Dec. 22, igoo.] 
FOREST AND_ STHEAIVt. 
489 
" 'I never said no secli thing,' sez he. 'Who told you I 
did?' 
"And then I told him 'bout Peshtigo Sam, an' we sot 
down an' figured things out, an' come t' the concloosion 
Peshtigo Sam done the shootin' hisself, an' was a wusser 
egg'n we'd thought he was, an' no more use in that camp 
than a rattlesnake's be, an' the sooner he was out of it 
the better it'd be fer all parties consarned. So we went 
down t' liis hang-out an' routed him out o' bed. 
"We didn't waste no words with him. an' we didn't 
take no evidence, as the lawyers say. We 'lowed him till 
daylight t' git out, an' the next mornin' ef 'twarn't fer 
the gen'ral feelin' o' relief, you'd never a-knowed they'd 
ever bin sech a varmit as Peshtigo Sam on 'arth. 
"When Peshtigo Sam was out the way an' the hull 
business settled, Bill sez t' me : 'It's plum foolish fer a 
couple o' good friends like me 'n' j'ou onct was t' let a 
woman come a-tween us,' sez he. 'Now I move we put 
the queschin plain t' Mary, an' make her choose one or 
the t'other of us. We'll shake t' see who gits the first 
show.' 
"That sounded like good horse sense, an' I sez, s'ez I, 
'Now you're talkin. Bill, an' I'm with you ef I lose,' sez I. 
So we went over t' the store an' shook the dice, an' I 
threw three fives an' Bill he threw four aces an' won the 
game. 
"Waal, we had a bracer, an' then we went over t' 
Mary's, an' I waited outside while Bill went in an' told 
Mary how things was, an' put the queschin plain t' her. 
Bimeby he come out. an' he sez, sez he: 'Lucky in dice, 
onlucky in love. It's your turn now.' 
"So I went in, an' Mary saved me all the trouble o' 
talkin' by lightin' in t' me fer keeps fer not havin' put the 
queschin' afore, an' saved 'er all this yere monkeyin' 
'round. I tell you wimmin's queer. 
"W'aal, me 'n' Bill celebrated consid'able. Y' see he 
had t' drown his sorrow, an' naterly I was the only one 
what had a right t' help him drown it. I ain't never 
drunk much o' anythin' sence 'cept a nippy now an' 
then. 
"That was a long time ago, an' Mary's bin boosin' me 
more or less ever sence. You wouldn't think the old 
woman was a dern fine lookin' gal onct, would you? 
"But whenever she riles me an' I feel my dander gittin' 
the best o' me, I jest stop an' think o' three things. The 
fust is of the time she stuck the knife in that she-b'ar ; an' 
the second is the time she kissed me on her own hook 
thai fust time when I was lyin' with my head in her lap — ■ 
I don't rightly onderstand how she come t' do it — an' the 
third TS, what I said afore, wimmin's queer, an' then I 
walk away an' don't say nuthin'. 
"Guess that was the most excitin' time I ever had. I 
don't mean the figh; with the she-b'ar, but my courtin' o' 
?.Iary. My land, but I ain't said nuthin' 'bout that afore 
my hull life. Don't know how I come t;' think 'bout 
it now. 
■'Waal, love is a all-fired funny bus'ness, an' the wust 
of it is, y' can't tell when you're goin' t' be took. Hit 
strikes i-ou all of a heap when y' ain't lookin' fer it, jest 
like buck fever," Fayette Durlin^ Jr. 
My Granimother's Kitchen. 
The parlor is the grandest room in most modern houses. 
But my grandmother did not live in a modern house. 
She lived in a very old-fashioned farmhouse, and in that 
hruje the kitchen was, in my boyish estimation, by far 
the grandest room. 
The parlors were usually closed and darkened, for 
only on great occasions were they used. But the kitchen 
was in use every day in the year, and it was always a 
pleasant room to be in. Everybody, even to the dog, en- 
joyed being in it. 
How many delightful memories cluster around that old 
farmhouse kitchen, for I was the oldest grandchild^ and I 
spent a good deal of time there as a petted guest. * 
The most striking feature of the room— the one that I 
now remember with the liveliest pleasure — was the great 
fireplace. The wood that was burned in it was drawn into 
the room on a strong hand sled. The back log was often 
two feet in diameter, and sometimes it would last a whole 
week. The forestick was a large one. and it rested on 
two large iron fire dogs, or, as they are now called, and- 
irons. 
