122 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug. 17, 1901. 
• — 
August Days at Mabellon* 
If you should happen to own a peach farm, or are 
fortunate enough to have a friend who does, I know of 
no place more agreeable to camp at for a week. The 
mountain sites are usually chosen with us in Alabama, 
and anj'where on a mountain is alwaJys superior to the 
lowlands for camping. The breeze has a charm in it in- 
ducing forgetfulness and bringing evening and morning 
a quality as individual as that of the sea. The birds one 
sees are of a shy and engaging sort. What more restful 
sound than that of the beautiful white and black wood- 
pecker, or the flicker beating his tattoo call on a dead 
chestnut limb at sunrise! And who does not think a day 
well begun when the inquisitive titmouse hangs on the 
tent door, and, turning his head on one side, asks how 
this great, white, hollow tree has grown up so quickly! 
Long after the cardinal has ceased to sing in the valley, 
because of the heat and the advancing season, you can 
hear him in the hollow^s near the crest piping the most 
joyous strain of all. The one exception to this is the 
wren's song— to me a type of the joys of the world. He 
likes to potter around the cliffs and make believe he is 
finding a nest site during any month in the year, and he 
never fails to stop and fling out a few bars of spring 
notes with a faith which always convinces me at least. 
Mabellon is an iron ore spur lifted up from a fertile 
valley, and it commands a wide view of other ore ridges 
and Lookout Mountain on one side, and Coosa River on 
the other. Take away its charm of historj^ and the view 
from the ramparts of Sterling Castle in Scotland is not 
greatly its superior. On the north side, where the 
peaches are generally planted, the Elbertas are colored 
a deep red; on the south-side, from a thinner soil, a light 
red. This year, although the crop where little or no 
attention has been paid to it is poor, indeed, ours is 
very good. 
My tent is stretched just above the orchard in a grove 
of hickory and oak trees, with an opening in front, to- 
ward the valley. My first night out I am sure I was 
subjected to inspection by some of my wild friends of 
the woods. Before I went to sleep I heard a cautious 
approach extended to a half circle around my tent. 
Then, evidently satisfied that I was of the fraternity, I 
was left in the restored silence of the forest, the moon 
penetrating the thick shadows with shafts of light. 
I have rarely felt so triumphant as when I had finished 
a very good breakfast and washed up the dishes the next 
morning. I had to devise some means of keepjng the 
ants out of my supplies, so, in the ever-resourceful 
woods, I got a little chestnut tree, cut forks from the 
branches all along and then planted it alongside my back 
tent pole. It was soon hung like a Christmas tree w-ith 
sacks of various groceries, and was also used as a to\vel 
and clothes rack. My dining table was a providential 
flat rock in front of the door, already spread with gray 
lichens. The spring is some distance away, but it was 
always a pleasure to go to it, however heavy the bucket 
might feel before I got back. It came out very quietly 
from the bluff, and flowed over a red marble bottom on 
down the hill, and, gaining in volume and assurance, it 
gave louder voice w^hen it had reached the trilium beds 
and the violet banks of the hollow below. 
All day long as I sat in the shade, came, at frequent 
intervals, a bar of song from one of the old negro pick- 
ers — just one bar, with sometimes one variation, repeated 
over and over again, like the monotonous chant of the 
oreacher's vireo. This negro was interpreting, in his 
barbaric refrain, the peaceful and uneventful charm of the 
place. His satisfaction with tlie day, as it came, was 
so genuine that one variation was enough. One song was 
enough, too, I thought, as I went to sleep my last night 
in camp with the rain pattering on the tent roof. 
E. M. 
LaVRONB, Attalla, Ala., Aug. 7. 
Old Doc, the Tote Horse. 
This was what the toter called him — Old Doc ; and he 
had the general appearance of being nothing but just an 
ordinary old tote horse, until stepping in front of him 
you chanced to look at his head ; then you noticed his large, 
expressive, brown eyes, as well as his short, finely pointed 
ears, and you would immediately exclaim, "There is a 
horse that knows something !" and your last opinion would 
not be far from correct. 
During three successive winters I had the pleasure of 
his acquaintance, and during that time never did I regret 
our fellowship — nor did he in any manner disappoint me in 
my first impressions of him. 
