4 4 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
A Tennessee Outing.— -IV, 
My appetite had steadily improved with outdoor life, 
and was now only subservient to actual capacity. 
My companion of the afternoon wondered, and yet the 
wonder grew, as I ate one after another bountiful help, 
and finally proceeded to give me full and explicit direc- 
tions for finding him if his services were required during 
the night. But his fears regarding my comfort were 
groundless, for many a night have I suffered more dis- 
comfort from a tea of crackers and milk — "whs#i chained 
to business" — than I did that night literally stuffed with 
hog and hominy, after a day afield. 
Apropos of the subject, but — per contra — I recall an 
experience of my friend the Doctor, related that evening 
as we sat around the fire. It was beechwood that night, 
and the fire purred and sang until it reminded me of a 
pack of hounds in the distance, and that reminded the 
Doctor of a fox hunt he had taken part in when a boy, 
that had to do with nearly everything but a fox, and yet 
was interesting and amusing to others. This is the story, 
as I remember it, and it loses much for want of the earn- 
estness of the narrator to whom the experience yet re- 
mained a very vivid memory, though years had passed 
by since the events occurred. 
"Some young fellows in my neighborhood had arranged 
for a grand fox hunt on Thanksgiving Day, and in order 
to reach the rendezvous on time, it was necessary for 
me to start from home by 3 o'clock, A. M. Excited, and 
busy with my preparations, I ate scarcely any supper the 
m^ht before, and made no preparations for breakfast, or 
a lunch to carry with me. 
We covered much ground, but found no fox to chase, 
and about noon — tired, cold, and almost starved, I 
found myself near the little town of Jonesville. Riding 
into the village I stabled my horse and started for the 
tavern to get dinner, when out of a store, and almost 
into my arms hurried old 'Squire West, a warm friend 
of my family and a prominent citizen of the little town. 
" 'Why, how-dye, Jim,' said he, shaking my hand most 
cordially. 'How are all the folks?' 
"I returned his salutation and replied to his questions 
briefly as possible, for the tavern bell was ringing for 
dinner, and I Was hungry enough to fight a dog for his 
bone. 
" 'Come on now,' he then said, 'I am just starting home 
to dinner, and you must go with me.' 
"He was a good provider, and his wife a famous 
housekeeper, and I would have given my horse for a 
chance at the Thanksgiving dinner he would have, but 
I recalled the fact that he had four pretty daugh- 
ters, all young and full of mischief, of whom I stood in 
mortal terror, and after hemming and hawing for a bit, 
1 glibly assured him that I would be ever so glad to go, 
but that I had eaten diriner and must soon start for 
home. 
"Then he expressed his regrets and left me, and I 
realized that my chance for a dinner was gone, as he 
•would certainly know if I dined at the tavern, and be 
deeply offended. 1 all but cried. 
I had promised to spend the night with some cousins, 
eight or ten miles out in the country; so giving my 
horse a good feed, and devoutly hoping that they would 
have an early supper, I set forth on my long, cold ride. 
Arriving at the house, I found that they were entertaining 
some friends, and the party had just left the dinner table 
as I rode up. 
"There were several young people, and among them, 
to my dismay, I noticed two of my friend 'Squire West's 
daughters, the fear of whom had cost me my dinner at 
Jonesville. 
"My aunt welcomed me cordially, and insisted on. my 
having some dinner; but, added to my embarrassment at 
receiving the invitation in the presence of the large 
assembly of guests, was the thought that the - Misses 
West might tell of my dining there, and cause the. 
hospitable old 'Squire to become offended; so. although 
I was positively ravenous, I determined to try to hold 
out until supper. 
"My aunt must have thought me unusually appreciative 
of kindness, for there were real tears in my eyes as I 
thanked her, and declined her invitation, on the plea of 
having dined. 
"It was a jolly crowd of young folks, and they made 
the old house ring with their games that afternoon, but 
the only real interest I could feel was in the passing 
hours. 
"It did seem as though the day would never end and 
supper lime come. I was savagely hungry, and could 
think of nothing but something to eat. 
"Finally, toward dusk, one of the boys started to the 
barn to look after the feeding of the stock, and, excusing 
myself, I accompanied him. 
