Aug. 3, tgoi.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
83 
"By gum!" he ejaculated in a hollow voice; "he's dead." 
"Dead!" said the furmer. "He was alive all right when 
we put him in." 
"Well, he's dead now just the same " retorted Bob. 
There, was a moment's solenui pause. "I've made a 
hell of a good trade, I have," said the farmer at last. 
•■Prcbably the black one'U die 'for' we get him home." 
After a little grumbling and swearing they drove off 
with their bad bargain. Strangely enough they seemed 
to blame themselves rather than Bailey. In fact, Bob 
seemed rather to admire the latter's keenness. Appar- 
ently all was fair in trade to these people. 
The night had set in clear and myriads of stars lit the 
dusky vault. The earth smelt 'fresh and clean after its 
bath. We lingered awhile snuft'mg the pleasant odors 
of the country. My companion began to quote: 
"Though every prospect pleases 
And only man " 
'■P'rhaps we didn't make a good trade on them hogs!" 
broke in Joe's shrill voice from the direction of the barn, 
and Louis' muffled laughter completed the interrupted 
quotation. Fisher Ames, Jr. 
Outing Companions. 
Mt. Carroll, 111., July 27— Editor Forest and Stream: 
The recent communications in Forest and Stream as to 
who make the best outing companions, has set me think- 
ing. . 
When dne sits down and begins to think out for him- 
self the necessary requisites for an ideal "pardner," there 
comes before his vision old camps, old friends and new- 
found friends, whose presence around the camp-fire has 
strengthened into a friendship stronger than words can 
portray. 
My first camping companion was my father. He it \yas 
who' taught me the principles of holding on and holding 
ahead, pointed out the deep holes where watched the gamy 
bass, first showed me how to arrange the decoys in life- 
like array, taught me how a blind was constructed so as 
to deceive the crafty waterfowl; told me the necessity of 
digging the drain around the tent, to tighten the guy 
ropes m dry weather, and to slacken them in case of ram. 
He taught me the signs of mink, rat, coon and other fur- 
bearing animals; then educated me in the knowledge of 
their ways and how to outwit them w'ith trap and snare. 
In odd times on our trips he would stop by some old 
tree and tell me of the wild pigeons that once roosted 
there, show me the place he had once killed a turkey or . 
deer; paddled me down some quiet, tree-girted creek in 
quest of woodcock, or, as we traversed the margin of 
some rush-bordered bayou, would tell of the geese which 
once fed there in their annual migrations. It was he who 
taught me to lay the back log to fry potatoes, to sizzle 
bacon, how to concoct slapjacks from cornmeal, flour 
and baking powder. 
In fact, as I look back, it seems as though all my wild 
woods love was derived from this source, and it was all 
given in such a simple, modest way that I can think of no 
one I would rather have as a "pardner" than my father. 
He belongs to the old school — one who crossed the plains 
in the age of the gold fever, who lived here when deer, 
turkey, pigeon, wildfowl and all maners and species of 
game and fur-bearing animals were so plentiful as to be a 
nuisance. 
Then came a new "pardner" — one of the opposite sex — 
a brown-eyed, quiet little woman, who soon learned from 
her huslDand to love the beauties of nature, who humored 
him in his hobbies of rod, gun and dog ; who found pleas- 
ure in the gentle woodland breezes, whose eyes dimmed 
with tears as the rifle or shotgun brought some wild woods 
inhabitant to death, which same eyes spoke volumes in the 
wav of hunters' fare and appetite as she relished the game 
dinners in camp. Who, when it rained, would say, "We 
had a nice day yesterday, and it will probably be nice to- 
morrow, so let's rest up to-dav." Who added a new 
pleasure by her presence, and brought a more wholesome 
air into the cooking; who, though not versed in woods 
ways, lost her heart in the perfect freedom of the camp. 
And now, this year, we have another companion — little 
Hunkie, as papa calls him, much to his mamma's dis- 
gust, when visitors are at the house. He is not yet two 
years old. but this autumn when Frosty Jack has killed 
off the mosquitoes and knocked malaria sky high, and 
when the leaves are turning and the nuts falling, when the 
evening brings the ducks to the lakes to feed, when the 
autumn tempered days make angling just about right, 
when squirrels and quail and snipe are ripe, come to our 
camp on the banks of the northern Mississippi, where the 
grapes hang in purpled clusters for the ruffed grouse, and 
our tent is pitched in a good location; look at my com- 
panions—father and grandfather in one, the teacher and 
guest, then the wife and son, and, I don't know wdiat you 
fellows think about it, but I do know who I think are the 
best companions to take camping out. 