He was the most intelligent horse that I ever saw. and 
many is the man I have met who didn't know half as 
much as Old Doc. 
Noticing him as he passed my camp in the early morn- 
ing, going out after a load of supplies, I observed his 
massive build as well as his sleek, white coat of hair,_and 
after a while, as David, the toter, stopped to say bon jour, 
I formed the habit of stepping out of my shanty with a 
lump of sugar for the old horse, and thus it was that I 
first noticed his eyes. 
After I had given Old Doc sugar three times, I was just 
as sure of a morning caller as the tote team was sure to 
go out to the settlement; nor could David get the horse 
by until I had given him his sugar. When Doc got to 
my camp he would stop and either paw or whinney itntil I 
came out. 
As the days passed I grew more and more fond of the 
horse, as also did his driver. Often I would jump on 
the tote team for a ride out to the settlement after my 
mail, and walk back behind the loaded team. 
On one occasion as we were going down a very sharp 
pitch, the tote sled jiimped out of die road and brought 
up against a large beech, but David and I kept right 
on — David over old Doc's head, I on his neck, and the 
way he looked at me as I was picking myself up after my 
fall was a caution. 
It was in February that David asljed me to ride out to 
the "States" with him. This was a railroad terminus, \vith 
a few log houses, in one of which was a kitchen stove and 
post office. In the winter the train generally left from 
one to three passengers at this metropolis, called in that 
section "The States." Of course the arrival of the train 
each day was a matter of great importance to the natives, 
and the entire community would be on the platform to in- 
spect whoever might arrive, and speculate as to their 
business plans and future movements. 
On this particular day we were out unusually early. 
Quickly loading the tote team, we awaited the arrival of 
the train to get our mail. This we had at last secured and 
had already started toward camp, when we were asked by 
the new and only arrival on the train that day, if we knew 
the wa}' to Chase's camp. 
"Oh ! yes," said David. "Just beyond where I stop." 
"Can I go with you?" 
"Oh! yes," answered David, aiid made a place for him 
on the load of grain and hay, so we started on our trip 
over the mountain in company. 
We had proceeded but a short distance, when the 
stranger produced from his kennebecker two one-quart 
bottles of whisky, and urged us to drink, at the same time 
setting us a most lavish example of the quantity to be 
taken. The amount of urging that it took to start David 
was surprisingly small. The amount that he ' drank was 
surprisingly large. As I had never drank a glass of 
liquor in my life, under those conditions I did not pro- 
pose to begin. 
As we slowdy ascended the mountains, to my dismay it 
began to be overcast and to grow very cold. In a short 
time, as the liquor began to work, the men began, first, to 
be silly, and then drowsy. 
Before we had reached the top of the mountain Old 
Doc and I were doing the best we could in a howling 
blizzard — he. in hauling two drunken specimens of human- 
ity, I in trying to hold them on the top of the loaded 
team. 
The stranger was very thinly clad, and I soon saw that 
his hands and wrists were beginning to freeze. Chafing 
them with snow, then thrashing my own arms to keep 
from freezing myself, and every now and then covering 
up David with the horse blanket, w-e began the descent 
of the further side of the mountain. 
I could not drive, for the moment I let go of the men 
they would fall off the team, for by this time they were 
dead drunk. How Old Doc got us as far as he did that 
day with no one to rein him was a miracle. With my 
voice I gt.ided him as best I could, while every moment 
the cold was growing more intense, and the faces of the 
men were beginning to freeze. 
We had accomplished about two-thirds of the distance 
to camp. when, to my horror, on going down the last 
sharp pitch, the whole outfit jumped out of the road, and 
one of the runners of the sled, striking against a maple 
tree, was .snapped in two. For one moment I was be- 
wildered; it was a question of moments now, and a very 
few at that, for I had on my hands at least one man who 
was freezing to death — possibly two. 
Then, as I worked. I talked with Old Doc as I never 
expect to talk with another horse. Cutting the tangled 
traces, I at last got him out in the road. Freeing the 
leather reins from the bridle and tying one end of them 
under the arms of the stranger, and keeping his head out 
of the snow as well as I possibly could, I dragged him 
off the load and into the road behind Old Doc. Making 
the other end of the reins fast to the traces, already 
severed, and keeping the man's head well up by fastening 
it to the taut lines, I led Old Doc as he slowly dragged 
him to camp. 
