4 84 
FOREST AND STREAM.' 
was a slate-gray bird with black wing side lines. It 
was the size of a catbird, but did not look or act like one, 
being less buoyant and cheerful, with an eye to the serious 
side of life instead of the catbird's rather disdainful 
swagger and careless swing. 
At a farmhouse I tried to get some bread and milk, but 
they used a separator there. Then I went on till I saw a 
large slab and tree wood pile. I applied for dinner, offer- 
ing my services at an axe or buck saw in payment. It 
was the house of a lone widow, who usually cut her own 
wood. 
"No," she said, but then, with a sigh, she recalled me 
and said, "Come in." I refused, going to the wood pile 
first, with a large one-man cross-cut saw. I cut up five 
rails and small oak tree trunks, and then split them 
with the widow's axe. The handle was a foot too short. 
No matter, we ate dinner together. Afterward I added a 
few days' more supply of wood to that already cut, and 
then I traveled on. As I came away the widow asked : 
"You don't chew tobacco, do you?" 
"No, ma'm," I replied. 
"I just wanted to know," she said, in explanation, put- 
ting the dinner dishes I had used into the dish pan with 
those she ate from. 
Beyond Osterburg the road climbed a ridge and traveled 
along the back for miles. It was a pine-grown ridge, the 
farms lying far below in deep valleys. To the east and 
west other ridges and hills reared their wood-topped 
backs and heads, but these I could see only at intervals, 
for the snow squalls came frequently and displayed wintry 
characteristics, the wind rattling long pine cones butt-first 
to the ground. 
At one place in the "dark forest" I was resting on a 
log when an old, whiskered man came up on horseback. 
He glanced at me and then lashed the beast with his 
whip. I think he was dreaming of David Lewis and other 
famous old-time Pennsylvania outlaws. I gazed about 
me with novel interest, trying to feel like a highwayman. 
It was nearing night when I reached Cessna, coming 
into the hamlet over a covered bridge. When I thought 
_ was out of the place I stopped at a farmhouse to get a 
night's lodging. A kindly old lady told me_ I would be 
welcome were there not three sick children in the house, 
but the next neighbor had had threshers, and they were 
gone now. I could go there. There, the family was too 
large already; I could see eight children, and more were 
audible. The next neighbor was an old man and his 
wife only. Perhaps — so I tried. 
A little old, smooth-faced man with a calm face — the 
kind one sees in a gathering of army veterans — met me at 
the door. Could I stay there? I was willing to help or 
do anything there was to be done. 
He opened his mouth to say something and then 
closed it. 
"Nussir," came a thrusting voice from the rear end of 
a detached kitchen, "'3'^ou can't get anything to eat here — 
no breakfast, no supper, no nothing. You're big, yessir, 
you're big enough to work without trapsin' and chasing 
all over " 
"But I was just asking for work," I put in. 
"Don't want you here; won't have you. Nothing for 
you to do " 
I came away. A couple of days later I went back past 
the same house and the man was on the porch. He saw 
me and recognized me, looked back of him, then nodded 
to me, then looked behind once more hastily. 
As I said, I came away. I went on past all the 
houses in the row in which the old man lives, and got 
into a country of broad fields once more. At the top of 
the hill was a church with a parsonage a few rods nearer 
to me. I hadn't stopped at a parsonage heretofore, and 
the opportunity was excellent. The parson was chopping 
some wood gently in the yard, although it was almost 
dark. 
"Will you let me sleep in your barn?" I asked, as a 
starter. 
"Well — er — it's pretty cold there," he said. 
"I'd like to earn my supper and breakfast here," I said. 
"You needn't Avorry about my being cold. I've a blanket 
and plenty of clothes in my pack." 
"Well — er — it's a cold barn, but there are lots of big 
warm barns further down the road— lots and lots of them. 
I s'pose we could give yo usomething to eat." 
I thanked him with genuine heartiness for his informa- 
tion, adding that I'd heard of the next door neighbor be- 
fore. At the next house the father was away and the 
mother sick, and orders was not to let anybody sleep in 
the barn. The youth, however, said that I'd better skip 
the next house, that it wasn't any use to^ go there, but 
if I'd go to the house up the lane from the Grange Hall I 
could doubtless get a place to sleep, "for Zimmers is big- 
hearted." At the house up the lane I was questioned 
sharply, but I passed the examination and got a good 
supper, bed and breakfast. 
