486 
with an elastic band to pass around the head. Alaska 
natives do this. Green glass and wire goggles are in- 
dispensable, not only to keep out frost but to prevent 
snow blindness. In bright, sunny weather it is a gooa 
plan to blacken the nose and cheeks with damp gunpowder 
so as to modify the reflected glare from the snow. Mo 
one need suffer from the cold, whatever the temperature, 
unless a keen wind blows, in which event the nearest 
shelter is the only refuge. A stiff blizzard will chill the 
life out of a man in a few minutes with a sub-zero 
temperature. . 
I remember once, twenty years ago, gomg out to 
the Indian village which still stands occupied just below 
the outlet of the Roseau Lake, when in company with a 
revenue official I was the guest of the evening. There 
was a mixed company, and the music and dancmg was 
prolonged into the small hours. The costumes were char- 
acteristic, and some of them elaborate, but old-time per- 
formers tripped the nude fantastic in aboriginal form. 
Two of the bucks in puris naturalibus appeared in a full 
suit of green paint. In the intervals of respite for breaths 
the pipe was oassed and every one smoked. Finally, to- 
ward the close of the festivities, when appetites were 
fierce and every one exhausted, the two harlequins afore- 
said waltzed out through the ring of spectators which had 
formed around a blazing fire on the earth floor of the log 
council house and snatched a white dog from a group of 
unsuspecting curs which had been interested spectators 
of the racket. There was an apprehensive yelp, a clip on 
the head with a hatchet and in less than five minutes the 
brute wis singed and pitched into a pot and — well, the 
feast vi'hich followed was a delight to connoisseurs in dog 
meat. 
All these matters are pleasant to remember and discuss, 
but they are likely soon to become like the afterglow of 
a sun which will no more set. Immigration will con- 
tinue to 'pour in until all wild game will become obsolete. 
Less than forty years ago, when Indian smoke signals rose 
in significant columns from the plane of the horizon, the 
wary pioneers looked alert. In their place to-day rises the 
reeking smoke of the busy steam thresher, and perchance 
the self-same redskins who were on the lay for immigrant 
wagons are tending the machines. 
That Christmas Turkey. 
■TsE story of how ive got our Christmas turkey in 
the winter of 1893-1894 will read something like a fairy 
tale, but I'll have to take the chances and let 'er go. 
The best of it is I had five witnesses to the truth of 
the story. The first was A. V. Diveley, of Altoona, Pa., 
an ex-district attorney of Blair county; a lawyer of con- 
siderable acumen, and a lover of good pointers and set- 
ters: is not unknown at field trials, and may be also 
credited with a whole lot of other things no man need 
be ashamed of. 
The next was F, G. Patterson, at that time president 
of the railroad then known as the Altoona, Clearfield & 
Northern R. R., a small, narrow gauge road that ran up 
the mountains to Wopsononock Heights, near Altoona, 
and that was blessed with a name almost as long as 
the road itself. 
The third member of our party was Joe Durrance, a 
native of that part of the country, and a man who 
knew every inch of it. He was fond of any kind of 
hunting, and he and his little bay mare were right in 
it whenever my brother's hounds were after a fox. 
The fourth was my brother Fred, then a resident of 
Fort Meade, Fla., and our host and guide on the occa- 
sion when we corralled our Christmas turkey. 
Fifth and last was John Craig, a colored man, who 
went along with us on our camp hunt as cook, driver 
and general all-round man. John was the right man in 
the right place, and it was to him that much of the 
success and pleasure of our camping experience is to be 
attributed. 
If any one cares to figure it out, he will find that Dec. 
24, 1893, was a Sunday. The fact that both Diveley and 
Patterson had to be back in Pennsylvania by the first 
of the year must be my excuse for our starting on our 
Christmas hunt on Sunday. Our destination was some 
forty-two miles almost due east of Fort Meade, and 
we took care to pass well outside of the little town, going 
to the south of it, so as not to scandalize the neighbors. 
Our outfit consisted of a wagon drawn by two healthy 
mules; a light wagon, in the shafts of which w^ere my 
brother's old sorrel Tom and a little bay, mare owned by 
Joe Durrance. On the big wagon was 'our tent, while 
the little wagon had other portions of our impedimenta. 