As about six inches of snow had fallen during the 
previous night, with the exception of a few bruises, my 
man was little the worse for his rough ride. It was a 
long, tedious job to bring that man out of his part- 
drunken, part-frozen stupor, and when, at last, he did 
come out of it, he immediately asked for rum. and I 
hardly blamed him, after his ride behind Old Doc. A 
part of the crew hastened back and got David, whom I 
had left on the sled covered with Old Doc's blanket. For 
two weeks the stranger was a very sick man, and it was a 
long time before he could use his hands, which were badly 
frost bitten. 
David came out of the scrape in better shape, as he was 
more warmly clad. His face- was severely frozen, how- 
ever, Thej- were very appreciative and kind to me, as 
well as to Old Doc. 
"^he stranger afterward became cook of the camp where 
David stopped, and as the cook of a camp is always 
monarch of all he surveys, whenever I went up I was 
granted the freedom of the premises, including the dough- 
nut firkin and pie box ; nothing was too good for me, and 
often as I sat out in the cook room sipping a dipper of 
tea, the cook would exclaim, "You one fine feller, Jose; 
only you don't drink rum, not a little bit," and he would 
always add, 'T glad you don't — me and David." 
When at last the crew broke camp in the early spring, 
and Old Doc. on his way out, stopped at my shanty and 
whinnied for his last lump of sugar, I went out,, and there 
on the tote team were David and the cook, unbinding five 
large firkins, which they left for me. 
I afterward found one to be full of doughnuts, one of 
biscuits, one of mince pies, one of sugar cookies and one 
of sweet bread — large, so-pound buckets, full. The cook 
had sat up most of the night to cook these for me, so that 
they should be fresh. 
Giving Old Doc his sugar and patting his fine neck, I 
bade him good-by, as I supposed, for the last time. Bid- 
ding David and the cook bon voyage. I went into my 
.shanty and closed the door for fear that I might show 
them how badly I felt. 
It was during the following November that I ran across 
Old Doc under the most singular, as well as laughable, 
circumstances. 
On breaking camp in the spring, his owner had de- 
cided to put all the horses out to pasture for the sum- 
mer, instead of taking them down river, as he intended 
lagging in the same town the following winter ; he would 
thus save the railway freight, and my putting his horses 
in a good pasture and in the care of a good man, have 
them m prime condition for the next winter's work. Hav- 
ing found such a place, he left them. They all did finely, 
and at the end of the summer were fat and sleek, but as 
the feed in the pasture |rew short and the fall nights 
frosty and cold. Old Doc made up his mind that_ it was 
about time for him to be on the tote road during the 
day and at night in a good, warm liovel. Possibly he 
remembered the hay and oats that had been left in the 
hovel for use the next winter. 
Be the case as it maj', he jumped the pasture fence,, and 
after traveling many miles of road, found his old beat. 
As the old winter tote road crossed three ponds on the 
ice, and as these ponds had not yet frozen over, Old Doc 
was obliged to travel away around them in order to come 
into his road again. After much hardship, and to his 
great satisfaction, I imagine, the old fellow found himself 
in his old quarters, with plenty to eat inside the hovel, 
a beautiful spring of clear water just outside, and no one 
within miles to say him nay. 
At the close of a hard day's hunt, I found myself in the 
vicinity of the old logging camp of the previous winter, 
and thinking that I would like to see the place once 
more, I wended mj'- way in that direction. How 
familiar the place looked, and as I opened the door and 
walked in, lowering my head a little to save it a bump, I 
could almost recall each face of the merry crew. As I sat 
in the cook room, wishing for some of the cook's nice, hot 
doughnuts or a piece of his fine mince pie, I heard a noise 
out in the hovel. Grasping my rifle and cocking it, I 
rushed out of the camp. What did I see in the hovel 
door, slowly munching some hay but Old Doc ! I really 
believe that he was as .glad to see me as I was to see him ; 
he whinnied and came right up to me, as if expecting a 
lump of sugar. 
"Why, Old Doc!" I exclaimed. "Where did you come 
from?" 