E. K. Stedman. 
Color Did Not Set. 
Frank Furman, who lives at Jamaica, L. I., recently acquired a 
liver-colored setter, and is now greatly excited and looking tor 
redress because the liver color won't stay on. 
Mr Furman dwells on Clinton avenue. While taking an m- 
ventory of his things recently he discovered that he had too 
many saddles and not enough liver colored setters. So he adver- 
tised that he would swap a saddle for a dog. 
His advertisement was answered bv a man who lived m Phila- 
delphia and had a Quaker name. He wrote that he could give 
references and was ready to exchange one liver-colored dog worth 
iflOO for a Mexican saddle worth ?75. 
Mr. Furman shipped a saddle by fast freight. In a few days a 
box full of liver-colored dog arrived, marked "express charges 
collect, $5.50." , , , ,. 
Mr. Furman's suspicions were aroused when he saw the liver- 
colored dog running yelping around the yard pursued by a hen. 
Then came a rain storm, which washed most of the liver color 
off -him. . , . , , . , ,r 
Some beautiful black dots on the animal, which Mr. I'urman 
supposed were symptoms of his good descent, proved to be 
merely symptoms of black paint, for they disappeared under the 
influence of the weather. 
His suspicious were now quite aroused, and Mr. Furman 
ordered a warm bath for the liver-colored creature, which proved 
when the paint dissolved to be merely a yellow dog that would be 
dear at ten cents. 
Thereupon he wrote a letter to the Philadelphian, but has re- 
ceived no answer. 
"I suppose he's too busy riding around on my saddle to attend 
to his mail," Mr. Furman says, sadly.— New York World. 
My Raccoon. 
Cooney'.s young eyes opened upon a hard world, and it 
is no wonder that an early acquaintance with the wiles of 
man trained his wits to be as sharp as his nose, and his 
keen eyes and quick ears to be ever on the alert for a 
chance to get even with the enemy. 
A shot from a rifle killed his mother one summer's 
evening, and smoke from the fire that the man with the 
rifle kindled in the hollow tree that had been the home of 
this unlucky raccoon family sent the young ones scram- 
bling into the branches for air. It was an easy matter to 
capture three such babies. 
Perhaps the heart of the man with the gun was less 
black than it must have looked to Cooney and his brethren, 
or a closer view of the three scared little balls of fur may 
have altered his first intention, which I rather think was 
wholesale massacre in expiation for raided hen roosts and 
depredated garden beds. Suffice it to say. the man adopted 
one young raccoon, gave another to his gardener, and. 
remembering my fancy for odd pets, boxed up the third 
and sent it- to me. Now I had had presents of pets from 
my friends before, and when a telegram came to say that 
I was to receive another, a long line of beasts and reptiles 
seemed to raise their heads and look at me; weird dogs 
and alligators, matted and horned toads, into whose beady 
eyes I had vainly looked for a responsive gleam of intelli- 
gence. Therefore, when my box arrived by express, I 
opened it with misgivings, which, however, A^anished once 
for all on my first sight of Cooney. About the size of a 
well-grown kitten, soft gray fur (his tail had not yet 
attained the five-ringed splendor it reached later on), deli- 
cately frilled ears, and the most rascally eyes that ever 
peered along a sharp, black muzzle. 'Then his hands ! 
How they grasped and caught, and how cleverly- they 
han.dled ail they touched' A monkey's hands are hardly 
more clever. Nor is a monkey's mind more alert and 
inquisitive. Prying into cupboards, picking keyholes with 
eager forefinger, peering into the receiver of the telephone, 
in never-ceasing effort to get at the true inwardness of 
things — such was Cooney, and with it all as neat as any 
Shaker. Hands washed before and after, and during 
the course of every meal, and not only hands, but food 
as well, if clean water was within reach. 
