Dec. 7, 1061,] 
.FOftEST • AND c STREAM* 
446 
The novelty kept up my enthusiasm, but about the 
middle of the day T became very tired, and once slipped 
over quite a precipice, and would have fallen headlong if 
one of the young men, who was just below me, had not 
caught me in his arms. I fell right into them, and though 
I am pretty heavy, his strength did not yield to my 
weight. It seemed as if I had fallen against a well-braced 
pair of posts, and then the way he lifted me to a safe 
place, as though I weighed nothing, made me regard him 
with unusual respect, and there was something about the 
care with which he handled me that made me feel much 
more secure with the?e wild men. 
After struggling on for a short distance, we fell in with 
a number of wild hogs. I was too tired to shoot, but 
telling the chief how to use the sights I handed him my 
rifle, knowing tliat in the excitement of the moment he 
would think only of the wild hogs. He took careful aim, 
and to my surprise his first shot with a rifle was a success, 
and we had a large wild hog that would give plenty of 
meat. We now pushed on higher up among the moun- 
tains, and finally made camp in a grove of giant ma- 
hogany trees. 
The men built a rancho of broad vijou leaves, and then 
asked about the whisky I had promised them. I told them 
we would have it as soon as I put on some dry clothes. 
Then they went to work preparing the pig. and pres- 
ently I called them to me, holding up a bottle covered 
with a neat straw case, so that they could all see it. 
They came at once crowding around me, and I stood 
there holding the bottle, still covered with its straw case. 
It was a scene that I will never forget, and even now I 
can fancy, alniost, that their wild excited faces are press- 
ing close about me. It was a repulsive sight, with the 
cords of their necks rigid, their bloody hands clutching 
their great knives, their eyes protruding, indicating the 
intense strain of beastly anticipation. The Indians stood 
with their whole beings rooted hungrily on that covered 
bottle. 
I held it up for an Instant, and then with a flourish 
drew off the straw case— and found that the bottle was 
empty. 
The dark rage of disappointment that came over those 
faces sent my frightened wits to the winds. For an in- 
stant my life was not worth a cry to save it, nor could I 
realize what was happening. In his rage, the chief stand- 
ing next me, raised his knife, but, as he was bringing it 
down on me, the instinct of self-preservation caused me 
to start back, and to accuse the man at my side of stealing 
the whisky; then the knife that was intended for me was 
turned and thrust at him, and but for my interposing my 
hand he would have been killed. He had carried the pack 
containing the whisky, and now the maddened Indians 
turned on him, giving no heed to his protests ; he had 
carried the whisky, and it was gone. His face changed 
with fright to a brownish gray, and then my wits coming 
back, I threw myself between him and the threatening 
knives. Now I saw what had happened; the top of the 
bottle was broken, and I led the men over to my pack; 
they followed, probably expecting a fresh bottle. Then I 
showed them my clothes soaked with brandy, and their 
rage turned to despair ; they almost wept, and the five sat 
on a log together, a pitiful sight in their disappointment. 
Taking advantage. of the lull in the storm, I promised 
them that, on reaching the settlements, they should have 
as fine a drunk as the law would allow. They were 
quieted at this promise, and with a sort of mournful 
acquiescence went dejectedly to work again preparing 
the pig and getting dinner. We had roast pig and a 
kind of biscuit that they made out of flour, salt and 
water; the dough rolled up in thin strips, protected by 
leaves, and roasted over the fire. 
The dinner was good, and we ate nearly* the whole of 
. that pig and all the biscuit. I was soon ready for bed, 
and on turning in took the precaution of getting under 
my mosquito net and keeping my pistol in my hand. 
The men were holding a consultation together in sub- 
dued voices, but I did not notice this, and presently they 
all went to bed. I fell asleep holding my pistol in my 
hand, and I can remember indistinctly that a torch was 
held near the net so as to light up the inside for a time, 
and half-awakened I seemed to see ugly faces peering 
through at me. Perhaps they saw the pistol, and so kept 
off, but it might have been that I was only dreaming. 
potatoes and bacon. Both of us relished it, especially with 
some bread just beginning to mould, which I found in a 
box, under another. The lawlessness of the dog made 
me reckless. I would wait till the owners came. I 
chopped up some jack pine branches and then took a 
crosscut saw and sawed a dozen lengths from a p-inch 
fire-felled oak tree. I split each length in four and piled 
it at the tent entrance. 
