44 
Tired ' of tramplttg through the deep snow, they chose 
the easier route homeward over the ice, following the wolf 
road. On their way they saw where a buffalo had walked 
out on the ice to get a drink from the open water in the 
channel, but there was no returning trackj^ and the broken 
ice at the edge of the narrow opening explained the 
reason — it had crashed through the thin sheet and 
drowned. A great many of them lost their lives in tliat 
way every winter. 
Arrived at camp. Longhair and the Scribbler found 
that their partners had preceded them and had supper 
ready, How warm and cozy the cabin was after the long 
tramp in the cold and snow 1 How cheerful the ruddy 
glow from the fireplace illuminating every detail of the 
rude interior. And how they did relish that meal of 
boiled ribs, beans and bread! 
Jack and Ben had put out four baits, and on their 
way home had found three wolves lying dead around the 
carcass of the first buffalo they had killed. As they were 
not frozen, they skinned them and brought in the pelts. 
It was a good beginning, and proved one most important 
point — ^that their strychnine was good. 
The next morning the river was found to have frozen 
solid, so all hands crossed over and put out some baits 
on that side and up Eagle Creek. The succeeding day the 
baits first put out were examined, and sixty-three wolves 
were found, to say nothing of coyotes and kit foxes, 
which were of no value in those days. Around every bait 
the snow was strewn with the long-haired animals. Some 
had died with their heads on the carcass; a few had got 
away several hundred yards before falling; the majority 
la}- within a circle of 50 yards. Some were very dark 
colored; some a light gray; a few as white as the snow 
chey lay upon. "We're sure in luck," Ben said that even- 
ing. "Le's see: five times sixtj^-three — three hunderd an' 
fifteen dollars' worth o' pelts in two days, baits acrost the 
river not counted. If we could keep that lick up all winter 
we'd come out millionaires next spring." 
"The Lord tempers the wind to a sheared sheep, as the 
preacher says," Longhair remarked. "Looks as if I 
was goin' to make enough ter buy some more pack mules 
'n' a saddle boss 'n' a new outfit o' stuff." 
And now the days passed quickly, one much like an- 
other. When it was pleasant the wolfers wandered around 
among their baits, noting with great satisfaction the in- 
creasing number of wolves lying about them. When it 
was very cold or stormy they remained in their com- 
fortable cabin, happy and contented. Nothing worried 
them. As the season advanced, a less and less number 
of wolves fell victims to the deadly baits, perhaps because 
the greater part of those in the vicinity had already par- 
taken of the poisoned meat, or because the survivors had 
become educated and were wary of the food so temptingly 
offered them. One would naturally think that at sight of 
a number of his kindred h'ing stiff and stark about a 
bait, any sensible wolf Avould become panic stricken and 
immediately strike out for other regions. Unfortunately 
for the wolfers, there were but two or three chinooks 
during the winter, and they were of such short duration 
that the frozen animals never thawed out so they could 
be skinned. After January no more baits were poisoned, 
for it was evident that when warm weather did set in 
many of the pelts -would decay before they could be re- 
moved. In fact, there were already more dead wolves 
than could be cared foh 
"Le's take a spin down to my shack," said Longhair 
one morning in March. 
Every one was in favor of the proposition, and after 
breakfast the}-^ strapped a few blankets and some eatables 
on their backs and started down the river on the ice. 
The sun shone brightly, the still air was just below 
freezing point, and the hills and bottoms were nearly 
bare of snow, the effects of a recent chinook. It was evi- 
dent that spring was at hand. Even the game realized it, 
for everywhere along the bottoms and hills they stood 
lazily sunning themselves, or lay among the sage brush 
asleep. The buffalo had long since lost the beautiful dark 
brown luster of their coats, and were now a dingy, yel- 
lowish white. There were thousands and thousands of 
them in the valley that day, and apparently as many ante- 
lope. The coats of the latter, too, had been bleached by 
the brilliant rays of the winter sun. Bands of bighorn, 
thirty and forty in a bunch, were frequently seen on the 
nearby buttes, and occasionally a bunch of them, down 
close to the edge of the river, took fright at the approach 
of the travelers and bounded away up the hill, where 
from a safe distance they gazed curiously at the men, 
stamping the ground with their front feet as is their 
custom when alarmed. On and on, hour after hour, the 
wolfers trudged at a live pace, and on either side of 
them, at every step, some kind of game— buffalo or ante- 
lope, sheep or deer, elk or wolves — was in sight. 