At II o'clock A. M. on the following daj'' I reached 
Bedford. I nearly passed through the town without stop- 
ping, but I stopped far longer than I expected. 
Raymond S. Spears. 
White Buffalo. 
Christmas Trees* 
OssiNiNG, N. Y. — Editor Forest and Stream: This is 
the season that the small evergreen trees, which were in- 
tended by nature for the use of future generations, are 
transplanted to the thousands of homes, to be gorgeously 
trimmed and illuminated to gladden the hearts of the 
little ones— a befitting end for this of God's handiwork if 
the forests could stand the drain. 
On Friday of this week one train with sixteen flat cars 
loaded to their utmost with thousands of trees, and the 
next day another train with fourteen cars similarly 
loaded, went rushing by toward the city. These were 
only two freight trains I chanced to see. When we think 
of the dozen roads leading to the metropolis like threads 
to the center of a spider's web, and the dozens of trains 
running day and night over each road, we can, perchance, 
conceive of the extent of this traffic. As the game dis- 
appeared from our broad lands, so will this senseless cus- 
tom deprive us sooner or later of building material which 
even now is double the price it was ten years ago, and like 
the game, we will neglect it till it is too late. 
C. G. Blandford. 
All comtnunicstions intended for Foxzst ahd Stkkau should 
always be addressed to the Forest and Stream Publishing Co., and 
not to any individual connected witli the paper. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In conversation recently with George Bent, an edu- 
cated half-breed, about sixty years old, who resides on 
the southern Cheyenne Indian reservation, I learned 
something interesting about white buffalo and white 
, buffalo robes. 
George Bent is a son of Col. William Bent, one of the 
historic characters of the early West, whose name sug- 
gests a host of recollections to any one familiar with the 
old West or old Western history. His mother was a 
Cheyenne woman, and he was born near Bent's old fort, 
which was built on the Arkansas River in the year 1831. 
For many years George Bent traded with the Chey- 
ennes and Arapahoes, and during these years he met as 
well many other tribes of Indians who dwelt on the 
Western prairie. He tells me that in his time he has had 
five white robes. The first was a robe in which the tips 
of the hair were white and the base black, giving the 
effect of a silver gray. This was a five-year-old cow, 
dressed and finely painted by Crazy Mule, who killed it. 
His wife dressed it, after having been prayed over and 
painted by him. Crazy Mule was a medicine man, who 
was able to remove the tabu which existed among the 
Cheyenne women against dressing a white robe. 
The second robe was that of a three-year-old bull, ob- 
tained from Big Wolf. It was white. 
He procured the third from Heap o' Birds, whose 
proper name, I believe, was Many Magpies. This was 
a three-year-old cow, described as claybank in color — w 
dark cream. 
The fourth robe was that of a two-year-old heifer, dap- 
pled gray in color, and obtained from Wolf Man. 
The fifth robe was a two-year-old bull, described as a 
yellowish fawn color, and obtained from Starving Elk. 
The Cheyennes regard a white buffalo as something 
sacred, and it is said that in ancient times if a Cheyenne 
killed a white buft'alo, he left it where it fell, taking noth- 
ing from it. and not even putting a knife into it. 
They believe that the white buffalo belongs far to the 
north; that it comes from where — according to tradition 
—the buffalo originally came out of the ground; and they 
regard it as the chief of the buffalo. 
A great many years ago a war party went up noj"th 
against the Crows. One day they came to a hill, and 
when they looked over it they saw before them buffalo 
in great numbers lying down. Among the buffalo was a 
cow, perfectly white. When the buffalo got up and 
went to water, the white cow went too, and it was noticed 
that none of the other buffalo went very close to her. They 
were not afraid of her, but they gave her plenty of room, 
as if they respected her. This made the Cheyennes think 
more than ever that a white buffalo was a chief among the 
buffalo. 