After noon I went to the forks of the trail again to 
study out the problem there presented. A little guide 
board nailed to the tree at the junction did not help me, 
On one side was drawn with pencil : 
A Walk Down South.— VH. 
On Sunday morning, Nov. 3, I awakened. The tent 
was damp, cold and still. The fire of dry oak long since 
had died away. Moisture from my breath glistened on 
the cotton fibers of the thick quilts and every respiration 
caused a cloud of steam. It was some time before I could 
recall where I Avas, and then probably the same feeling 
which early explorers had in the caves of the cliff dwellers 
came to me. Everywhere was the evidence of occupa- 
tion and recent presence by men, and yet nowhere was 
there a man whom I could see. All that dav it was the 
same — every moment expecting some one, and yet no one 
came. 
I fried some potatoes from a sack at the head of the 
bed, and we — the dog and I — ate generously of them. 
The dog was black, with a \vhite tip to his tail and 
light-colored feet — a short-eared, smooth-coated mongrel. 
I thought I would try him. A note left pinned to my 
pack told any visitor not to be in a hurt-j'. Where I shot 
the partridge the dog displayed some interest, but over 
the hill where the bird must have fallen, it showed no 
sign. The dog looked up into trees, ran on logs, nosed 
under brush heaps. One moment it seemed to be a squir- 
rel dog, the next a fox or rabbit. For a couple of hours 
we rariibled around, and at last reached the top of a ridge 
grown to jack pine and thick with scrub oak. Suddenly 
the dog was missing. I listened. Around near the foot 
of the ridge I heard a yelp, followed by a long-drawn 
bay. Away went the dog barking on a trail in a fashion 
that brought to mind hunts in Adirondack forests. It 
was a deer hound yelping after its natural prey. In an 
hour or less the dog came back, out of breath, and soon 
began prancing around the root of trees, with now and 
then a sniff at distant hillsides, and then the playful look- 
ing beast would part its lips over clenched teeth. I sus- 
pected that the camp owners would not return while I was 
there. 
I went back to camp and made a soup of turnips, onions, 
On the other: 
packer & welsh/ 
"state road ' 
The hand pointed along the painted blaze trail. Even 
with this evidence it was with difficulty that I determined 
to follow the mere footpath in that direction, instead of 
the wagon road, should I go before any one came. 
Living there in the wilderness "alone" with the myriad 
scrub oaks, the rtiany jack pines and the sense of isola- , 
tion given by unknown routes was a kind of luxury. Re- 
peatedly I looked at my compass and map, and almost 
wished I would have to travel a compass course, but to 
have done so needlessly would have been rather too reck- 
less. 
I watched the day wane and felt the first chill breeze 
of the dusk. It came while the sun was still in view. 
The jack pines felt it, too, and seemed actually to shiver 
under its influence. There was something pathetic in 
the spectacle of these trees just far enough apart to be 
individuals, obliged to stand alone, and travel down the 
weather, through all seasons, entirely unsupported. It 
is no wonder that these pioneers are rough barked. 
I stirred up the fire and drew down the tent flaps and 
put on a mess of oatmeal. By using a basin half full of 
water to set my oatmeal pail in, I was able to cook it 
without burning. I lighted the coal oil lamp and enjoyed 
the luxury of a bright light. On my oatmeal I ate some 
of the thick, amber molasses, which was in a jug under 
the box cupboard, and the dog ate his with a bit of pork 
for seasoning. The stuff was filling and satisfying;, but 
before we went to sleep both of us were hungry again, so 
we ate some bread, butter and jam. 
]\teantime a large basin of water on the stove grew 
warm and then hot. In spite of the strong frost outside 
the tent became cosier every moment. Soon after 8 
o'clock I bathed from head to foot, washed out my clothes 
and then turned in to sleep for the night. I watched the 
flickering of the lights from the stove for a long while, re- 
gretting the steady advance of drowsiness which I could 
feel. At last, there was no one in camp to see the time 
fly- 
Long after daybreak I awakened. It was a dull, leaden 
morning. It \vas raw and rain-like. The sturdy purpose 
of the jack pines — to travel far in time — seemed more 
apparent than ever. I looked at them sharply to see if 
they expressed a thought about the weary migrants. They 
were far from me on that morning. I was lonesome, and 
not itntil I ate a great mess of well-cooked — parboiled — 
beans, was I able to shake off the feeling. It disappeared 
only when I attacked a log with saw and axe. Before. 10 
o'clock I decided to start on the following day — Tuesday — 
and take my chances on the trail of painted blaze marks. 