After I had recovered from my surprise I decided that 
it was best to lead him back to my camp at any rate. He 
followed me back home like a dog, and the next day I led 
him out to the settlement. In a few weeks he was toting 
every day past my camp in the same way as the previous 
winter, nor did he forget his daily lump of sugar. 
The third and last time that I saw Old Doc was one 
year later, and on that occasion, as I could hear him long 
iDcfore I could see him, I surely thought him to be a 
moose. 
I was up hunting in the region of the old camps, when 
clack! clack! clack! I heard something away off in the 
distance, but surely coming nearer every moment. The 
uoise very closely resembled the approach of an old bull 
irtoose as he often strikes the trees wnth his immense 
antlers. With rifle at ready, I anxiously awaited his ap- 
proach, when, behold ! the moose was white, with Old 
Doc's head, and just behind him were four men. 
Having cut all the timber in that section in previous 
winters, the owner of Old Doc had just completed a new 
set of camps over on the south part of the town, and had 
sent this crew of four men across country after the stoves, 
which had been left the previous winter in the old camps. 
The sounds which I had heard were occasioned by the axe 
men occasionally cutting a small tree as they swamped 
a road, over which to haul the stoves on a woods jumper. 
After a luncheon with the men and watching the load- 
ing of the stoves, I bade Old Doc good-by for the last 
time. 
If alive, I hope that he is well cared for. If dead 
requiescat in pace. Joseph A. Thompson. 
To Lake Chinquasabamtoofc. — III. 
(Concluded from Jiage 103.) 
The next morning the guides appeared uneasy. By 
some means they had discovered that some one was 
below us. It may have been some party that followed 
us up from Allegash Lake, keeping out of sight and 
having a comparatively easy time, while my guides 
were doing all the hard work. As we had no idea of let- 
ting them follow us in to Crescent Pond, we struck 
camp in short order. After hiding away one of the 
canoes, we started up the trail that follows the brook. 
It was only five miles to the end of the trail, but we made 
it all of fifteen, as we had to retrace our route so often, 
in bringing up the camp stuff. The trail was blocked 
up in many places, and this made our progress slow 
and exasperating. It was a sight to see Cram mount a 
barricade of fallen trees, balancing himself with all the 
confidence of an acrobat, and carry the heavy canoe 
safely across, with never a slip. Late in the day it com- 
menced to rain. I expected we would have to camp out 
in it, but Cram had a surprise in store for me. Striking 
off through the woods, we presently came to a t-rapper's 
cabin that Cram and his mate had lived in at one time. 
It was a welcome change from the wet woods. Leaving 
me ensconsed in my comfortable quarters, they started 
off on a cruise, and returned about dusk with a splendid 
lot of lakers and brook trout fresh from the cold waters 
of Crescent Pond, which furnished a welcome addition 
to our bill of fare. After supper we gathered around the 
fireplace, with its primitive chimney of logs. When the 
logs are green this arrangement works pretty well; but 
Avhen they dry out there is danger from fire. Our fears 
were soon realized, but the fire did not make much prog- 
ress; so after throwing a few dippers of water up the 
chimney, with little success, we ceased to give it a 
thought. The contrast between the comfort within and 
the gloom without was delicious. 
All hope of making the cabin our headquarters was 
blasted by the tough navigation between Mud and 
Crescent ponds; so, abandoning the' cabin, we followed 
a path that leads to the brook, and the canoe soon glided 
out of the stream into Mud Pond, The contrast with the 
pond above is like that between an ugly old hag and a 
beautiful forest maiden. The canoe was hardly clear of 
this receptacle of mud and water before it brought up 
on the bottom of the inlet. After a spell of wading and 
dragging, we caught a glimpse of the promised land. 
The pond was all smiles as w^e paddled across to 
Cram's old camp ground, where the sight of a bark camp 
aroused my suspicions that some party had been ahead 
of us; but Cram informed me that it was his own handi- 
work. 
For some reason the guides, fought shy of the bark 
camp, preferring to pitch their tent in the usual manner. 
Cram warned me to be careful in my movements or .T 
might wander where no help could reach me. The grim 
forests are a veritable death trap to the unwary, as many 
an unfortunate's bones that bleach in the* depths of the 
woods bear witness. It w^as only a few months ago 
that a game warden nearly lost his life in attempting to 