" "What time do we have supper, Tom?' I asked, as 
soon as we got out, hoping that my effort to appear 
unconcerned was a success. 
" 'Supper," said he, 'Oh, we don't have supper at all, 
just two meals a day now is our rule. Hope you are 
not getting hungry, for I saw the cook skin out for 
home" right after dinner,~and she lives five miles^ away, 
and will not give us an early breakfast to-morrow.' 
"Getting hungry! 
"Suffering Moses 1 I was hungry enough to eat raw 
^ 0, 1 was growing weak with hunger, and could not so 
much as look forward to an early breakfast next morning, 
and it was now too late to start for home, or for any 
friend's house where they did have supper. 
"I tried to tell my cousin that I was not much hungry 
—which was the truth, for that adjective did not, by any 
means, describe my condition— and leaving him, rather 
uncermoniously, returned to the house, hoping for an 
opportunity of seeing my aunt alone, determined to tell 
her that as I had dined early, a bit of a lunch would be 
acceptable, but she was settled down, apparently for the 
evening with her guests, and bashfulness prevented my 
approaching her with a request that I knew would pro- 
voke the young people's mirth. 
"Nearly all the guests were to spend the night at the 
house and have a real, old-fashioned Thanksgiving even- 
ing, so there was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and 
tou'sh it out until next moning. 
"At some time during the horrors of the interminable 
evening aunt raised my hopes by asking, generally: 
'Don't you all want a bite to eat? We can find something- 
cold.' I choked off, with a pretended cough, the shout 
of assent that nearly escaped me, and then waited In 
breathless anxiety for the others to answer. After a 
moment's silence, which I fervently hoped would be taken 
as an indication of the affirmative, a fat little old lady 
replied: 'Why,' no, indeed! We certainly don't need 
anything more to eat to-day after we have all had a big 
Thanksgiving dinner, and so late as we ate, too.' And 
not a protest was offered against this dictum. 
"1 hope no one noticed the look I cast upon that fat, 
well fed old lady, as thus she snatched away the last 
chance of succor from me — poor, starving wretch that 1 
was — for there was foul murder in my breast. I felt 
fully willing and able to kill, cook and eat her on the 
spot. 
"That the evening dragged on, and my pangs of hunger 
steadily increased, is about all I remember, until bed- 
time came, when one of the young ladies brought in a 
plate of cake, small slices, and cut thin. I wolfishly 
watched it go round, and grow less, and was almost be- 
side myself with rage when the fat old party that had 
killed my hopes of a cold lunch, helped herself to two 
slices. Three little, thin sheets was all that reached me, 
and as others remained unserved — and were watching me 
— one was all I got. 
The restless sleep that visited me that night was 
broken often, and each awakening dragged me away from 
a table groaning with its load of good things to eat. 
"I was oae of the first to answer the summons to 
breakfast, and if I live to be a thousand years old, 
will never forget the taste of the turkey hash and corn 
batter cakes. You may talk about the rest cure for 
stomach troubles, but my opinion is that such treatment 
is at the expense of the morals. 
"I am fully convinced of a literal dual existence. John 
is two men. John, Well fed, is one, and John, hungry, 
the other. 
"You well fed, moral John, put yourself in the place 
of the John demoralized by hunger, and your charity 
will extend even to the chicken thief." 
I had thought that I would not tell about old Jack's 
fall from grace, but as my last day was one of those off 
days — the kind when a fellow misses the difficult shot, 
and cannot hit the easy ones — and as the dog was really 
lacking in the sympathy that I sorely needed, and, 
actually seemed to think my wretched shooting inten- 
tional, will just serve him right by telling on him. 
It occurred on the Sabbath following the rainy Satur- 
day that we burned out the chimney, as related here- 
tofore. 
On our arrival we had found the premises guarded by 
2 shepherd dog, an old, battle-scarred veteran. He 
seemed a dear, good old fellow, and in youth was prob- 
ably a handsome and useful collie, but age had roughened 
his coat, stiffened his joints and dimmed the brightness 
of his eye. He still thought himself some dog, and 
grew quite chesty whenever Jack came near. I have 
always spoken of Jack as essentially gentle, and so he 
was, generally. A cross word to him was what a blow 
was to other dogs, and a real scolding all but broke his 
heart. For several days I watched well to see that the 
rough old shepherd did not act rudely toward my gentle 
dog. All went well until" the memorable Sabbath in 
question. The minister dined with us. and there was 
other company. Jack, was chained to the handle of a 
small trunk in an alcove of the porch, between the 
sitting and dining rooms. After dinner I brought him 
a plate of table scraps, and found the shepherd lying a 
short distance away on the porch, looking rather cross. 