At noon I took the axe and began to split some kindling 
— jack pine. At the fifth blow, or thereabouts, the dog 
sniffed. Two men were coming, and I met them. One 
was Albert Tripp, of Shintown, Pa. To him the tent 
belonged. The other said he was F. F. Bender, of Renovo. 
To them I explained my presence, which I judged was not 
entirely welcome. I was told that I could get clear to 
Beech Creek before dark, down the wagon trail. The 
painted blaze marks was the State land line merely, and 
lost itself in a windfall a few miles away. 
I ate what was left of my beans — a half-dozen spoons- 
ful — and prepared to start. They assured me that a few 
miles down the trail I would find other hunters with a 
large camp. They expected a wagon with six or seven 
companions, who would fill the tent to overflowing, and 
they would have to put up another tent. There was no 
place there for me at best. At 2 o'clock I started, with 
rain just beginning to fall. 
I knew when I started that the difficulties of my route 
had not been exaggerated by the two. I made haste along 
the road lest night overtake me upon it. Usually I walk 
twenty minutes and sit down for five. Now I had traveled 
for an hour steadily, while the rain poured down. The 
rubber blanket drawn over my pack and shoulders pro- 
tected me to the hips, but the scrub oak, which covered 
all save where the wagon tires had beaten the ground, 
saturated my legs from their clinging brown leaves. 
The road led mile after mile along a ridge top, gradu- 
ally ascending. It was grown over with the inevitable 
oak bushes and the jack pine, the latter sometimes in 
quite thick clumps. For the most part I could see to the 
right and left for miles, between showers. I watched for 
the camp of the hunters, but did not see it. Nor was 
there a brook or spring at which I could camp, though I 
might have found one down in the draws or runs off the 
ridge. 
In an hour I came to a sign which said, "Two miles to 
Beech Creek, Alfred Rupert." It was at a wood's cross- 
road, and there was nothing to indicate which way the 
creek was. I kept straight ahead, according to direc- 
tions, the reliability of which I suspected. A fresh wagon 
track was to be seen at_ the sign — a light hunter's wagon, 
doubtless — and this indicated that the hunters had driven 
far into the woods for a day's sport. I must hurry on to 
reach the shelter, I presumed. 
At 4:30 o'clock there was no change in the woods or 
grade. Soon the hidden sun went down, and for fifteen 
minutes the whole west was aglow with rich yellows and 
gold, the setting of a gray-blue cloud, very somber to 
look upon. No direct ray of the sun came through to 
the wilderness. During this interval a distant mountain 
range showed up running at right angles to the ridge upon 
which I was tramping. I knew that in the valley between 
was my goal. 
It grew dark slowly, but far to fast for me to make the 
valley before dark. 
At last I raised the crest of the ridge, and my road 
began to descend; shal« rock, white, gray sand, yellow 
sand, rock and red sand — down these strata I made my 
way until at last I could see the road only as a line befor* 
me. Fortunately it was a smooth road, and the novelty 
of the situation was one to stir the pride rather than to 
dismay. The rain had ceased, and it Avas not very cold. 
There was a brook across the road at the foot of the 
first long descent, and I was tempted to camp there, in 
spite of the wet, but thought better of it. Some ways 
beyond there was a clearing, and here I saw what seemed 
to be a pile of lumber a dozen rods down hill to the right. 
It proved to be a shanty nailed up tight, so back to the 
road I went and followed the road a few rods. It van- 
ished in the grass, for no driver had followed another in 
or out. I could not see where the road entered the woods 
again. I returned to the shanty, wrenched off the board 
that nailed the door shut and entered. 
By the light of a match I saw a number of wheelbar- 
rows, a lot of hay, and beside the door a large tin can, 
likely to contain benzine, oil or some other explosive or in- 
flammable substance. I extinguished the match instanter 
and wished I had a lantern. 
In the dark I stripped off all my wet clothes, put on 
thick woolens, shoved a wheelbarrow one way, hauled 
hay another and then curled down to sleep, having eaten a 
raw potato for supper. In spite of a bed full of edges 
and corners, and in spite of hunger, sleep soon came, 
which lasted dreamless and refreshing until morning at 
sunrise — a bright clear one it was. 
A good fire drove the morning chill away, but for fear 
of a cold I foolishly drank some whisky. Some beef tea 
I made a few minutes later would have done best. I 
followed the tea with many oatmeal and flour pancakes, 
stirred up with water from a spring a couple of rods from 
the shanty. 