My brother's four hounds, Solomon, Spring, Harle- 
quin and old Smiler, and my setter Uno were also of the 
party. In short, we made a pretty good .showing as 
we filed along the road, my brother riding his bronco, 
Punch. Diveley made a first rate Jehu, and held the 
lines on the little wagon the greater part of the trip. 
We were bound for Blue Jordan as our first camping 
spot, and outspanned at the Fort Meade race track for 
lunch, as it was 10:30 A. M. by the time we had been 
able to make a start. Lunch, too, was no hurried affair, 
for we had to make a fire and John had to boil the in- 
evitable coffee. The weather was so pleasant that it 
was too warm for anything but shirt sleeves during 
the day, and consequently, although we had many miles 
before us, my brother had a hard job getting us started 
again. 
Our next stopping place was about a mile beyond 
a place called Midland, the total number of houses con- 
tained in the settlement being, so far as I can remember, 
limited to just one, a general store. The sun had set^ 
so we stopped for supper, Avaiting for the full moon to 
rise, and boiling the coffee at a fire whose heat was by 
no means unpleasing now that the rays of the sUn had 
gone below the horizon. 
As soon as the moon was well up above the pines we 
hitched up and made for the "sand hills," a stretch of 
sandy dunes some twelve miles across, on the far side 
of which lay the long "bay" through which ran the 
stream known as Blue Jordan. The going was very 
heavy through the sand hills, and our animals were get- 
ting tired, for they had a longish day of it already. Our 
progress was consequently slow enough. Slow as it 
-as, Diveley and I did not find it tedious, for the brill- 
t^OREST AND_ STREAM. 
iant Florida moon, the remarkable stillness of the night, 
and the dazzling white of the sand hills, covered here 
and there with scrub oak, palms and palmetto clumps, 
all made the trip full of interest. Patterson fell asleep on 
the tent, which was on the big wagon, and thus missed 
an exciting fox hunt! Spring, the lady of the pack, 
started this all by herself, getting away from us and 
picking up a hot scent in a second. How we got that 
fox is another story, for get it We did, although the hunt 
delayed us for fully half an hour. 
Thus it was that it was approaching midnight, and we 
were still not quite through the sand hills, when the thing 
happened which gave rise to this story, namely, the se- 
curing of our Christmas turkey. 
To explain the occurrence clearly I must hark back 
to the time when we had killed Spring's fox. Smiler had 
been again coupled with Uno and tied to the hind axle 
of the light wagon. Solomon and Harlequin were 
coupled up and tethered to the hind axle of the big 
wagon. Spring, who, although lame in her left shoulder, 
had run the fox at a fast gait all by herself for about 
fifteen minutes, was on the big tent alongside of Joe 
Durrance, who, lying on his back, w\is gazing up into 
the firmament with eyes that could not have been closed . 
for long at a time. 
Diveley was driving the light wagon, and was on m 
front, with Fred on Punch riding alongside of him. I 
was driving the mule team, with Patterson on the seat 
by me, while John Craig walked beside the wagon to 
stretch his legs. We were not talking much in our part 
of the outfit, for everybody was getting pretty sleepy. 
Joe Durrance, however, had his eyes open just then, for 
all of a sudden he grasped my arm, and whispered 
hoarsely: "Stop the mules! There's the darndest big- 
gest gobbler up in that big pine back there that I ever 
saw!" 
It didn't take a minute to get out the guns — two of 
them, that is to say. I gave Patterson one, with turkey 
shot shells in it; I took the other gun and loaded it. 
Then we went back a little, while John held the mules. 
The pines were very scattered, so that Joe had not a bit 
of trouble in locating his tree, nor in pointing out the 
turkey to us. The bird began to get uneasy, and some- 
thing dropped on the ground. 
"Look out!" said Joe; "he's going to fly." 
But he never did, for Patterson, to whom was given 
the shot, brought him down with the first shot, and 
before that turked reached the ground Joe was on top 
of it, and if it had been alive, it couldn't have got away, 
for Joe weighed about 200 pounds. 
It was a gobbler, and a beauty. How much it weighed 
I don't know, for we had no means of weighing it; but it 
felt about 20 pounds; anyway, it lasted us well, and 
m.ade a great Christmas dinner, or, rather, part of one, 
the next day. 
Fred and Diveley, who heard the shot, called back to 
us to know what we were shooting at. The actual pro- 
duction of the bird alone satisfied them that we were 
telling the truth; and my chief regret now is that I 
can't produce the bird in evidence on this occasion. 
