Aug. i8, 1900,] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
12 s 
birds compare with common barnyard fowls nearer than 
any other wild birds, and are quite as large as a prairie 
chicken. Their shrill cackle may be heard sounding 
through the forest at each hour of the day and night, and 
as one imagines the katydid to repeat that word, so does 
it seem that the Paz/o names each hour — one starts the 
call, which is taken up and sounded from one brood to 
another as far as you can hear it in all directions. 
This day began very warm, so I skirted along the 
shady side of the river during the forenoon, but owing 
to the scorching rays of the sun as it reached the 
meridian T was forced to seek for a cooling shade in the 
forest. It was after 3 o'clock in the afternoon when I 
started again. Just at sunset of this day I entered the 
Paraguay River from the Cuyaba, and at dark was sur- 
prised to see as I turned a bend of the river a row of 
liftj' ( r more lights that suggested to me that they were 
the lights on board of a steamer coming up stream. 
My first thought was that unless 1 could run into some 
nook for safety along the shore, a steamer as large as 
that must be to carry so many lights would kick up such 
a swash and rolling waves as to sink my canoe in- 
stantly. Thinking there was no time to lose I hastened 
for a place of refuge. T..uck I thought favored me, for 
at the place I landed there was a small, narrow stream 
that allowed of the passage in of my loaded dugout. 
There I sat for a half hour or so expecting every min- 
ute, to hear the steamer's paddles close at hand; but 
neither hearing nor seeing the craft I ventured to push 
out into the stream again, and soon found how badly 
one could be fooled even in this far-off wilderness. 
What had seemed to be a steamboat's lights proved to 
be nothing more nor less than a flock of birds resting 
upon some tall swamp willows— birds that have power 
of producing a bright illumination. It is said that these 
birds feed exclusively on the fire flies so numerous in 
that region. I had often been told of such a species, 
but these were the first I had ever seen. Upon my ap- 
proaching them closely they took flight and the lights 
vanished. J. G. King, 
[to be CONCLUBED.] 
An Alaska Trip. 
Forty-Mile Post, Yukon Territory. — The accompany- 
ing photographs are of the Forty-iVIile River Canon. 
Forty-Mile Creek, as it is called here, is over 150 miles 
long, draining a large country on the west of the Yukon 
River. It empties into the Yukon River ten miles below 
this falls and canon. At its juncture with the Yukon on 
the south side is situated Forty-Mile Post. This is a 
trading station for miners and Indians. Directly across 
the Forty-Mile is Fort Cudahy. The Canadian Govern- 
ment has barracks here, which are occupied by the North- 
west Mounted Police. Photo No. i shows the river 
rounding a point and the commencement of the Half-Mile 
Rapids in its mad rush through the cation. Photo No. 2 
shows a particularly dangerous place to ride down over 
or to pull a loaded boat up through. This was realized by 
the .two Cheechockos who are pulling their boat up. 
Cheechocko is Russian for stranger or newcomer, and is 
used exclusively in Alaska instead of tenderfoot. They 
had not gone 10 feet from where the boat shows in the 
photograph when the party nearest to the boat pulled the 
nose inshore a trifle too much and the boat swamped in a 
jiffy, resulting in the loss of nearly everything in the 
craft. The old-timers do not take such chances, but pack 
their outfit around and rope their boat up empty, as 
shown in Photo No. i. There is an old Indian narrative 
connected with these rapids, which was told me by one of 
the young bucks of the Ketchumstock tribe who spoke a 
little English. Their village is on the headwaters of Mos- 
quito Fork, a tributary of Forty-Mile River, and about 
130 miles from the mouth of Fortj^-Mile Post. The 
Ketchumstock Indians once a year, usually in June, when 
the water is at a fair stage for pulling loaded boats back 
to their-village, come down to the post to barter their furs 
and skins for merchandise. On one of these annual trips 
some time in the fifties they left their village in skin 
boats, taking their squaws, kids and dogs with them, only 
leaving behind a few of the very oldest who were too old 
and decrepit to stand the trip back, when they all walk and 
pull their year's supply of "white man's grub" in the skin 
boats. The supplies consist mostly of rifle, ammunition, 
tobacco, tea, sugar, flour, calico and blanketing for lining 
furs and skins. On the trip here concerned they had 
camped at the mouth of Bear Creek, which comes in one 
and one-half miles above the canon. 