The shanty \ifras equipped with blacksmith's tools, and 
near by was a brush horse shed. Its object I 'was unable 
to tell. About 9:45 o'clock I nailed it up and started 
on again. Within a couple of miles the road crossed a 
brook three times ; it was rough, stony and full of roots. 
It was fortunate I did not find it the night before. My 
compass indicated that the course was nearly southeast, 
which was about right. At 11 o'clock a man driving a 
team said that I was really on the Beech Creek road. 
Half an hour later I came to a crossroad on top of a ridge. 
One led on along it, one to the left and the other down a 
draw to the right. The one to the right seemed likely 
to get somewhere soonest, and so that was my course. It 
was a steep down hill — the kind that explains the brakes 
on every wagon one sees in central Pennsylvania. It led 
almost due south for a ways, then turned to the west 
along the face of a valley nearly 200 feet up. Then I saw 
plainly the Muncy Mountains, which continue the Bald 
Eagle Ridge on the northeast end. 
I went down to the farm land, and at the first house 
inquired my way. Woodchuck skins and tails were nailed 
to the woodshed, and hanging to a fence was a 'possum 
hide. I not only learned the way, but received a great 
meal of potatoe, pork, coffee, bread, apple, milk and 
butter. 
While we ate the farmer and his son told about their 
hunting. Only four gray squirrels were killed by them 
this fall. They got the 'possum in the chicken coop, and 
not infrequently killed coons among the corn shocks at 
night. The boy, a large lad of fifteen, with another 
youth, caught two coons one night a while ago. The .44 
repeater was reinforced by a rifle and double-barrel shot- 
gun, both "pops" or muzzleloaders. Here, as everywhere 
in the barren region, I heard that bears were plenty. 
After a while I went down to the village of Beech 
Creek, nearly two miles away, where I received and sent 
mail. In a couple of hours I was ready to start on again. 
It was Election Day, and as I tramped for a couple of 
miles through Beech Creek and the adjoining village of 
Eagleville, there were many observers who turned to look 
twice at me. I added a pound and a half of bacon to my 
provisions at Eagleville. 
An old man met me above Eagleville a little way. 
"Good evenin', stranger," he said. "Where mout you 
be goin' ?" 
"Evening" at 3 o'clock in the afternoon — it was certain- 
ly a sign of the South. So, too, he wanted to know what 
kind of a "shooting iron" I carried, and dodged when I 
cocked and unbreached the rifle to show him. "Some 
mighty clevah people down the road," he assured me as 
we parted. It was with new interest that I looked up the 
valley of Bald Eagle Creek to> the south of west. 
After a while I stopped at a house and asked for the 
privilege of earning or buying some bread and milk. If 
1 would wait till the men folks came I could have dinner. 
I waited, and from the farmer learned the reason for the 
many cattle signs and tracks I had seen clear across the 
pine barren from Renovo to Beech Creek Valley. 
That is a cattle range. The farmers around the borders 
of the wilderness turn their steers and young cattle, or 
cattle for beef, loose there to live for the summer. In the 
old days a cowman used to tend a herd for the season for 
a dollar a head. He lived with from 200 to 300 cattle 
during the summer^ aided by a dog, a gun and a salt lick 
to live and keep the herd together. But the farmers dis- 
covered that a salt lick alone was as good as the man. 
They turned their cattle loose with metal tags in their ears 
to identify them. The cattle returned every day or so to 
the lick, and there every week one or other of the farmers 
saw them, while renewing the supply of salt. 
The cattle do not get very wild as a rule, but occasion- 
ally a bunch ranges far from its home lick and is found 
ten or twenty, even more, miles away. The meat takes 
on a flavor imparted by the browse that satisfies the 
farmer's taste better than any other meat; but a butcher 
whom I talked with a few days later told a different story. 
He said the cattle came off the range lean and useless for 
the shop, to his way of thinking. 
A couple of years ago some men over at Snowshoe took 
tro hunting their neighbor's cattle for market. They shot 
and sold several head, and then some farmer-woodsmen 
found their trail and ran them into the penitentiary. 
After supper I went to the barn to sleep in the hay, and 
after ;a breakfast I loaded corn shocks till noon, and was 
nearly buried in the mow in an attempt to pass the 
shocks as fast as they were thrown at me. Chicken, bis- 
cuit, mashed potatoes, coffee, pumpkin pie. apple butter, 
jelly, etc., rewarded my labor, and soon after noon I 
started on. It was hard to leave-r-hard to faoc the un- 
known when the known was so pleasant. 
Raymond S. Spears, . 
* 
