he swim across river easy; bull moose 
don't mind water; he swim over mighty easy. P'r'aps 
get hhn. Mighty big moose. John, he good caller. 
Injun call too. P'r'aps Injun go 'long and help call. 
P'r'aps we get two moose. Boss come maybe from 
Halifax.?" 
"No," I replied, somewhat absently. 
"From St. John, maybe?" he continued. 
"No; we belong in Boston." 
"Huh; Boston fine town. I been there sellin' fur and 
baskits. Big town; big houses; oh, orfull big! Yes, Boston 
great tov/n for whisk' [whisky]; lots whisk' ev'rywhere; 
hke St. John 'bout there. I s'pose Boss bring 'long lots 
good whisk'?" 
Here he stopped smoking and wiped his lips with the 
back of his hand, evidently expecting to have the pleas- 
ure of sampling the fire-water which he had no doubt 
we had brought with us. 
"No," I replied very quietly. 
"What! no whisk?" 
"No, none." 
"Maybe some brand'" (brandy). 
"No, none." 
''What, no brand'! Maybe some rum?" 
"No, none." 
''What, no rum!" The voice of the old Micmac rose 
higher and higher as he enumerated the different kinds 
of liquor. "Maybe some nice gin?" 
"No, none." 
"What, no gin!" 
"Not a drop." 
''What Boss drink, then?" 
''Oh, coffee, tea and cold watei-." 
"Huh," he ejaculated; "tea pretty good; cold water all 
right in summer time, mostly; but in cold night make 
Injun belly ache." 
"Now, Jim Joe!" shouted John from the tent, "you jest 
want ter dry up hoUerin' that a-way about whisky and 
lum and gin. I want you to understand this is a tem- 
p'rance crowd and I and the Doctor want to go ter sleep. 
Just dry up, now, consarn ye and let things git a little 
quiet." 
"All right, John," said the Indian, "I keep still. Go 
to sleep and I wake you time 'nough to start barmby 
for moose." 
[to be concluded next week.] 
In the Apache Country. 
It matters not whether you cross Arizona on the Santa 
Fe Pacific, the Southern Pacific or by wagon road, from 
east to west, north to south, the Territory is a grand suc- 
cess as a desert. The dubious verdure of the rainy season, 
the flaunting brilliancy of cactus, yucca and mescal, serve 
to exaggerate rather than modify the characteristic bar- 
renness of the landscape. And yet one or two spots are 
found where the curse has not had its dire effect and 
where the sportsman may imagine himself in a more 
favored portion of the globe. In the larger mountam 
ranges, such as the Buckskins, San Francisco, Mogollons 
and Graham, big game is abundant and not nearly so wild 
as in the regions' to which hunters are wont to resort. 
The Apache reservation not being located in the tops of 
the mountains, I had imagined was a first-rate preserve for 
rabbits and coyotes. Hence it proved a most pleasurable 
surprise in scenery and products, and lucky is the man 
who can get permission from the Indian agent to pitch his 
tent and hunt and fish on "the strip," as that portion of 
the reservation is called which wedges in between Navajo 
and Graham counties. 
One June morning just as daylight was fairly break- 
ing I rode southward from Snowflake toward the Valley 
of the Gila. For the first eight miles there was nothing 
to indicate aught but the half-irrigated farm land that 
surrounds the settlements. Then I noticed to my right 
a brighter green in the fields and a belt of osiers and 
dwarf oaks. Presently the valley narrowed into a little 
cafion, through which ran a stream of water that was 
actually clear to the sight and pleasant to the taste. There 
was good grass, and wild roses and grapes covered all 
the trees. It was a great temptation to me to stop and 
camp, but 6 A. M. is certainly too early to call a halt for 
dinner, so I jogged on over a fifteen-mile mesa of sand 
and cedar, the lower Mogollons gradually assuming a 
definiteness of outline and color phases that promised a 
pleasant change for the afternoon. 
Noon found me at the three-mile string of log houses 
and little ranches that the map designates as Show Low. 
Here the big timber — ^pine and oak — dotted the landscape. 
Ten hours of climb and then, at an elevation of 7,000 feet, 
the plateau became as level as a floor, covered with 
knee-deep gramma grasses and shaded by as fine timber 
as can be found in the Blue Ridge or Berkshires. Wild 
turkeys and quail were much in evidence, but the broods 
were young and the unwritten code of ethics prevented 
my securing any. Tracks and signs of larger game were 
common. This is, I am informed, one of the greatest 
bear regions in the West. The path through the park 
was so delightful that I let my horse walk, all regardless 
of the fact that if I did not reach the agency by nightfall 
I should be doomed to a bed in saddle blankets. 
Coalsy's ranch, on the reservation, afforded as cool 
spring water as any that I haA'e ever tasted, and here I 
was met by the welcome news that there were some 
freight teams only half an hour ahead of me, and I 
could probably camp with them. As good luck would 
have it, I had met these freighters only the week before 
in Holbrook, and it did not take much argument to 
persuade them to camp early and try the fishing in White 
River, which paralleled the road and was distant about 
half a mile from it. I had no faith in the stream as a 
trout water, but as the boys were provided with hooks and 
lines, I determined to see what I could do. White River 
proved as beautiful a stream as could be desired, and 
with flies great execution could have been done. As it 
was, we used grasshoppers for bait, and as they were both 
small and active, it was harder to get bait than trout. The 
fish were from 8 to 10 inches in length, and as very little 
fishing is done, save when the officers from the post 
indulge in a holiday, they are not educated up to the point 
of being wary. 