Acting upon the supposition that a wild animal re- 
quired a cage. I had one built, five feet square and 
about four high, the front of wire netting, with a small 
door for entrance and exit. The back could be raised on 
hinges for purposes of cleaning out. Inside an inverted 
box with a hole cut in the side, well filled with wool, 
formed his bed. The cage was placed upon the piazza, 
but Cooney never w^ent near it except at night. He pre- 
ferred to roam at will about the house and piazzas. About 
three times a day, however, my little daugher would sud- 
denly grab Cooney by the nape of his neck and retire 
with him to the cage, which she could enter from the 
back, and, curling up in a corner, and holding Cooney 
firmly against her small body, she would gravely insert a 
nursing bottle' in his mouth, and he would as gravely 
empty, it. But business over, Cooney was ready for play 
again. There was always a dog or two about the house. ■ 
We had seven just then, and Cooney loved them all. The 
two pointers only tolerated him, but the bull terriers were 
his chums. They romped together in perfect accord, and 
if the dogs grew too rough or Cooney got bored, he 
climbed a tree, and waited in the branches until the dogs 
strayed off. 'This good fellowship continued for over a 
year, and might have lasted longer but for an accident that 
brought out the latent savagery in him, turned him into 
an Ishmael. and caused some members of the family, and 
most of the neighbors, to declare him to be possessed of a 
devil. 
A strange dog strayed into the place one day, and seeing 
Cooney loping across the lawn, fell upon him. The 
snarling and yelping that ensued attracted our dogs, and 
led away by example, they followed suit. Lo! there was 
Cooney on his back fighting for life with teeth and power- 
ful hind legs, and with thin, formidable claws, while his 
old. familiar friends tore and bit him. It was over in a 
moment, for the coachman ran to the rescue with a club, 
with which he cracked all the dogs impartially over the 
head. I lifted the poor little raccoon from the ground and 
carried him into the house. It was autumn and chilly, so 
I laid him on a pillow- by the library fire and washed and 
dressed his wounds as well as I could. His back was 
badly torn, and he must have been hurt internally, as he 
made no attempt to move, but lay panting on his side. I 
thought he would die, but he did not. He lay for several 
days on his pillow* without moving, then he began to creep 
lamely about the room, and at the end of three weeks 
Richard was himself again. It was during this period 
of enforced inactivity that I got a glimpse of the softer 
side of his complex nature, recognized in him a quality 
which I sometimes think is almost peculiar to animals, 
namely, gratitude, and tacitly formed with him a sort of 
alliance offensive and defensive against all corners, which 
we maintained so long as the poor little chap lived. 
Cooney was very sick, and he knew it. He refused all 
food at first, but soon would lap a little milk or beef tea if 
held so that he could reach it without raising his head. 
It dawned on him, perhaps, that I had had no hand in his 
undoing, but was trying to help him. He began to look 
for my coming, would raise his head and stretch out his 
paw. It seemed to comfort him "so much, that I often sat 
on the floor beside him. reading a book and holding his 
hot little paw in my hand, feeling it nervously twitching, 
till by degrees it relaxed and Cooney was asleep. Kind old 
nature pulled him through after all. His wounds healed, 
his high spirits returned, and with them his old rascality. 
Indeed it seemed as if the original devil must have 
gathered unto himself at least seven more. There was no 
more roaming at large for Cooney. The sight of a dog 
would drive him to fury. He would rise on his hind legs, 
swaying his body to and fro, emitting an eager whine, 
while his eyes blazed red. We had to keep him in his 
cage, or tied to a stake that could be moved about under 
trees- or near the house for company. Whenever I came 
out he stood lip so eagerly and meaiit so plainly "Do take 
me along !" that it was hard tO' disappoint him, and although 
a walk with him involved tuggings to get ahead and sud- 
den stoppings to investigate any object of interest, I often 
did lake him along, When tired of his antics, I would 
always perch him on my shoulder, where he sat up in per-^ 
feet content. If I drove, he often stood beside me, his 
paws on the dashboard, sniffing the wind, and seeming to 
enjoy the scenefy. 
I could stroke him while he fed, and tease him by pre- 
tending to pull away a chicken bone or a bunch of grapes—* 
his favorite morsels. He merely gathered together what 
was left with his paws, and went on with his meal, glanc- 
ing meanwhile at me out of the corner of his eye. as if he 
would say, "Oh! that's all right; you don't count." But 
if another hand attempted the same liberty, a snarl and a • 
bite down to the bone was the penalty. 
Another person from whom he stood liberties within 
certain limits was our coachman, whom he looked upon 
as a necessary evil, to be borne Avith philosophy. When 
the man seized him by the nape of the neck to carry him 
stableward, Cooney hung limp and resigned, for he knew 
that it meant cage and bedtime. 
His Sunday bath was another dispensation to be 
patiently endured. A thorough lathering with soap, which 
often got in his eyes, and a cold douche from the hose, 
were hardly to his fancy, and his stolid attitude plainly 
showed that he regarded the whole business as some 
foolish fetish of simple minds. 
