424 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
tKov. 30, igot. 
We. put in one night at White River Junction, and 
camped the next near Windsor, under the shadow of 
Ascutney Mountain. Next morning we dropped down 
to the village, drevr the canoe up on the bank, changed 
our moccasins and lumberman's stockings for more 
civilized footgear and visited the Vermont State Prison, 
Windsor is a beautiful old Vermont town, where many 
New Yorkers have beautiful summer homes. Across 
the river is a colony among whom are today's popular 
novehst, Winston Churchill, and St. Gaudens, the sculp- 
tor. 
At 3 P. M. we were under Cheskin Bridge, between 
Charlestown, N. H., and Springfield, Vt., and soon had 
our baggage by the track waiting for the electrics. 
The canoe upon examination showed several cracked 
planks and much lost paint, but the canvas was un- 
broken, and so far as service goes as good as new. The 
trip, especially the latter part, was eminently satisfactorj'-. 
The weather was fine all the way down the river, We 
found ducks quite plentiful, and other game, which 
afforded much sport for the rifles. AVe tried trolling for 
pickerel, but you cannot troll down .stream. 
We were as brown as Indians, could sleep all night on 
the sand, and each had an appetite like a hired man's. If 
one knows how to camp it is much pleasanter to go as we 
did than to stop at hotels. These are often inr from the 
river bank, your canoe must be hidden, a risky operation, 
or carried somewhere for safe keeping, and you lose the 
close contact with nature in all her varying moods, which 
is half the charm. 
The farmers along the river may be depended on for 
eggs, milk and bread, or, in fact, almost anything, and so 
many towns are passed it is not necessary to carry a heavy 
stock of provisions. I had tried to give a brief account 
of the run down the river without wearying with detail. 
One could write columns on the scenery of the beautiful 
Connecticut Valley, the river, the life along the shores, 
the fun at every camp, the delights of the noonday lunch, 
with the pipes afterward, and all those things which so 
delight the heart of the lover of outdoor life and make a 
trip like this linger long in the memory. 
W. W. Brown. 
Springfibld, Vermont. 
A Walk Down South.— VL 
At this writing I am somewhere in the Pine Barren 
which fills that part of the map of Pennsylvania in the 
loop caused by the north sweep of the Susquehanna River 
between Lock Haven and Keating. My exact location, 
geographically, I don't know, and I am waiting for some 
one to come along and set me aright, rather than go back 
the eight or nine miles to Renovo, which probably would 
be necessary to find some one able to direct me aright. 
As I could follow my back track to Renovo, I don't con- 
sider myself lost, but this is no sign that I will not be if 
no one happens along to tell me which way to go. Ac- 
cording to my map Beech Creek lies a little east of soitth 
of Renovo. If I strike due south, compass in hand, I will 
get to tliat village, which is about twelve or fourteen miles 
from here. 
I left North Bend on Friday, Nov. i— two days ago. I 
followed up the Susquehanna River a couple of miles, most 
of the way along the side hill. I was in good spirits, in 
spite of the fact that there was medicine in my pack pre- 
scribed by a Dr. Davis of that village. He had assured 
me that I could travel on without danger — reheving a 
sort of panic which had seized me a day or so before, at 
which I laugh now, for I never was so strong nor more 
healthy than at present. 
Some men were making a new bridge at Paddy's Run, 
I hoped from the name on the map that Paddy had climbed 
^ tree, or something of that sort after he had fled awhile. 
But I was disappointed. Up in the Adirondacks we 
would have called Paddy's Run Paddy's Brook, or creek, 
and .no one unfamiliar with the vernacular would have 
mistaken it as the memory of an adventure. The men set 
me aright, though none knew who Paddy was. 
I had a ride for the pack from Paddy's Run to Renovo. 
A small boy with a horse and a wagon load of wood was 
overtaken. He gave the pack a ride and asked the usual 
question as to how much the rifle cost. When the Aallage 
came in full view from the top of a little grade in the 
road, there was a surprise. Instead of a clump of houses 
and a name, here were dwellings for thousands — four or 
five. It is one of the delights of a traveler to find the 
unexpected. I shouldered my pack after a bit and walked 
for a mile through this place. It is a railroad town; the 
passenger and freight divisions of a railroad begin and 
end there. Such a town was Sayre, Pa., and, like Sayre, 
it lies- by a stream at the foot of steep mountains. 
At a meat store I bought a little bacon and a little pork 
— half a pound of each. On the street that leads to the 
bridge I bought some oatmeal and baking powder, I was 
about to venture into the wilds and needed to prepare 
for it. 