Putting the plate down by Jack I ordered Shep away, 
and watched him until. Hie got to the far end of the porch. 
I then went into the sitting room and joined the pleasant 
circle round the fire. Exactly what happened between 
the two dogs in the next few moments history does not 
relate. 
We were all brought up standing by a din that even 
the preacher styled infernal. Rushing to the door to 
save dear, gentle old Ja'ck from any rough treatment, 
we found that "gentle" Jack had retired, for the time 
being, and had been succeeded by a fighting dog that was 
simply a holy terror. 
Over and over, like an enraged torn cat, he was going, 
shaking the shepherd like a rat, being fast to his throat. 
Every few seconds his hold would break, but before the 
other dog could gather himself, Jack would spring on 
him and pin him again by the throat. 
From end to end of the porch they fought, Jack forcing 
the fighting and dragging the trunk at the end of his 
chain. He was positively another dog, and looked like 
he had never known a peaceful moment in all his life, 
while his language and howls of rage were shocking. 
It was only after many unsuccessful efforts that we 
succeeded in" getting them separated, and then it was 
accomplished by dragging them forcibly apart, requiring 
the combined strength of as many of us as could get 
hold of each dog. 
Jack had what seemed his favorite hold, on the finish, 
a good throat grip, and we stretched the shepherd's 
neck until he looked like an embryo giraffe before it 
finally broke loose. 
Both dogs were game, and willing to resume the tight, 
but dear, gentle old Jack (as I had been wont to call 
him) was a raging wild beast. He dragged his trunk 
all over the porch, and out in to the yard, looking for 
the enemy, after Shep had been locked in the cellar, and 
kept up his belligerent attitude the remainder of the 
visit, never eating a meal without stopping several times 
to look for. and growl defiance at. Shep. 
Speaking of the occurrence to Jack's master, after re- 
turning home, he seemed in no wise surprised, and said 
that although so kind and gentle, as a general thing, the 
old dog never refused to fight, when pressed, and had 
whipped every dog in his immediate neighborhood. 
And then — all too soon— came that period known as 
the last day; that day which comes sooner or later to 
round off the various events that go to make up the 
little span of time allotted mortals. Jack and I got out 
early that last morning, for we were to start the return 
trip at noon. 
My friend, the Doctor, put in the first hour or two of 
the glorious day with us, but was soon reminded, by 
the ache in his arm, caused by carrying a good condi- 
tioned rabit that early fell a victim, that he had important 
business at the house. 
There were no features of special interest about our 
last morning, except the wind up. 
We had found few birds, and had missed many of those, 
and it looked as though we would travel with light game 
pockets on the homeward journey. We were working 
out the last bit of cover before laving a straight course 
for the house, when I noticed a bird run into a heavy 
patch of briers growing on either side of the fence down 
which I was walking. The dog had made a wide detour 
and was returning to meet me on a course that would 
bring him by the brier thicket. 
Reasonably certain that it was a quail I had seen, L 
waited to get expert testimony. In a long, swinging gal- 
lop the old dog came on until exactly opposite the place 
where I had seen the bird enter, then, in mid air, he 
stiffened every muscle, lit squarely on all four feet, and 
without taking a step, slid into a beautiful point. Pass- 
ing through a gap in the fence, I investigated the other 
side of the brier thicket, but could find no opening for 
the dog. 
Shaking a bit of brush on the edge, the birds could be 
heard clucking and rustling about, but none flushed. 
Returning to where the dog stood, I found him steady, 
but rolling his eyes in great excitement, as he peered in 
at the birds. Tossing a stone into the thicket, two birds 
flushed, both of which I killed. Jack helped find them, 
and then returned and resumed his point. Another stone 
brought out a single, which also staid with us. 
Returning from retrieving it, we put up three birds that 
had run out to the edge of the briers, but, trying hard, 
could only get one of them. 