The ultimate fate of Cooney is wrapped in gloom. They 
tied him to his stake under the trees one afternoon as 
usual, but at bedtime the cord that had held him was cut 
and Cooney gone. No trace of him was ever found. I 
have always linked in my mind the disappearance of 
Cooney with a gang of chattering Italian laborers who 
were macadamizing a road not fifty yards from the spot 
where he was tied. They knocked oft' work at 6 o'clock. 
They are a frugal race, and meat is dear. Might not fat 
raccoon stew be a tempting variation on dandelions and 
macaroni? Whatever his fate, I mourned for him, for 
there was never a more amusing or engaging little 
creature. M. W. M. 
The Beaver. 
Portland, Ore., July 20.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
One of the last things I did in Boston before taking 
train for Oregon was to leave directions to have my 
Forest and Stream forwarded to me. 
I have just read in the issue of July 13 the interesting 
letter of Mr. E. P. Jaques, giving some more observations 
on the beaver. Mr. Jaques kindly refrains from mention- 
:ng my name, but refers to my story of carrying a 46 
pound beaver six miles without putting it down, in a 
way that plainly shows he thinks me a candidate for high 
honors as a member of the "Ananias Club." He says 
■'The man who carried the beaver six miles without 
stopping to rest can get a fair donation toward a medal 
commemorating the feat by addressing N. B. Beardslee, 
Hennessey. Okla. T./' M'r. Beardslee being the man 
who had such a hard time carrying the soft, but yielding 
and slippery body of a beaver on one occasion, this 
deceptive load having been unguardedly chosen in prefer- 
ence to a saddle of venison. Now\ in telling my own 
beaver story I mentioned my carrying my beaver the 
distance named merely incidentally and without any 
thought that it was anything extraordinary in itself. 
I did remember that it was a very fatiguing experience 
and that at the time I felt it was a pretty good lug and 
that I had some pride in bringing the beaver through 
in that way. 
I can easily sympathize with Mr. Beardslee in his 
troublesome undertaking, but I undertook nothing so 
difficult, and Mr. Jaques' mistake lay in his supposition 
that there Avas no other way to carry a dead beaver than 
the simple but A^ery difficult one he adopted. 
My beaA^er was inside the stout old "Kennebecker" of 
my guide. T. W. Billings — of blessed memory — which 
was securely strapped to my shoulders. If either Mr. 
Jaques or Mr. Beardslee have any more beavers to carry, 
and don't know what a "kennebecker" is, I shall be 
nappy to explain — and .so would any man familiar with 
life in the old times in the Maine woods. I carried my 
beaver — and my quite clear and distinct recollection is 
that it weighed just 46 pounds — from Randall Brook, 
where Ave caught him. through the woods to the old 
"tote road," and down that to our canoe on Eberne Lake, 
and my recol'ection is that the distance is six miles. 
And I as distinctly remember some feeling of compla- 
cency that I had not once put down my load. 
Now, 1 have always admired the candor of Artemas 
Ward, who, having occasion once in a lecture to giA^e 
the number of rats existing at that time in the United 
States immediately after naming the figure, added: "I 
speak entireh' from memorj^." 
I think there is an old note book- — one of a "Maine 
Woods series" — in my desk at home. Avhere these and 
many other experiences of mine Avere faithfully recorded 
at the time of their occurrence, and when I am again 
privileged to do so I shall, for my own satisfaction, look 
this matter up. For the present, hoAvever, "I speak 
entirely from memory," though I must belicA'e my data 
Avere originally much more definite than Artemas 
Ward's could have been. 
T was a "husky" young felloAv then, able to do a good 
piece of "woods work," and delighting in "roughing it" 
in the wilderness. 
I wish I could tell of the feats of Billings in carrying 
loads with that old "kennebecker" — of the actual weight 
of blankets, hard tack and salt pork, bear traps, otter 
traps, and other impedimenta which he would pack into 
and strap upon it, and bending forward, till he was 
fairly under it, stride off for hours at a time Avithout 
stopping. His own expression in regard to himself in 
those days Avas always — "I was strong as a moose." That 
he injured himself in this Avay there was no doubt, and 
when even his extraordinaiy powers began to wane, and 
the kidney trouble came, his regret for his lost strength 
was pathetic. 
But, I Avander from the maine question, and from one 
which I Avish to raise, viz.— as to the average weight of 
a full grown beaA^er. Ma' beaA^er was a comparatively 
young one: I used to discuss such questions with Bill- 
ings and I am sure I recall his telling me more than 