They said at North Bend that the road from Renovo 
to Beech Creek is twenty-two miles long, and that for 
eighteen miles there was only an occasional hunter's 
shanty- at intervals. Moreover, it was no common wagon 
road. Wagons had been driven over it, but not often. 
If I "kept to the blazed trail it would be all right," other- 
wise I might come out at Glen Union or Keating, or any 
other place save Beech Creek. But. I was assured, if 1 
once, got to Peddler's Hill all would be well. Beyond 
that Iijcould not miss the way, 
I. crossed the bridge over the Susquehanna about 11 
o'clock A. M., and asked an old man on the South Renovo 
side for the road to Beech Creek. He had heard of it, but 
not lately. At the store I had better luck. 
'.'Get on one of the prop wagons and they'll point the 
way for you," I was told. So I waited till some Avagons 
engageid in^ getting out jack pine timbers to be used in the 
coal.nti-nes came along. They went only a few rods, and 
then stopped at their shanty for dinner, of which I par- 
took,, for one cannot stop at a lumber camp at meal time 
and ncft have a chance to eat. The meal was astonishing. 
There was an abundance of fresh, sweet milk and apple 
dumplings — ^none of the dried apple affairs, but fresh- 
picked apples, and there were at lea-st two dumplings for 
every person pre.sent. Added to tliis, there was a. pie. 
For the rest, the fare was similar to other lumber camps 
that I have visited — tomatoes, potatoes, fried smoked 
meat, bread, coffee or tea, etc. If it hadn't been for that 
eighteen-mile stretch of road with no dwellings along 
it ,1 should have applied for a job at once, on the strength 
of the milk and new-apple dumplings. After dinner the 
boys stood around awhile before hitching up — more of 
the remarkable ! — and then I put my basket in the reach 
of the wagon of a man who looked most talkative, and 
was ready to move. 
The wagons were blocked in front of the shanty to 
prevent their backing down into the Susquehanna, a hun- 
dred rods down hill, and for almost an hour there was 
not a place where a wagon could stand unblocked. No 
one rode up the hill. The wagons weigh about a ton — the 
reach is a white oak tree trunk 25 feet long and 6 to 8 
inches in diameter — and the horses sweat before the empty 
wagon on that hill. It was a big lift I got when my pack 
was carried up there. 
The driver hadn't killed many rattlesnakes this year — 
only five or six. He was going hunting Saturday, and 
had a man engaged to take his place. His brother-in- 
law (another driver) had seen deer tracks overlooking 
Renovo the other day — fresh tracks, too. It is hard get- 
ting them still-htmting, he said, and they were watching 
dogs pretty close. Even with dogs it is not so easy, for 
deer don't come to water like they used to; just "play" 
over the mountains till they lose the dog in the tangle. 
Bears were plenty. One man above Renovo got five in 
traps from Sept. i to Oct. 28. The driver's wife knows 
how to cook bear meat — "most women hereabouts is 
pretty good at cooking game," he said. "They has lots 
of it to do. Now, my wife's father and mother are both 
good shots, and, of course, she learned to cook, and since 
I've had her she hasn't got out of practice any." 
Near the top of the hill the driver suggested that I go 
to a camp a few rods down in the woods from there. I 
was glad to do that, for I was in no hurry. The wilder- 
ness was all about me, and I could now see a change 
from the semi-wild life which so far marked my route. 
The camp was a board shanty. It once belonged to a 
hill top saw mill, but now only hunters live in it, if any 
one. The bunk room was boarded up tight, and the door 
braced shut. The place was hay-softened and had a 
suspicious old quilt as a cover. In the light the sus- 
picions proved groundless. Having seen that the place 
was fit and found for passing the night, I took my rifle 
and went on a walk. Twenty rods away where the ground 
was wet I found in the mud the tracks of a cat; each 
track was over an inch across. On both sides of these 
tracks were those of some kittens — two or three, I judged 
by the number. It was a genuine pleasure to think that 
I had such untamable neighbors as wildcats. I wished I 
could see one, and looked, but I succeeded in killing only 
a chipmunk; for the cats are night prowlers. 
Toward night I built a fire in the middle of the camp 
road, far from the dry leaves. I sliced up a potato 
which I had carried clear frorn Eaton, N. Y., where I dug 
it while in the employ of Mr. Johnston. Fried with bacon 
this vegetable brought back pleasing memories of miles I 
had covered. I scattered the dying embers of jack pinc 
branches and prepared to go to sleep for tlie night. I 
laid my woolen blanket on the bunk, folded over, and 
on top drew the ragged cotton-stuffed quilt, then I 
propped the outside door shut and tied the inside one 
shut with a cotton string. I crawled in between the folds 
of my woolen blanket and dozed for a while. Soon I 
was asleep. 