"There's where my shack is," exclaimed Longhair along 
in the afternoon, pointing to a gap in the south side of 
the valley. 
"That's where Arrow Creek comes in," said Ben. "l^'ou 
sure picked out a bad place to camp; worlds o' game 
here, of course, but it's a reg'ler runway fer war parties 
travelin' back an' forth atween the Yellowstone an' the 
north; don't see how you made out to stop here as long 
as you did." 
Arrived at the mouth of the creek, the first thing the 
wolfers saw was some moccasin tracks on the sandbar, and 
itp in the timber bordering the river they found them 
again in a snow drift. They were evidently not more 
than a week old. 
"'Gran'pa's coat buttons!" exclaimed Longhair. "I'm 
glad I wa'n't here when these fish come along. What's 
that the preacher says? A poor man fer childern an' a 
fool fer luck." 
"Therefore, being lucky, you're a fool," the Scribbler 
added. 
''T never said I wa'n't," Longhair replied. "I've been a 
fool all my days, an' will be, world without end, as the 
preacher says. Some day I'll tell yer all about it." 
The hills and flat were carefully looked over before the 
men left the shelter of the cottonwood grove and ap- 
proached the shack, which was at the lower end of the 
bottom. Here also there were moccasin tracks in the 
drift before the doorway, but the makers of them had not 
crossed the threshold. The Indian is a superstitious 
creature, afraid of ghosts and spirits, afraid even of his 
own shadow. And there on the cabin floor in plain sight 
through the open dooor lay a flleshless htlman skull, Evi- 
dently Longhair's little trap had been the death of at 
least one paint-daubed warrior. The wolfers passed in- 
side; the interior looked as if a tornado had broken 
loose there. The rocks and baked mud of the fireplace 
were scattered promiscuously over the floor : the logs and 
roof in the vicinity of the explosion had been forced 
out, and the whole corner was about ready to fall apart. 
The floor was littered with flour, beans and rice, evidently 
spilled out by the survivors in order to get sacks in which 
to stow provisions as they wanted. At lea.st no sugar, 
coffee or bacon was found, and the molasses keg was 
empty. Among the debris were a number of gnawed 
human bones and parts of Indiin clothing, and in one 
corner another .sk\ill was found, which pleased Longhair 
immensely. "Fll call it square right here," he said. 
"Two Injuns for four head of stock an' the outfit ain't 
bad pay." 
It was not a fit place to camp; there was a disgusting 
Oder of decayed flesh in the place, so the men went back 
to the timber, built a small fire and prepared their even- 
ing meal. They turned in earl}'-, and at daylight next 
morning Avere well on their way home, where they arrived 
in due time, pleased to have learned the result of Long- 
hair's little scheme. 
A few days after their tramp to Arrow Creek a chinook 
set in, and 'the}^ were soon busy removing the hides from 
the poisoned wolves, and pegging them out on the ground 
to dry. It was hard work, and a greasy, disagreeable job^ 
but they kept steadily at it, begrudging even the time re- 
quired to eat their midday lunch. It was their harvest 
time; every well-haired and well-cured hide, they knew, 
was worth a five-dollar bill. No wonder they worked with 
tireless energy. One evening it was Longhair's turn to 
cook supper. '"Grub pile," he yelled, as he poured out the 
tea. and the tired men wearily filed in and sat down at the 
table. 
"Well," Ben began, but he never finished the sentence. 
There was an eruption of earth, sticks and grass under 
their feet, and with a loud woof! woof! woof! a huge 
grizzly shot out of the entrance to the tunnel, overturned 
the table with its load of food and dishes and sent the 
men sprawling in every direction. Exactly what they did 
in the next few seconds none of them was ever afterward 
able to tell. There seemed to be a general mix up of 
bear, men and furniture. There is no denying that they 
were panic stricken, too badly scared to yell or swear. 
Without stopping, the bear flew around and around the 
room like a whirlwind, woof, woofing, and knocking 
things out of his way. "The bunks were in two tiers, and 
Ben and the Scribbler found themselves in an upper one 
looking down with distended eyes and open mouths at 
the bear careening around. Longhair and Jack had man- 
aged to get out the door, and, just as they crossed the 
threshold the bear had struck it and knocked it shut. 
"My God, Ben!" the Scribbler gasped, "what are 
we going to do?" 
"Hey, Longhair! Jack! open the door an' let the cuss 
out," Ben yelled. 