I almost forgot to mention one little incident worth 
noting, and now quote from my diary: "Looking at 
my watch, in order to note the time when we killed our 
Christmas turkey, I found it was just lacking five min- 
utes of midnight! 'How's that for a Christmas turkey, 
boys?' said I. 'Five minutes more and it will be a merry 
Christmas to everybody !' " 
Lest anybody may think we had got a tame turkey, let 
me add for the benefit of those who don't know that 
part of the country that the nearest house was at Mid- 
land, fully twelve miles away. Let me also add that on 
several occasions while on that trip turkey sign was 
everywhere. Edward Banks. 
The Christmas Dinner^ Father 
Josef Cooked. 
BY J. H. CONNELLY. 
It was the first day of the Carnival in La Guayra. My 
friend, Luis Olona, stood with me, a little out of the 
crowd, watching the amusing antics of some "tourna- 
ment" riders, mounted on mules and donkeys, thrusting 
sticks at fixed rings as they gallowed by, and oftener 
rolling in the dust than spearing a ring. While we looked 
on he told me that in Trinidad, whence he had just re- 
turned, he had seen Gen. Falcon, who was getting up an- 
other revolution. It did not interest me. Of course, I had 
no love for El Presidente Blanco, but things were quiet 
and I did not believe disquiet would be an improvement. 
It might turn out good for Falcon, but bad for a good 
many others. Just as I was saying so a shower of gragea 
rattled about our heads, reminding us that our coat 
pockets were full of tiny missiles for such an emergency, 
and in a moment we were engaged in mimic battle with 
three pretty women. 
Little colored bits of candied sugar are gragea; rice 
dyed brilliant tints is gragea ; stiff paper, gold, silver and 
crimson, shredded small as snowflakes, are gragea; any- 
thing, indeed, that is harmless and can be used as missiles 
at short range is gragea. The petails of roses and other 
flowers make charming gragea, but are only good at very 
short range. After a gragea battle you have the stuff in 
your hair, ears, mouth, nose and down your neck where 
it tickles and stains you all sorts of colors. The first 
day of the Carnival the gragea is fresh and clean. The 
second day the gragea peddlers have swept up their stock 
from the pavement and it is not nice. The third and last 
day, when it has again been swept up and sold, it is a 
filthy horror. Still, until the last, some enthusiasts go on 
battling with it, and afterward must bathe violently. 
The attack was made upon us by a merry widow, who 
was Luis' cousin; her sister. Carmen, and another girl. 
By the time our ammunition was exhausted I had fallen in 
love with Carmen. In Northern countries, I am told, a 
young man may take months to make up his mind whether 
he IS m love with a girl, but that is not the way in the 
tropics. Here, when you see a girl, you know at once 
if you want her or not. And it is the same w^y with 
the girl, understanding which you will see how reason- 
able are the strict restrictions our customs throw about 
[Dec. 22, igoo. 
courtships — which perhaps are quite unnecessary in colder 
climates. 
Most of the courtship takes place through a heavily 
barred window which has no glass — a parlor windov/ 
in the front of the house. The young man stands on the 
sidewalk outside while the girl sits inside, more or less 
near the bars, according to circumstances. 'Members of 
her family are pretty certain to be in her background, a 
fact that does not inspire loquacious passion in the lover. 
Much of the time he passes in the early evenings walking 
to and fro like a caged animal before the loved one's 
window, neither speaking nor being spoken to. That ex- 
ercise is styled "doing the bear." 
I had been "doing the bear" before Carmen nearly two 
months, when my uncle, Pepe, took me away to occupy 
a good position in his commercial house in Puerto Ca- 
bello. I was very reluctant to go, but the business oppor- 
tunity was too good to be thrown away, and Carmen had 
promised to marry me in the new year. The months of 
our separation dragged by slowly enough, for although 
we were allowed to correspond, neither Carmen nor I 
found letters altogether satisfying. From time to time 
rumors reached me that Gen. Falcon was still busying 
himself with his revolution, and he was said to have a 
considerable number of adherents ready , to declare for 
him. It did not, however, interest me, A man really in 
love does not bother his head about revolutions. ; 
About the middle of December I obtained frorn Uncle 
Pepe a leave of absence, and hastened to La Guayra. Car- 
men I found even lovelier than before, and loving as I 
would have her. Luis Olona, who was still niy friend, 
told me she had been persecuted by the attentions of El 
Comandante Ruiz de Santos — the military representative 
of Blanco's government at La Guayra — but would have 
nothing to say to him. As a philosopher, I should have 
realized that nothing was more natural than, that any 
right minded man should fall in love with Carmen, but a 
lover does not philosophize. I was furious with the 
Comandante, and for the first time began to think a revolu- 
tion might be a good thing if it would put him out of the 
way — simply as Comandante, you understand. As a man 
I would not have cared for him at all, but I did not want a 
rival who was a Comandante. And, as events proved, I 
was right about that. 