In recent times the hide of a white buffalo was com- 
monly not made use of, but was sacrificed to the Sun or 
to the Great Spirit (He amma wihio). This has occurred 
within forty years: and a storj^ of the sacrifice was-told 
me by Bent, as he once witnessed it. He said, "In 
1867 I happened to come into Eagle Chief's camp just 
after a white buffalo had been killed. The man who had 
killed it came in with the hide tied on his horse and 
rode into the center of the camp circle and stopped there 
and dismounted. He did not take the hide off his 
horse, but stood there in the center of the circle holding 
his horse. The Indians began to look through the camp 
for some one who could take the hide from the horse 
with the prescribed ceremony. This could be done only 
by a man who had counted a coup by pulling an enemy 
off his horse in battle. Presently Left Hand, an Ara- 
paho, came up carrying a stick in his right hand. He 
stopped by the horse, pointed with the stick toward the 
direction of the place where he had counted the coup, 
then told how he had seen a Ute coming, had stepped be- 
hind a tree and waited until the Ute rode by him, and 
then had sprung upon him, pulled him from his horse 
and killed him with a knife. Then he struck the white, 
buffalo hide with his stick and took it off the horse and 
placed it on the ground. The man had, of course, 
brought in no meat, for the carcass of a white buffalo 
may not be eaten, either by man or woman; it must be 
left on the ground. If the meat were to be eaten the 
buffalo might never return to that place again. 
"The hide taken from the horse was left on the ground. 
"The next day a pole was set in the ground and the 
white hide was wrapped about it. Before this was done 
a very large sweat-house was built, and many of the old 
men went in to take a sweat and pray. Before they 
went in, women came in crowds, bringing their children 
and various offerings — calico, beads, moccasins and other 
things, which were tied to the pole and given to the Sun. 
Before the hide was folded up to be tied to the pole it 
was painted on the hair side with indigo blue paint. The 
folded hide was tied to the pole by an old man who was 
quite naked, and was painted. While he was tying the 
hide to the pole he was constantly praying, and over each 
child brought to him with an offering he prayed, passing 
his hands over its head, arms and sides, and asking for 
good luck for it, for long life, health and abundance of 
everything. Other old men stood about the man who 
was tying the hide, praying fervently." 
Unless they have been specially painted by a medi- 
cine man, and prayed over and so absolved from the 
consequences of a violation of the tabu, the Cheyenne 
women will not dress a white buffalo hide. The painting 
is done with red paint above both wrists, both ankles 
and on the face — a ring over the forehead, down the 
cheeks and across tbe chin below the mouth. Some of the 
hides obtained by Bent were dressed by women who 
were captives — for example, a Kiowa and a Pawnee 
woman — who were not bound by Cheyenne customs and 
Cheyenne fears. Geo. Bird Grinnell. 
Canvasback in Rhode Island* 
Westerly, R. I., Dec. 16. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
A male canvasback duck was killed here a few days ago, 
and as such birds are rare visitors here, take pleasure in ■ 
reporting the same to you. 
Edwin R. Lewis, Com. of Birds. 
tDEC. ai, 1961. 
Animals and Men* 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
T have read with interest Mr. George H. Christy's 
contribution with the caption, "Animals and Men." 
Mr, Christy has built up a very elaborate theory con- 
cerning the relations of man to the inferior orders of 
animal life, upon what appears to the writer a very slender 
foundation. 
It is not apparent from Mr. Christy's expressions that 
he accepts the Darwinian theory of evolution of man 
from a lower order, though it is not easy to imderstand! 
how a writer of his evident ability and erudition should' 
have failed to do so. The inference seems to be justified,, 
however, that he rejects Darwinism, which makes it some- 
what difficult for the writer to find common ground with 
Mr. Christy for a discussion of the questions treated by 
him. 
Mr. Christy starts out with the postulate that hostility 
was the original normal attitude of "primitive man" to- 
ward the rest of the animal kingdom, from which status 
he evolves: "First, domestication; second, friendly rela- 
tions; third, talkability; and that totemism comes in 
somewhere later in the evolutionary process." 
The assumption of hostility as the normal relation be- 
tween man and the lower animals is doubtless true. In 
fact, hostility is the. normal relation between all races, 
classes, and even individuals of the same species, of all 
animals, including man, wherever interests clash, the one 
with another. The most magnanimous dog will refuse 
his bone to a weaker dog, if he wants it himself. Altru- 
ism is antipodal to the universal natural law of the sur- 
vival of the fittest." 