There was no answer, and the two looked at each 
other in dismay. The bear meantime had stopped in its 
wild and frenzied course and was standing near the 
opposite wall, swaying from one foot to another and dis- 
mally wailing. All of the rifles were over in a corner 
beyond him and out of reach. 
"He's just as bad scart as we be," said Ben. "Le's 
throw some blankets at him an' set him goin' ag'in. Meb- 
be he'll dive back into the tunnel if he ever sees the 
hole." 
"No, no," the other demurred ; "more likely he'll take a 
notion to tear down the bunks or pull us out of them." 
"He ain't seen us; he ain't looked up once. Now 
then, when I throw this, yell for all yer worth." 
The blanket fell over the bear's head and shoulders, and 
with an angry, terrified roar he struck at it with his 
forepaws, at the same time backing to get out from 
under it, and to the watchers' surprise and delight he 
suddenly fell into the mouth of the tunnel and disap- 
peared. The two men sprang to the floor, grabbed their 
rifles and were out of the door in.no time, where they 
beheld Longhair and Jack perched on the roof of the 
cabin. "Git yer guns an' watch here," Ben shouted ; 
"Scrib an' me'll go to the river end o' the tunnel; the 
bear's gone back into it." 
They ran through the narrow strip of timber to the 
edge of the bank; the beaver cuttings and drift wood 
which had concealed the tunnel's end were scattered in 
every direction ; there was no bear in sight. "He ain't 
come out," said Ben, "an' to git out he's got to back up 
the hull way, fer the tunnel's too narrow fer him to turn 
round in. We'll git him pretty soon." 
But they didn't. Just then a shot rang out over at 
the cabin, followed by Longhair's triumphant yell, "Come 
back," he cried, "I got him." 
Sure enough he had ; the bear had stuck his head up out 
of the tunnel and then fallen back with a bullet through 
his brain. The wolfers gathered about the narrow en- 
trance and looked in; there he lay at the bottom, stone 
dead. It was no small task to get him out, but with 
levers and ropes and pries they finally had him up on the 
cabin floor. "Look here, fellers," Jack suddenly ex- 
claimed, lifting up a hind leg. "I'm darned if we hain't 
got ole Splayfoot at last." 
Yes, 'twas him ; there was no mistaking that foot, bent 
inward from the ankle, the result of an old fracture of the 
joint. "Well, well!" said Ben, "I never expected to see 
him ag'in. Jest think of it, we've follered him a 
thousan' mile off 'n' on, 'n' then got him right in the 
house at last. But, man ! he wound things up in a blaze o' 
excitement. I dunno when I been so flustered as I was 
when he kinder blowed up through the tunnel." 
"All things comes to the feller what waits, as the 
preacher said," Longhair put in. "Well, le's drag the old 
cuss out 'n' skin him." 
The next morning the wolfers inspected their tunnel. 
Why old Splayfoot had undertaken to explore it was a 
mystery, but why he had bolted up into the cabin was 
plain to be seen; almost at the end the roof had caved 
in, completely filling the cut, and as he could not turn 
around he had been forced to go on. It took the men a 
whole day to wheel out the dirt and prop up the roof, and 
then the entrance at the river was carried over as before. 
However, they luckily had no occasion to use it that 
■ ■»^,»-a'jaagiaa5B a»«gi^&^-^ysra»tr-i ■ . 1 
year; so long as they rumained thei'g no war party ever 
came near the place, 
>}t 1^ :li ijt ^ 
One day in April the long expected and long looked 
for smoke of a steamer was discovered far down the 
river, and the wolfers hurried to get iheir belongings out on 
the bank, ready to put aboard. The result of their 
season's work made a goodh' showmg; there were 900 
prime wolf skins, twenty in a bunch, pressed, baled and 
bound with rawhide thongs. There were also some bear 
hides, including Splayfoot' s, and a few beaver pelts which 
Jack had caught at odd times in the river near by. It 
seemed to the impatient men as if the steamer would never 
arrive, but finally she came puffing slowly along against 
the swift current, and in answer to a rifle shot swung in to 
the bank. The gang plank was lowered, the hawser made 
fast to a tree, and as the deck hands ran out to carry 
on their pelts and things, the wolfers stepped aboard, the 
cynosure of all eyes. There were many passengers, in- 
cluding a number of women, come to try their fortunes in 
the boundless West, and they crowded around the new 
arrivals and began to ask all sorts of questions. Ben 
and Jack and the Scribbler fled from them, but Long- 
hair was in his element, and the lies he told those pilgrims 
were monumental. "Are the buft'alo very fierce animals?" 
one thin, consumptive looking man was heard to ask. 