When this vast fireplace was well filled and burning 
brightly, as it always was upon a cold day in winter, it 
was a wonderful sight. It was in all its glory, however, at 
night, when the reflection of its flames could be seen 
clearly through the windows opposite, dancing weirdly 
upon the snow banks, where, as the poets tell us, the 
witches were making their tea. 
On each side of the fireplace there was always to be 
seen an easy chair. One of these was occupied by a gray 
haired old tnan who walked with a long staff; the other 
was rocked easily to and fro by his aged wife, and they 
were the grandparents who made my boyhood very happy. 
These good old people both smoked pipes, and while 
I heartily disapprove of the habit, it really was a pic- 
turesque and pleasing sight to see them so comfortably 
enjoying themselves and to watch the smoke as it passed 
from their pipes into the ample fireplace and up the 
chimney. The fireplace had an old-fashioned neighbor, 
now never seen in a modern house. It was a brick oven 
which used to make me think of the fiery furnace into 
ivhich Shadrach, Meschech and Abednego were cast. 
Out of this oven, so like the fiery furnace, there came 
many delicious things. Most delicious of all, perhaps, 
were the baked beans and the golden Indian bread, whose 
equal I now never see. 
At one end of the kitchen there was a large cupboard, 
and over the cupboard there hung a relic of the Revolu- 
tionary War. that, to my young eyes, had all the sacred- 
ness of a household god. It was a flintlock musket that 
was called Old Copenhagen, and very proudly was it borne 
upon my shoulder when playing soldier 'with my school- 
mates upon the turnpike in front of the district school- 
house. . 
So much for the kitchen itself. A word as to the rooms 
that were above and below it may interest a generation 
that is living in "modern houses, 
" Til? cellar cotita^iiied rare treasures for a hoy. Never 
were there such toothsome apples as the good seek-no- 
further, the gilliflower, the Spitzenbeug. the Rhode Island 
greening and the golden russet, called in boy parlance a 
rusty coat. All these varieties, with some others of un- 
named excellence, were in the cellar in lavish abundance. 
But who comes? There is a rap at the door and it is a 
blustering wintry night. Two dogs — slim, hungry look- 
ing fellows — peer timidly in, and behind them there stands 
a tall Indian and behind him two squaws, the elder one 
carrying a papoose lashed to its board, which the inother 
soon stands up by the wall, and the little Indian boy 
with his legs crossed and tied down to the board, looks 
on in silent wonder at what he sees. 
They are Oneida Indians, and come from a settlement 
called Indian Town, just back of the farm that has so 
many pleasant memeroes. 
"Sagola" is the salutation uttered by our Indian callers, 
and that means "How do you do?" They have come in 
ostensibly to get warm, but really because they are thirsty. 
The old man who sits by the fireside knows just what 
they have come for, and the boy, now an old man, who is 
writing this reminiscence, is sent down cellar with a 
large pitcher, which he soon brings back filled with 
sparkling cider made from home grown apples. 
"Cider no hurt Indian," was the comment of the drinker 
of the first glass, and more than one glass for each In- 
dian, except the papoose, disappeared before the copper 
colored guests, with silver brooches on their blankets 
were ready to go. 
That old kitchen is a perfect treasure house of precious 
memories. Never did Santa Claus have a grander 
chimney to come down than the one at whose fireplace 
side I hung my stockings, and they were always well filled. 
Thanksgiving Day was a notable one at the farmhouse. 
A goodly company used on such occasions to sit around 
the kitchen table, for there was no dining room in that 
house. The Thanksgiving guests were the children and 
the grandchildren of the aged couple who built the house 
when the country was new. 
The turkey was roasted in a tin oven before the fire- 
place. The potatoes were baked in a kettle that stood upon 
a pile of live coals, and coals of fire were also heaped upon 
its cover, and memory insists that such baked potatoes 
have never been tasted since. 
There was no coffee mill in the old farmhouse. The 
coffee was pounded in an iron mortar with an iron pestle, 
and the clink of that pestle was sweet music to my ear, as 
I used to hear it when in bed in the chamber over the 
kitchen. It is easy to revive the memory of those far off 
3'ears, but most of those who used to sit round that 
Thanksgiving table have long since passed away, and they 
are now waiting for me to come and join them. 
The boy of to-day little realizes what he is losing if he 
never lives in a farmhouse built and furnished before 
modern improvements were known. 
The farmhouse of to-day lacks a certain charm that 
makes the memor}!- of the dear old-fashioned one so de- 
lightful. Of all the memories that cluster around the 
dear old place, those that have the great fireplace for 
their center are the sweetest and the dearest. 