This general animal attribute has been subdued in man 
only to a very limited degree, as a result of ethical ne- 
cessity, from which has grown what is called the higher- 
moral culture. The thinness of this social veneering 
upon the man-animal becomes evident in contemplating 
the still surviving thirst for military glory, a passion that 
feeds solely upon the blood of fellow men. 
The avidity with which stronger nations have always 
shed the blood of the weaker and helpless, encouraged by 
the plaudits of even the teachers par excellence of the 
"higher morality" — the multiplicity and enormous cost 
of the enginery of war — even the very presence of the 
elaborate machinery to compel justice between man and 
man — all attest the still vital principle of mutual hostility 
pervading all animal existencies. 
The "friendly relation" which Mr. Christy educes 
from his former stage of "domestication," as between 
man and beast, is only the friendship that subsists between 
master and slave, between conqueror and victim. 
In the earliest history of man, as such, he slowly 
emerged above the general plane of mere animalism by 
the power of superior intellectual development. The 
immediate agency. by which he attained superiority was 
probably the power of speech, slowly acquired, which 
enabled. him to co-operate with his fellows, and accumu- 
late experience from generation to generation. This, with 
the aid of missiles and weapons, backed by a higher de- 
gree of intelligence, gave him the mastery over all other 
animals. He proceeded to subjugate those that suited 
his domestic purposes, and to destroy such of the others, 
as woidd serve his various needs or threatened his, 
security. This is my own theory. 
Mr. Christy assumes that at some remote period in the 
past, there was a generally prevalent belief among men 
that beasts could talk in human language, the "talk- 
ability" of each being characteristic of the particular 
beast. I cannot see any warrant for such an assumption, 
which appears to be based upon such fables and folk-lore 
tales as have come down to modern times, including cer- 
tain passages in the Bible. 
To my own apprehension nothing seems clearer than 
that these fables and tales are merely the reflections of 
the htiman mind. The fables of jEsop, La Fontaine, and 
others, appear to be the idle whimsicalities of ingenious 
writers, the language put into the mouths of beasts and 
birds being evidently intended to point some moral hav- 
ing reference to human interests. 
The African folk-lore, as exemplified in "Uncle Re- 
mus," invests every talking beast with the manifest negro 
characteristics^ — low cunning, shallow logic, and negro 
wit. 
The citations from the Bible of the serpent talking to 
Eve, Balaam's ass, and the role assigned to the ravens 
that fed Elijah, are evidently specialized by miraculous 
intervention, and have no legitimate place in Mr. 
Christy's scheme. . 
Mr. C. seems able to establish all his propositions to 
his own satisfaction except the origin of "totemism" and 
the sacredriess ascribed to certain animals by barbarous 
or semi-barbarous peoples. 
This would appear to present but little difficulty, and 
may be accounted for by the belief in. metempsychosis 
that was generally held among primitive tribes, and is 
stilt held by many barbarous races. . According to this 
belief the souls of ancestors. have transmigrated into cer- 
tain beasts, birds, or even trees, from which has arisen 
the "totem" relation of certain tribes to particular ani- 
mals, with tlte ascription of sacredness to the "totem" 
animal of the tribe or family. This is the view held by 
some authorities and seems a plausible one. 
The theory of an early belief in the supernatural wis- 
dom of animals and birds is sustained by Mr. Christy 
only by the miraculous examples cited from the Bible. 
But the idea is a very common one in fairy tales, where 
witches and fairies are represented as transforming them- 
selves into beasts and birds. This idea of supernatural 
knowledge was probably always associated with such 
transformations. 
I recall a story read somewhere, years ago, of an old 
negro who supposed himself bewitched or "conjured" by 
another negro. The "conjuror" had a white splotch on 
the side of his head. The conjured negro pursued about 
the fields with an old musket a crow that had a white 
mark on one of its wings. He identified the crow with 
the conjuror, in which notion he was confirmed by his 
inability to circumvent the crow by any means that he 
could bring to bear. 
The serpent bore a high place for a mysterious kind 
of vdsdom in the esteem of the ancients ; though it seems 
to have been rather an. abstract idea, as, leaving out the 
garden of Eden episode, I do not recalLany occasion 