The next moining they all, with one exception, walked 
and roped their boats around the rapids. One Indian, 
called White Eyes, with his squaw and four-year-old 
boy, started through in a small boat. The boat turned on 
him and threw him against a rock, capsizing the craft, and 
though he came up and got to shore his squaw and little 
boy were swept away by the flood. When White Eyes 
saw this he gave a yell, drew his knife and cut his throat, 
dying on the bank overlooking the mad waters that had 
robbed him of his wife and child. What seemed to add 
pathos to this story told me in broken English and In- 
dian was that the squaw and the boy were found alive and 
all right on a rock around a bend about a quarter of a 
mile below where they went under. She held to the boy 
and saved herself, and was taken off the rock alive and 
well, only to find that her man had committed suicide. 
In those days there was no trading post at the mouth 
of the Forti'-Mile as at the present time. The Indians had 
to go up the Yukon forty-eight miles to Fort Reliance. 
This was below what is Dawson City now. Fort Re- 
liance was simply a trading post in those days, and owned 
.and run by the Hudson Bay Company. Calling a place 
fort or something or other in Alaska does not signify that 
it is fortified or defended by cannon. The Hudsoii Bay 
Cf-mpany in the early days built heavy stockades around 
their store buildings, and that is why this country has 
so many places commencing with fort. There is now no 
Fort Reliance, nor any one living near the site. Before 
the purchase of Alaska by the United States the Klondike 
Indians captured and burned the buildings and stockade. 
However, this section is not supposed to belong to the 
United States. It is claimed by the Canadians. 
In the summer of 1897 I made a trip from Forty-Mile 
Post up the Forty-Mile to look at a placer claim on 
C hicken Creek, which I had an option on, and also to 
do some fishing and hunting, and stake a claim if any- 
thing should be struck on the river. I got in for the trip 
up the river with two old-timers — Billy Wilkinson and a 
fellow by the name of Irwin, also a Cheechocko, named 
Richardson. We had one boat and about 1,200 pounds all 
told in our outfits. Our boat was a polling boat, and 
besides being a little aged, on account of being left in 
water through the long winter, it was a little shaky for 
the big load wc had. However, we made it to the mouth 
of Franklin Gulch, eighty miles up, without any serious 
mishap. 
The first day out we made the foot of the caiion, ten 
miles tip. The next day the best we could do was two 
miles, as we had to pack our stuff around the rapids. We 
camped at the mouth of Bear Creek. This was in 
July, and we could see plainly until after 10 o'clock at 
night. As soon as we pulled the boat in shore at Bear 
Creek, Wilkinson hunted a fish pole, took a line and a 
fly off his hat and started up the creek. While we were 
makiiig camp, unloading the boat and getting ready for 
the night, Billy came back with enough grayling for our 
supper. After supper we got a nice string. I never saw a 
grayling in this country that would weigh over 2 pounds, 
and lyi pounds is considered a large one. The next day 
we made Sam Patch's. This is twenty-three miles from 
the Yukon. When we came in view of his cabin we 
were greeted with a sight that was good for the blues. 
The Stars and Stripes were floating from a pole over his 
cabin. The Canadian botmdary line crosses the river 
just below Uncle Sam's cabin. Uncle Sam, as h« is known 
here by everybody, when we arrived was busily engaged 
all to himself "cussing" a couple of "flannel-mouthed 
Micks" who had borrowed a pick and shovel and had left 
the country, and had left him so far as pick and shovel 
were concerned. I had never met him, and ventured to 
ask him if he was from the New England States origi- 
nally. He said that he had left Worcester, Mass., in 
'48, and never had been back. He then wanted to know 
why I asked him that question. I told him that never 
since I had left Massachusetts had I heard the expres- 
sion that he applied to the purloiners of his pick and 
shovel. 
The next day was Sunday, and we rested. We were 
seven days from here to Franklin Gulch, wet to the waist 
all day long, and considering ourselves lucky if we did 
not get in all over before the day was done. We tugged 
aiid pulled up over Kink Riffle, Twin Riffles, Dead Man's 
Riffle, until it seemed to me there was nothing but riffles. 
We were nine working days to the mouth of Franklin 
Gulch, eighty miles up the Forty-Mile River. I found 
our hard work was not over when we arrived here, for 
our outfit of 1,200 pounds had to be packed ten miles 
over a mountain on to Chicken Creek. We took a 75- 
pound pack each, starting early in the morning, and 
covered the ten miles, leaving our packs on Chicken Creek 
and coming back the same day. Somehow or other I 
never could class this job as "recreation," more especially 
as Chicken Creek runs into Mosquito Fork, and the 
mosquitoes don't seem to realize that the fork was named 
after them and that they ought to stay there; instead 
of this they swarm up Chicken Creek by the millions. 
Soon as we were packed over I visited the claim that I 
had an option on and found that I was up a "plum tree" 
so far as that was concerned, as there was only about 
one-quarter enough water for use in a placer mine. 
After a few days' rest I started for a hunt. A Mr. 