There can be no home in the highest sense of the 
term unless in one room there shall be a fireplace where 
wood can be burned and where in the solemn nights of 
winter "each separate dying ember" may cast the outlines 
of its shadowy ghost upon the floor. 
Could' Poe ever have written "The Raven" if he had 
never sat before an old-fashioned fireplace? Believe it 
who will — I cannot. Egbert L. Bangs. 
How We Got Our Gun-Rack. 
A Chrisfmas Day's Hunt in Ihe Northern Pine Woods. 
I LIVED with the famous hunter. Old Dan, in his cabin 
in the woods for a little over three years, and in all that 
time did not enjoy nor greatly desire any other com- 
panionship. We never had any occasion to become lonely, 
and time never hung hea^alj'- on our hands. 
On a ledge of rock at the very margin of the lake, where 
a lucky line may be dropped from the open window into 
the water below, Dan has a good warm log cabin, 12 feet 
by 24, with a clapboard roof, puncheon floor, puncheon 
door and a puncheon shutter to an unglazed window. 
In the way of furniture were a puncheon table, punheon 
chairs and a puncheon bedstead, the latter nailed securely 
to the wall in a corner. 
In the center of the south side of the house is a huge 
stone fireplace, capable of heating the room to an un- 
comfortable degree even in the coldest weather, and which 
discharges the greater part of the smoke via the chimney. 
The cabin has also a full complement of arms, ammuni- 
tion, traps and tackle, and is situated in the midst of a 
broad stretch of country, which for the abundance and 
variety of its game would delight the heart of any true 
hunter. An ardent lover of the chase, I found here ample 
means and abundant opportunity to indulge the pro- 
pensity, and those three years are among the happiest of 
my recollection. 
It is reasonable to believe that in that time we had some 
exciting experiences, as well as some a:musing ones. I 
will endeavor to relate one that partakes a little of the 
nature of both. On the wall a splendid set of antlers 
serve us admirably for a gun rack, from which hangs a 
motley array of belts, sheaths, slings, flasks and various 
other articles of a hunter's paraphernalia. I will relate 
the story of the particular chase of which our gun rack 
is the treasured souvenir. 
It was Christmas Eve, and sitting before the fire enjoy- 
ing a restful pipe after a hard day's tramp, Dan and I 
were discussing plans for the morrow's sport; but I must 
introduce old Dan to you, for he is a type of manhood 
once prevalent enough, but now seldom met with in these 
modern times — a backwoodsman by birth a sportsman by 
instinct, and a hunter by profession. Broad shouldered 
and muscular, I.e stands 6 feet 2 inches, a perfect speci- 
men of physical manhood, combining great strength and 
endurance with remarkable activity and ease of motion. 
His dark hair, slightly sprinkled with gray, hangs low 
upon his shoulders, and his short, sandy beard, forever 
innocent of razor, covers a broad, square chin and strong 
jaws, betokiening stren^h df character and tenacity of 
purpose. His forehead, broad, high and full, denotes a 
high order of intelligence, while the whole countenance 
is illuminated by a pair of kindly deep blue eyes, strongly 
inclined to twinkle; a face which, taken al.ogether, is a 
perfect proof sheet of honesty and good nature. A man 
to know whom is a pleasure and whose fiiend--Iiip is a pos- 
session well worth treasuring. Imagine such a man as I 
have described, fifty-six years old, and add the unmis- 
takable air of rugged hardihood inseparable froin the 
genuine hunter, and you have ray cherished friend, old 
Dag Doggett, to a dot. 
It was Christmas Eve, as I said before, and we were 
planning our Christmas hunt, not that it was likely to 
differ in any essential particulars from the sport of any 
other day, hut its being Christmas added zest to our plans 
and contributed novehy to an occasion that otherwise 
would be commonplace. 
"What d'ye say. Kid," said Dan, who persistently calls 
me Kid in spite of my thirty years of life in the world 
in general, and nine years of roughing it in the woods in 
particular. "What d'ye say we go to the Long Thicket 
fust thing in the mornin' and see if we can't h'ist a deer 
outen the bushes?" 
"I am agreed," said I. _ 
"And let's take only the rifles and leave the small fry 
alone for one day I" 
"Which means, I suppose, that you would prefer that 
I leave the shotgun on the rack. I am agreed to that 
also, but I wish you would make friends with that gun 
when you know it has saved to our stock many a good 
pelt, and brought to our store many a dainty meal." 