Suddenly there was a lotul bang and jangle, while a 
bright light stared into my eyes. I had visitors. Two 
hunters, brothers, left Renovo at 7:30 o'clock, and by 
the light of a lantern found their way over the familiar 
trail to the shanty to spend the night. It was then 8 :45 
o'clock. Every night that I haye slept in a barn or open 
I have wondered at least once what effect a sudden visit 
in the night by strangers would have on me. I did not 
doubt that it would make rac tremble for a moment, per- 
haps unnerve me completelj'. In spite of their noise the 
visitors did not awaken me till they were at my feet; but 
if they had been bent on mischief they would kave found 
a lot of it to do, for I was on my feet before my eyes 
were able to see, ready for the emergency. 
But it was handshakes instead of blows that I had 
awakened to, and although one of the pair was on the 
imder side of a liquor bottle, they were good company. 
AVe ate bread and butter, and for the second time siaee I 
started, I tasted liquor because it seemed churlish to think 
of refusing the good-natured offers. At hotels I find 
no difficulty, by pleading the truth — that alcohol would 
weaken me under the pack. 
They told me that in the previous spring berry pickers 
found a dead wildcat in the shanty we were in. It had 
got in through the stove pipe hole in the roof, pre- 
sumably, and died upstairs, unable to get out. 
We rolled in for the night. The old quilt was used by 
one to wrap up in; the fellow who was drunk took a 
thin coverlid of large size, which I had not noticed. I 
doubled up under my own blanket. At S oclock A. M. 
they stirred up and built a fire in the box stove. The 
chimney only went to the next floor, but the smoke went 
out all right. I fried some bacon and at dawn we ate 
bread and butter, bacon, coffee and molasses. They had 
a half-pint can of molasses with them; everywhere here- 
abouts I find sweets, and nowhere do I enjoy them so 
much as in the woods. I think it must be because one 
uses up so much fat when at woods work, at least at 
physically hard work. 
At sunrise the two went on, with fine shot in their 
gims. I suspected their dog of deer hunting proclivities. 
They said, however, that it was just a young house dog. 
I loitered around for a couple of hours, and then started 
on. One of the prop teamsters put me on the right road. 
Strong coffee which I made for the two visitors tasted 
good and freshened me for the walk, I felt sure, 
It was bright and clear. The spider.s' webs glistened 
among the tree branches tOAvard the sun. I saw nothing 
to shoot along the road, which led up side hills and over 
the back of a long ridge — the ridge that is shown in maps 
on the south side of the Susquehanna River. Scrub oak 
and jack pine were the principal trees ; the latter were 
conspicuous as individuals, but the former as underbrush, 
covered every hill and valley that I could see for miles — 
brown, dry and rattling constantly in the wind. 
I reached Peddelr's Hill \yithout doubt. There was the 
watering trough by which I could identify it, but I did not 
see the grave of the unfortunate buried there. Twelve 
or fourteen years ago in the spring the body of a man 
with a peddler's pack by it was found at the trough dead 
and far decayed. He Iiad carried to,o big a load and 
frozen to death there during the winter. He was wrapped 
in a table cloth and buried "between a tree and a stump 
on the up-hill side." 
I followed the ridge top, then, for nearly two hours — 
say five miles. The road came down hill always, doubling 
from west to east in its effort. Near the foot two great 
ruffed grouse roared into the air and flew majestically 
away, the best chance for a double at that bird I ever 
saw. i leveled rny rifle for a shot even with that, but out 
of the corner of my eye I saw a cock on the ground twelve 
feet from me. On him I turned the sight and fired. He 
flew with both legs hanging, and only with strong effort. 
But it took the bird over the crest of the ridge eighty 
yards away, and I could not find him again. This was 
the second pheasant I have shot through with a .32 rim 
fire long bullet to get away this trip. 
Thirty rods beyond I came to the forks in the road ; 
one branch leads southeast, the other southwest. The 
one southeast seem.s well traveled, considering. The other 
is blazed and each blaze is painted white. I was told to 
follow "the blazed trees" road. 