A stone then brought out another single, which was 
killed, and as we rounded the thicket to retrieve it, an- 
other bird flushed, escaping without a scratch, after giv- 
ing me two fair shots. 
Returning with my bird, I saw a quail leave the 
thicket and run up a bare patch. Immediately giving 
chase I had almost overtaken it, when it turned and ran 
into the weeds. Slightly miscalculating, I ran by, and 
the bird flushed behind me. 
The exertion had made me a bit shaky, and the bird was 
well away before I steadied down. It showed a hit the 
first shot, but flew on, and deliberately and carefully 
drawing down with the second barrel, I killed it dead, 
the furthermost shot of the hunt. 
Returning to the briers, which I was about concluding 
the best game preserve ever discovered, I shied in an- 
other stone, when the remainder of the covey — which 
had run out while I was away — flushed behind me. 
Turning quickly I made two very poor shots, killing 
one bird too close and missing another at exactly the 
proper distance to shoot. But I had enough birds, and 
the old brier thicket had certainly proved a novel and 
interesting bit of cover. 
There was barely time for dinner and a few moments 
before the wood fire when I reached the house. Then, 
good-byes! the pleasant and uneventful trip home, and 
the Tennessee Outing was over. Lewis Hopkins. 
A Walk Down South.— XII. 
Romney is the Court House of Hampshire county, W. 
Va. It stands on a hill; the houses seem low, most of 
them not more than a story and a garret high. It was 
a cold night, the ground was frozen, when I walked up 
and down a couple of streets. In the lee of one corner 
were two colored men with their coat collars turned up 
and hands in their trousers' pockets, with the general 
contour of a letter S as they leaned against the wall of 
a building-; that was something like the South of my 
dreams, but the shivering cold was not. 
By the light from windows I caught glimpses of two 
or three faces of men hurrying past — it may be a notion, 
but these and other Southern faces give the impression 
of men accustomed to do their work in their own way, 
and not used to working under foremen and other bosses. 
The cold drove me to the hotel office again. 
The owner of the big horsepistol on the window sill 
told a story of man killing. He was in a Restaurant one 
night when a man came to the back door, which was 
always locked, for admittance. He was told to come 
around to the front way. He did, after a while, angry 
with drink. He opened a face to face dispute with the 
proprietor of the place, which culminated in both men 
reaching for the catsup bottle on the counter. The pro- 
prietor was quickest, and the man was felled to the floor. 
He got up, went to the stable, hitched up his horse and 
drove home. There he put up the horse and laid down 
on a lounge. He died in two hours. The restaurant 
keeper was fined $50 for disturbing the peace. 
The same story-teller commented on the law requiring 
a license lor non-resident hunters. He said the way the 
law stands is outrageous. "A non-resident has to pay 
$25. whether he hunts two days or six months. That 
isn't fair to the man who hunts two days. I say let a 
man pay for a week when he hunts a week, and for a 
month when he hunts a month." 
That seemed to me like a suggestion worth thinking 
about. The export of game met with this man's un- 
qualified disapproval. In a few years he had seen the 
deer diminished from abundance to scarcity, due entirely 
to meat-hunters, who shipped their game to market. He 
did not think the law was enforced strictly enough in 
regard to the export and sale of game. 
The room to which I was shown at the hotel that night 
displayed a curious collection of pictures on the walls. 
Most of them were clipped from theatrical publications. 
There were a dozen one-drink cocktail bottles, and some 
pint and quart whisky flasks, all empty, roundabout. The 
upper sheet of the bed was of wool; the lower cotton — 
a combination that proved to be common down the east 
slope of the Alleghanies for a hundred miles or more. 
I was worried by the cold weather that prevailed. The 
roads were hard as bricks, and the mountain peaks cov- 
ered with a layer of snow.' A man said he left six inches 
of snow in Pendleton and Highland counties, and "more 
coming." 
In the morning I weighed my pack. It tipped exactly 
46 pounds. With the rifle, I was carrying 50 pounds. 
I started up the South Branch of the Potomac soon after 
8 o'clock. I stopped at the west end of town for a 
moment to look up the valley and along the blue-black 
mountain range. The water of the stream was light 