Janes was with me; he was from the States," sent in look- 
ing for quartz mines. We took bedding and grub on our 
backs. I had my .45-90, 1886 model. Janes had a revolver 
and prospector's pick. We went about ten miles over a 
divide on to Buckskin Creek and camped at what is now 
known as Forty-five Pup. It is a stream running into 
Buckskin at Claim No. 45. We stayed here several 
days, Janes prospecting while I hunted and fished. I 
found several hull moose heads, but the Ketchumstock 
Indians had carried off the balance of the moose the win- 
ter before. 
I tried fishing and caught all the grayling we could 
eat. I only had one fly-hook, and broke and lost it the 
second day out. I then took a small trolling spoon and 
broke ofif two of the hooks ; took off the spoon and part 
of the feathers, and with this crude affair caught aU 
the fish we wanted. In the interior of Alaska we have 
no trout of any description; there is oiJy the grayling. 
The coast streams, at least the ones near Juneau, have 
mountain trout in them. 
After filling up on fish for a few days, we shouldered 
our pack straps and decided to get a little further back 
from the Indian hunting ground. We clitnbed another 
divide and followed the ridges about fifteen miles, drop 
ping down a little for water, and camping on what is now 
called Butte Creek, near its source. Here we found acres 
of blueberries and bear signs galore. I walked the berry 
patches for two days without seeing a bear. Then I con- 
cluded that they must be early birds, and the next morn- 
ing I was up and out in the berries at 2 :30. Our Alaska 
days were still long, and at this hour I could see fairly 
well to shoot. 
I had been from camp about a half-hour when I saw 
what I had wanted a shot at for a number of years. He 
w5s back toward me and on his haunches, picking berries. 
I looked at him for about ten seconds. Say, but he could 
pick berries ! He saw me when I raised my rifle and 
dropped on to all fours. I fired and missed him entirely. 
He started quartering from me over a ridge. I gave him 
another shot that knocked him off his pins for an in- 
stant, but he went over the ridge out of sight. I followed 
fast as possible. When I got to the top of the ridge I 
could hear him threshing around in a thicket about 50 
yards down the slope. I made a rush for the lower side 
of the thicket and waited. I did not enter the thicket, as 
I did not think it would be very safe to "mix" with him 
about that time.. In a few minutes he quieted down and 
I went in and found I had a yearling black bear. The 
ball had struck him about a foot back of the left shoulder, 
passing clear through him and smashing his right 
shoulder in fearful shape. We skinned him, took all we 
could pack and cached the rest and started for Chicken 
Creek. I have eaten young roast pig, but it certainly was 
not in it with this young bear, fattened on blueberries. 
C. Jay. 
William Parker Greenough. 
Another summons to the spirit land has reached the 
ranks of the contributors to Forest and Stream, and one 
whose name was a household word to the regular readers 
of this paper, who was the most faithful of friends, the 
rnost gentlemanly and most lovable of men and the very 
highest type of a sportsman, heard and answered the call. 
"G. de Montauban" has been these many years a 
familiar name to the lovers of Forest and Stream. 
Month after month I had read and re-read above the 
signature those charming sketches of%its of the woods 
and waters of the Province of Quebec and of their in- 
habitants of fin, fur and feather that always awakened 
the desire for more of them, and had never guessed, until 
accident revealed the fact, that the much-Iooked-for nom 
do plume concealed the identity of the genial Seigneur of 
Perthuis— W. P. Greenough. Perthuis is a large and 
valuable seigniory in the County of Portneuf, some forty 
rniles west of Quebec, richly stocked with merchantable 
timber, and Montauban is the name of one of its lakes. 
Another one is Lac Clair. Here the hospitable proprietor 
and his brother had erected a roomy and comfortable 
camp—for what the Greenoughs have they delight to 
share with their friends — here Mr. Greenough lived 
for good part of the year, surrounded by his children and 
guests, and here he died, after a long illness, on 
Friday, Aug. 3. Once he wrote: "Lake Clair is our 
grand sanitarium. Whatever little maladies we have are 
usually left there." He brought his great ones there a 
few weeks ago, and there he has left them, too, behind 
him. Others may»again enjoy the beauties of that ideal 
camp on the forest-fringed lake, but to those who, like 
the writer, have enjoyed the hospitality of its departed 
host, it can never seem the same in the future that it was 
in the past 
William Parker Greenough was born in Portland, Me., 
July I, 1829, and received his education in the Cambridge 
schools. At an early age he began his business career, 
and subsequently played an im.portant part in the flour 
trade, with his place of business on State street. Later, 
his lumber Interests drew him to Canada, and he made 
his home in the village of Portneuf, adjoining his seig- 
niory, though much of his time, as already mentioned, 
was spent in his camp on the edge of Lac Clair. In May 
FORTY-MILE CREEK. 