An old camping site suggested dinner, and I ate pan- 
cakes, wondering which way I should go. The pancakes 
were of flour and broken wheat — "oatmeal." They were 
exceedingly good. I used bacon grease for shortening 
and molasses for browning. I tried sugar this side of 
Waterville, thinking to lighten my load an ormce or so, 
but at North Bend I got a four-ounce bottle of Swain, the 
druggist, and had it filled with table syrup (maple 
flavored) at the hotel. Rich molasses I am sure now is 
the best sweet for the woods. It has a flavor, and 
variety is what one craves. I now want something strong 
or rich. I never could eat onions, but within a week I 
have swallowed them fried with relish. Ruskin attributed 
the condition of European peasants to their garlic. I 
wonder if Ruskin ever worked as the peasants work, in 
the open with axe and hoe from dawn to dusk for a month 
at a stretch? Judging from my own feelings, Ruskin 
would have loved garlic and not blamed it for the appe- 
tite created by his own labor, had he done so. 
While I was eating I wondered what I should do, I 
took the rifle an^i went back to the forks — ten or twelve 
rods^ — and followed the southeast for a ways, but could 
see no blaze marks on the trees. That seemed to settle 
the matter, but inside of ten rods the other trail became 
a mere foot path with blazed trees — all the gashes being 
painted white, I kept on and inside of fifty rods I came to 
a tent, twelve feet square. I put my pack on the table 
and waited for the owners to come back. It was then 2 
o'clock. 
Hour after hour passed. At 5 o'clock I built a fire six 
rods from the camp and put two bluejays and a chip- 
munk into a pail of water on it. I parboiled them, and 
then into the new water put some oatmeal, I stirred up 
a thick baking powder, flour, salt and water batter in a 
cup, and dropped the dumplings into the pail and covered 
it over. At the end of twenty minutes I began to eat. 
But I made two mistakes. The game did not need par- 
boiling, and the oatmeal overcame the other flavors. 
Nevertheless it was pretty good, and I ate all but a little 
— say a quart. The rest I gave to a lame-footed dog that 
came up while I was eating, and seemed to indicate the 
coming of the campers. 
In the last shades of dusk I entered the tent. Every- 
where was the evidence of recent occupation. A dish pan 
was hung to a tree, bread crumbs were on the table, the 
dishes were upside down and dirty; a rag was on the 
gun cleaner; in a kettle was some potatoe peelings. The 
dog indicated an early return of all hands. 
I built a fire in the box stove (sheet iron), and, after a 
while went to sleep, expecting the coming of the hunters. 
I hoped that they would be good natured and not blame 
me when they found that it. was to learn my way that I 
stopped and made myself at home in their tent. 
Raymond S. Spears, 
The Doctor's Turkey Shoot. 
In all our experience in the woods I do not recall a time 
when we were favored with such perfect weather as we 
had that year. It was almost too warm for hunting dur- 
ing the first two weeks of our stay, and November had 
set in before a sign of frost was visible. We loafed about 
camp, or took long tramps through the woods, contenting 
ourselves with such small game as crossed our path. The 
days slipped by unheeded by us until one day Jack broke 
the spell. 
"Say, do you know," said he, "that next Thursday will 
be Thanksgiving Day? We'll have to be thinking about 
getting back, because this weather won't last forever." 
"And leave without a single deer?" I remonstrated. 
"We must take some venison home with us," the Doc- 
tor chimed in. 
"Jack is right," Jim asserted. "It doesn't seem possible 
that we have been here a month or more. You see, our 
wives " 
"I understand," I interrupted, "but I intend to stay here 
till I kill a deer if it takes all winter," 
"And I'll stay with you," the Doctor cried, enthusiastic- 
ally. 
"We'll compromise," said Jack. "We'll stay until Mon- 
day, and if we are any good we can get a deer in that 
time." After some hesitation the Doctor and I agreed to 
this proposition, and the four of us then laid our plans for 
a big hunt to begin on the morrow. 
During the night the wind shifted around to the north, 
and by morning it was cold enough to make a man step 
lively while dressing. Jack shot a deer that day — a 
good-sized doe — and felt very proud, and wanted to break 
camp immediatel}^ and .start for home. The next day T 
killed a big buck. Jack emphatically declared, with a mild 
oath, that he would be blanked if he returned without 
shooting a buck also. Thus it came about that Monday 
morning found us still in camp with no thought of imme- 
diate departure. 
Tuesday morning the cook thrust his head in between 
the tent flaps and aroused us with the announcement that 
it was "Snowin' like the very devil, an' was a-goin' t' 
snow wusser, b'gosh." We sprang out of bed, dressed 
hastily and stepped outside. The cook had not exag- 
gerated. The ground was white with snow, and the air 
was filled with the flying flakes. 