"You bet they be," Longhair replied. "They rush at a 
feller on sight an' eat him up if they catch him. They 
don't like white men much, though. They live mostly on 
Injuns." 
"What do you hunters eat mostly?" a woman asked. 
^^Meat." 
"What? No vegetables? No green things of any 
kind?" 
"Well, we eat grass in the spring when it's young an' 
tender like; we bile it an' put on vinegar, an' it goes 
fust rate." 
The tenderfeet believed everything he said. 
Fort Benton was sighted the evening of the second 
day after the wolfers went aboard. The steamer whistles 
blew, a cannon at the old adobe fort boomed a salute to 
the first boat of the season, and all the people of the town 
thronged to the levee to see her come in. There were 
merchants and soldiers, gamblers, saloon keepers and 
hurdy gurdy girls, traders and trappers, miners from the 
Rocky Mountains, bull whackers, mule skinners and In- 
dians, a motley crowd. The wolfers were vociferously 
greeted by their friends, their hands nearly shaken off. 
"Come on;" they cried, "and bring your friend. What's 
his name? Longhair? Come on, Longhair, the town's 
yours." The Scribbler. 
A Small Cook Book 
For Out Club House. 
Chapter Etl. — Ducks, Turkeys and Chickens. 
To cook a dttck, put him in a baking pan having a 
tight cover, with a half-inch of water in the pan. Break 
two sticks of celery in two and lay over liis bosom. These 
are all the flowers needed at the funeral of a duck. Cover 
him up tight and bake or roast him, whichever it may be 
called, in a hot oven, and it is sinful to leave him to get 
overdone. 
The turkey is a hard bird to spoil, but he must be well 
stuffed. If you have oysters for the stuffing, there is 
nothing better. If not, break up a small loaf of bread 
into good sized crumbs, salt and pepper them well, put 
them in a skillet with a lump of butter and brown them, 
after which add a sprig of sage crumbled up fine, and a 
double handful of raisins. Stuff the turkey with this in 
preference to the wet, soggy concoctions sometimes used. 
To fry a chicken, clean and dry it and cut into halves 
or quarters, dependent upon its size. Rub the pieces in 
flour and then rub more flour in the pieces. Put a few 
slices of breakfast bacon (which means smoked bacon) in 
a frying pan and fry the grease out of them. Add some 
lard to the bacon fat so as to have enough to cover the 
bottom of the pan well. Salt this and pepper it well while 
it is hot, and when it is smoking hot put in the chicken. 
When it is browned and cooked through, proceed in one 
of the following ways : 
Transfer the chicken to a baking dish. 
Pour off all the grease but the "settlings," and add a 
little water to the setjings in the frying pan. Bring it to 
a sizzle, pour it oyer the chicken in the baking dish, cover 
the dish and set it in the oven or on the stove to steam 
for a moment or two. This makes fried chicken tender. 
Flavoring the hot grease makes it taste good. Of course 
every woman thinks she can frj' a chicken as well as the 
next one, but let her try this kind on her men folks once 
and take their verdict. 
The other way is the true Maryland style, and involves 
more trouble. First of all, make some cornmeal mush 
and let it get cold and hard, cut into slices and fry to a 
dark brown. When the chicken is taken from the frying 
pan it is placed on a hot platter and put in a warm place 
while you make the gravy. Pour off all the fat but about 
a tablespoonful, being careftil to not pour off any of the 
settlings. Put into the pan a tablespoonful of flour, and, 
with the pan on the stove, mix it with the fat. Pour into 
this a sufficient quantity of cream — about a pint will do — 
salt and pepper it and stir it while it boils for five minutes. 
(The flour must be cooked, else it will be only so much 
starch.) Pour over the chicken, garnish with the fried 
mush, and if there are any complaints refer them'to me. 
There are, of course, many other things to eat, and 
many other ways of preparing even the few things men- 
tioned above, but these suggestions will suffice to make 
successful cookery for members of hunting and fishing 
clubs, and they are also recommended to keepers of hotels 
where sportsmen stop. One more word in closing. Do 
not give your guests any one thing too often. Change the 
bill of fare each meal. Chicken is good one day, it is 
endurable the next and intolerable the third day. Variety 
is the spice of cookery. George Kennedy. 
The Forest and Stream is put to press each week on Tuesday. 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach us at the 
latest by Monday and as much earlier as practicable. 