Every evening, of course, I was at Carmen's window 
during the early hours, and later took walks down to the 
beach, beyond the market, with my friend Luis. He told 
me confidentially that the revolution might break out any 
day ; that a signal would appear on the mountain some 
night, and on that same night in half a dozen cities the 
uprising would take place, to the surprise and overthrow 
of the Blanco administration. But for a promise to my 
Uncle I would have enrolled myself among the revolu- 
tionists — since I had heard about the Comandante. 
One night it seemed to me there were an unusual num- 
ber of strollers on our line of promenade, walking singly, 
in pairs or in trios. If they talked, it was in whispers. 
They seemed to be waiting for something. Suddenly 
Luis clutched my arm and pointing to the black face of 
the mountain exclaimed, "The signal !" Three blue lights 
disposed in a triangle blazed together. While they burned, 
which was only for a few seconds, there was silence. 
Then a hundred voices cried in unison, "Muerte el 
Blanco !" "Viva el Falcon !" 
What happened during a little time after that was al-* 
together too confused and exciting for me to understand 
at the time or clearly remember subsequently. I only 
know that a fierce conflict broke out immediately all 
about me, in which I was involved, and, from a mere 
animal impulse to retaliation, was striking because I was 
struck, knowing not why or by whom. I had no weapon, 
not even a cane, but felt satisfied with what I was doing 
until something hard and heavy descended with crashing 
force on my skull, and I knew no more until I waked in a 
stone cell alone and in darkness. 
My hair was matted with blood, and I was horribly 
thirsty. Shaking the iron door of the cell and making 
what outcry I could, I managed to call the attention of a 
soldier, who came with a lantern, to see what I wanted, 
and then brought to me some water. 
In a few minutes he came again and demanded my 
name. When, I told him it was Rafael Garcia, he ex- 
claimed, "Caramba ! Then you're the fellow they are look- 
ing for everywhere," and went away, doubtless to report 
Presently he brought a basin of water and a towel and 
told me "Get some of that blood off your face. The 
Comandante wishes to see you." 
I also wished to see the Comandante or anylfody who 
could explain why I was in that place and plight, ^nd set 
me free, since I had done nothing to deserve imprison- 
ment. 
Sefior de Santos received me alone. He was a big 
fellow with oily brown skin, heavy jaws and small shift- 
ing black eyes, the expression of which, when I could 
catch it, did not please me. But my reception was civil 
enough. With natural impetuosity, quite excusable under 
the circumstances, I think, I demanded to know where I 
was and why a prisoner. 
He replied very suavely, "You have been arrested as a 
revolutionist and are in the prison of the old Spanish 
harbor fort." 
"But," I protested, "I am not a revolutionist. I 
promised my uncle in Puerto Cabello I would have 
nothing to do with this disturbance, and I have kept my 
word. I did no shouting, and if I struck somebody it 
was simply because somebody was striking me." 
"You were with Luis Olona, one of Falcon's lieuten- 
ants." 
"That is true, for we have been friends from boyhood. 
But that he waa one of Falcon's lieutenants I did not 
know. I'm sure I was not one. Ask Luis and he will 
tell you so himself." 
"I would if I had him, but, unfortunately, he got away. 
No matter. I am inclined to believe you. I know you 
were not mixed up with the revolutionists in' Puerto 
Cabello and have not attended their meetings here. They 
would probably have got you in a few days, but we did not 
give them time. As they were slow about giving their 
blue light signal, we made it for them when we were 
ready before they were, and have knocked their revolu- 
tion in the head" — and he laughed a grim chuckle that 
was tiot good to hear — "as you seetQ. to have been also. 