That night our camp was visited by a large bruin. We 
did not see him, but the snorting of the horses was 
enough to make us fire a shot as a bliiff, after which the 
crackling of the bushes told that EH was making his 
escape. His track was so large that I did not regret that I 
had been denied an interview. 
The following morning I rode into the agency. The 
Apaches whom I met along the road were very fine look- 
ing and quite sociable. From the agent, Mr. Armstrong, 
I obtained permission to fish and hunt in the Black River 
country. The White, Black and Gila rivers unite to 
form Salt River, and both the White and Black abound 
in mountain trout. We were too far down the Black for 
good trout fishing, but we caught plenty of large mul- 
lets. The hillsides back from the river seemed to be a 
great breeding ground for turkeys, but our best sport here 
was with the deer, of which we secured three. 
Another month of hard travel over the worst of roads 
and where water, even for the animals, is a very costly 
luxury, brought us near the boundary line of Mexico. 
Mesquite had long taken the place of the vegetation to 
which we had been accustomed at the north. On the 
afternoon of July 12, after crossing the divide between 
the Barbacombari and the Sonoita, we were surprised 
by finding a spring of ice-cold water, the source of the 
latter stream. From that point until we reached Nogales, 
a distance of thirty miles, we were in constant sight of 
oak timber. The country reminded, me very much of that 
part of California which lies between San Jose and Gil- 
roy. Spanish was the language of the people, and 
customs as well as appearance indicated that we were in 
a strange land. Since that time we have lived on 
game. The band-tailed pigeon is found in great flocks. 
This bird is much larger than the domesticated pigeon. 
It seems _ attached to particular localities. We locate a 
tree that is filled with the birds and kill two or three, when 
they fly away and alight in another tree only a few 
hundred yards away. When disturbed here they fly back 
to the first tree. So two hunters, one at each tree, can 
easily exterminate a flock. The white-winged dove (about 
the size of the domestic pigeon) is more abundant than 
the band-tailed pigeon. Chief among our game birds is 
the Massena partridge, which is as large arid as delicious 
as the ruffed grouse. The young birds are now more than 
half-grown, and as they are very swift, strong fliers, they 
afford the finest sport. Shoshone. 
Nogales, Sonora, July 22. 
Mosquitos in the South Seas. 
The mosquito of the Pacific islands presents to the 
white man the same old problem of self-defense, but in a 
different way. His habits are different, his plan of 
campaign involves new ideas of strategy, the result is 
even more painful than the best efforts of the pests which 
have sung their infamy in America. 
The great protection against the ravages of the South 
Sea mosquito is light — and plenty of it. Rooms well 
lighted at night are free from the pest, even though un- 
protected by any screen. But as soon as lights go out 
the war begins. This mosquito is almost voiceless, and 
gives no musical warning of its approach. When it 
lands upon the skin it flattens right out, with four legs 
extended in front and four behind, and in that position 
inserts its probe nearly horizontally. In this there is no 
pain, and the victim becomes conscious of the assault 
only when the mischief is complete, and the venom puffs 
the wound into an angry blister, often an inch in width 
of localized agony. This characteristic of the beast quite 
precludes any chance of enjoyment such as the broad 
verandas of the houses of the white people would seem to 
offer in the cool of the evening. Even in a well-lighted 
apartment the undefended ankles will pay smarting 
penalty for sitting at a table unless a lighted candle is 
set beneath the board to dispel the shade in which the 
winged poisoner acts. 
The new territory of Hawaii has a history in which the 
mosquito -chapter has just begun to be written. It was 
blessed above all lands in having not a single mosquito 
for all the ages of the past. But now it is painfully differ- 
ent. They know and execrate the name of the ship which 
brought from Mexico the first mosquito within the mem- 
ory of men yet young. There are parts of the group to 
which the torment has not yet spread, but it is despair- 
ingly recognized that it is only a question of a short 
time when the winged marauder shall hold sway from 
Hawaii to Niihau. 
Samoan legend tells the story of how not only the 
mosquito but the fly as well was brought to the five 
islands. Ages ago, when the world had not long been 
created, the daughter of the King of Manu'a was walking 
along the beach of Olosenga gathering flowers for her 
adornment, as do the Samoan girls to the present day. 
This one she chose for its fragrance, that one she plucked 
for its rich color, bedecking herself from nature's store. 
Then came out of the Eastern sea a canoe with one 
handsome man aboard. He beached his canoe and hauled 
it oyer the sands to the fringe of vines at the mark 
of highest water. In his right hand he carried a bamboo 
from which stuck out the end of a plug of twisted sugar 
cane leaf, and in his left hand was another. When the 
maiden had greeted the stranger coming from no one 
knows where he asked her what she was doing on that 
beach, 
"Gathering flowers, my lord," she said; "flowers with 
which to scent sweet oil of cocoanuts; flowers for my 
hair and for a necklet." 
"Take these two tub.es of bamboo," the stranger said 
to the maid, "for they hold flowers fairer and more 
fragrant than any that grow on the beach of Olosenga 
between the sea and the wall of rock." 
The maiden drew the plug from one bamboo to see 
the wonderful flowers, and the air was filled with a 
swarm of flies buzzing about her ears. She drew the 
second plug, and out flew a cloud of mosquitoes. The 
deceitful stranger drew his canoe into the sea and paddled 
back to the unknown East, but the mischief he did re- 
mains to* the present day, for thus came flies and mos- 
quitoes to Samoa. 
. . , Ui-EWELLA Pierce Churchill. 
"Come to stay?" asked the fish. '^Oh^ no/* said the 
worm ; "just dropped in for a bite." — Detroit Free Press. 