"All true, Kid, all true! I've got nothin' particktcr 
ag'in the piece itself, but to me it's mighty cur'ous that 
when a feller wants to bag a wee little bit of a critter th.nt 
wouldn't hurt him nohow, he must go a-broadcssiin' lead 
all over creation, but when it comes to brmgin' down a 
b'ar or a buck that's liable to chaw him up or tramp his 
daylights out, if hit is not killed, he'll risk findin' the 
right with a single ball. It may be all righ . but to me 
it's a mighty queer idee, and I don'c take to it nohow." 
I saw it was useless to argue the point w'th him. so I 
said no more about it. He had a deep and lasting aver- 
sion for a shotgun, though his speech now had been 
prompted as much by his love for his rifle as by his diiltke 
for the other arm. 
"Well, Dan," said I, "you will, of course, take .your . 
.44, but I shall take my .32. though I suppose you would 
not advise me to do that either." 
"No. Kid, I wouldn't. It seems to me too much like a 
plaything, but. of course, if ye think it wiil stand any 
show at all ag'in Old Chet [his pet name for his favorite] 
I reckon I ort to stand it if ye kin ycrself." 
We were up betimes next morning and afoot just as 
the first gray streaks of dawn were quivering on the east- 
ern horizon. The weather was cold but still, and the 
snow lay a foot and a half deep under a crust that carried 
a man nicely and made walking easy, but through which 
the hoofs of a running deer would drive 1 ke sharpened 
stakes. During the night there had been a light fail of 
snow which, when the sun had risen, glittered in the 
frosty light like a myriad of diamonds. 
The Eong Thicket, toward which we bent our steps was 
so called because of the fact that, while it was five or 
six miles long, it was comparatively narrow. It was 
threaded by a creek, a considerable stream, now like the 
lake hard frozen and covered only by the light snowfall 
of the previous night. Discussing the probability of our 
jumping a deer, and the evident trouble it would have 
in making headway in the snow, we came at length to the 
edge of the thicket. 
Here Dan handed his gun to me and dexterously 
climbed to the top of a tall tamarack to take observation 
of the thicket from that point of vantage. This maneuver 
he repeated at intervals of perhaps a quarter of a inilc. 
Dan's hearing is slightly impaired but thi- circumstance 
has added to the keenness of his vision until his s ght is 
truly remarkable. 
At last, after four or five climbs, his quest was re- 
warded, and he came down the tree, swinging from limb 
to limb with the agility of a trained athlete, his honest 
face aglow with delighted enthusiasm. 
"What is it?" I asked. 
"A bttck. Kid; as fine a chap as ever peeled a saplln'! 
He's got the finest headpiece I ever see. A ten-spiker a-? 
shore as guns. He's straight out there, just a good 
shot off. a-pickin' his way along as orderly as a deacon 
in new shoes a-goin' to meetin'. but the bushes h des the 
critter too much to risk a shot at him. Do ye go about .'^no 
yards below and I'll go to the same above him, and we'll 
see if we can't head him fer the open." Saying which 
he strode off over the snow almost as silently as a 
shadow, while I skirted the thicket in the opposite direc- 
tion. 
Arriving at a point where I thought the thicket might 
be entered without prematurely frightening the buck. I 
penetrated the swamp for a distance of about j^oo yards 
and then turned in the direction of the quarry. Presently 
a commotion in front and a tossing upward of the snow 
from the bushes told me that the game was up and going. 
I saw that he was headed for the open and sent a bullet 
after him to encourage him on the way, which was imme- 
diately followed by one from Dan's gun. neither of 
which had any other effect, however, than to send him out 
of the thicket at a livelj'- rate. We followed a=; swifily 
as the dense undergrowth would permit, and gained the 
open just in time to see a badly frightened deer lung'ng 
desperately through rasping snow crust as he disappeared 
over a hill in the direction of the creek. 
"Come on, Kid," cried Dan. "He's makin' fer the 
creek. He'll more'n likely foller the ice and cross -to 
Tamarack Swamp on t'other side of the lake. Let's scoot 
fer the pond and mebby we'll git to shy lead ath im as he 
crosses on the ice. Cgjne on !" And away he went. 
Straight over the snow, f.rom where we were the dis- 
tance to the lake did not exceed a mile and a quarter, 
while t6 follow the creek as the buck evidently intended 
on account of the annoying crust was more than twice as 
far. j 
The sight\>f the splendid anirnal, a veritable king of -' 
his kind, as we had seen him plunging through the snow, 
a perfect -specimen of frightened royalty, and the pros- 
pect of a favorable shot, were sufficient to smd us toward 
