FOREST AND STREAM. 
Rah. 
"I am a son of Mars, 
Who have iought in many wars; 
And I show my cuts and scars 
\Vherever I come. 
This here was for a wench, 
And this was in a trench, 
While welcoming the French 
To the sound of the drum." 
-Burns. 
In the garden, under the hollyhocks, lies the mortal 
part of a noble fellow and gentleman. I say mortal part 
a/ivisedly, for I am persuaded he had another part which 
somewhere still lives. He was a Scotchman, of the clan 
Collie, and he carried in his small body the heart of 
Bruce — the heart of Bruce, of which we read: 
"But thicker, thicker grew the swarm, 
And sharper shot the rain; 
And the horses reared amid the press. 
But they would not charge again. 
"Then in the stirrups up he stood, 
So lion-like and bold, 
And held the precious heart aloft 
All in its case of gold. 
"He flung it from him far ahead, 
And never spake he more, 
But — 'Pass thee first, thou dauntless heart. 
As thou wert wont of yore." " 
He came to us a six weeks' old puppy, white and 
Heecy as the lambs he was designed by nature to protect. 
From the first discipline sat ill upon him. It was hard 
for him to "mind." Even when years and experience had 
taught him the comfort and wisdom of compliance and 
the general futility of resistance, he obeyed — when he had 
to — with protesting shakes of his head and squirmings 
of his body, eloquent of his aversion to authority. It was 
hard for his proud and stubborn spirit to do even .what 
he wanted to, provided he was bidden to it. 
He had his "ways." He would never eat from a 
stranger's hand, nor away from home, nor, if he could 
help it. anything but meat. He wanted that cooked and 
cut fine, and he invariably left the last piece on the 
slate. He was given to taking solitary strolls, calling on 
children with whom he had a playing acquaintance within 
.1 radius of a half-mile from home, but for the most part 
pursuing his way with dignity and with no object appar- 
ent to the rest of us. If by chance he met any of his 
folks on these occasions he recognized them by a slight 
drooping of the ears and a faint smile, but at once re- 
sumed the stern austerity of mien which he carried at 
such times and went on, paying no further attention to 
them. We never knew on what high design his soul 
was bent. Sometimes he would disappear for several 
days, and would give no explanation of his absence on 
his return. He never explained nor asked permission. 
He did what seemed best to him and let it go at that. 
After a while we ceased to expect an explanation. Some- 
times, after these absences, friends would tell of visits 
paid by him during them, but he never told. Once he 
came home with a bullet hole through his leg, and held 
up the leg to be bathed and dressed. W e always thought 
\c got this wound during one of his frequent courtships, 
or he was an ardent and persistent wooer, and fre- 
quently received unmistakable tokens of disapproval 
rom the families of his inamoratas. 
He did not care much for bones, but generally carried 
them a quarter of a mile away, to his private burial 
ground, down by the bridge over the mill ditch. We 
never knew that he afterward exhumed and utilized them. 
If not. there must have been a canine Klondike there 
or several years. He always walked when performing 
this rite, as burial processions should, slowly and sol- 
emnly, and if detected and called to, returned and de- 
posited the bone in the yard and thenceforth ignored it. 
If anything could have endeared him to the family 
more than his general virtues and conduct did, it was 
lis objections to my violin playing. As was character- 
istic, he met trouble more than half way, came and lay 
down by the music stand, squinted, wrinkled his face, 
shuddered, groaned, whined, and when it became wholly, 
intolerable, went out in the yard, to remain till the dread- 
ul noises were over. Chords seemed to annoy him most. 
He enjoyed a high reputation as a musical critic with 
he rest of the family. 
Generally he was serious minded, but a spirit of droll- 
ery sometimes possessed him when, if he thought he was 
alone, he gave way to strange, whimsical antics, more 
kitten than dog-like, and emitted odd little sounds, in- 
vented to express his mood. His eyes were all black, 
without visible pupils, sober and softly luminous, except 
n excitement. His coat was creamy white, except on the 
back and tail, where it shaded into seal brown. A 
;reature of prouder and more gallant bearing never trod, 
Like Spartacus, for twelve long years he faced every 
orm of man or beast his experience could furnish, and 
aever yet turned tail except to the pig. Pigs are scarce 
where he lived, and he flushed his first pig in the swamp 
p-ass. She was a sow with a litter of little pigs, and we 
ronsidered it no shame that he bolted out of the swamp 
with every bristle as erect as the sow's own. Once in 
the open, where he could inspect the new, uncanny, 
noisome beast, his self-possession promptly returned, 
i We never heard of his hurting a cat, but he despised 
;nd loved to tree them. One evening in the dusk I saw 
i kitten in the road in front of me, and spoke kindly to 
1, advancing with intent to pet it. Fortunately he came 
tp, the kitten vanished in the grass and away they went 
m wild flight and pursuit toward the lake. When he 
;ame home a half hour afterward it was instantly ap- 
parent that he had overtaken the kitten and that it had 
•urned out to be an undomesticated polecat. We could 
not very well skin him nor bury him. Besides I owed 
urn a large debt of gratitude. So we took him out to 
.he barn, soaped and scrubbed him, put cologne on him 
md did all we could to forget ahout it, with slowly in- 
creasing success as time wore cn. But eighteen months 
lfterward, whenever he had a warm bath, the faint, sweet 
tagrance of the skunk exhaled anew. My Welsh neigh- 
bor was not so fortunate as I. He petted his skunk, and 
had to attend the Eisteddfodd in his old clothes, his 
wife having buried the others in the garden, 
The great storm of 1896, that swept from British 
Columbia to the Carribbean Sea, came up, and for the 
share of our household blew down a chimney. His 
mistress was alone in the house, with no help within 
call, While the storm bellowed outside, the flames burst 
out and the smoke rolled through the house he stayed 
right beside her, looking up in her face with love and 
sympathy, encouraging her with his courage, his "daunt- 
less heart" unmoved by the fire, so terrible to beasts. 
When the danger was over shu wet his coat with her 
tears, and often afterward declared that but for him she 
would have given up the effort to save the house. 
Our affairs were his affairs, our friends his friends, our 
enemies his also. When we were sad he was sorry, and 
when we were glad his spirits rose too. Whatever we did 
he stood beside, and his eager little soul shared in it. 
And now he lies asleep under the hollyhocks we had to 
plant over again because in his dissatisfaction he ex- 
humed them when they were planted first. 
Dear, proud, stubborn, whimsical, provoking little 
friend! Is that the last of him? When the light died out 
of his beautiful eyes, was the brave and tender soul ex- 
tinguished too? When his loving, faithful heart stopped 
beating, did the life and spirit go out like the candle 
in the wind? 
The liar, the hypocrite, the traitor, the false friend, the 
coward, the sneak, the selfish, the cruel, the ungrateful, 
the malicious, the mean, the ignoble, the idle, the petty, 
the sordid, the nasty, the worthless — all the vile of 
human kind, shall they have life immortal? But my 
loyal little lion-heart, who lived his life nobly, simply and 
naturally, who never had a mean thought nor did a 
vile thing, who was in all ways a credit to the Hand that 
made him — was his short life the end of him? 
Edwin Whitehead. 
A Walk Down South.— X. 
In one book and another one reads about Bedford, Pa. 
As Raystown it was noted for Indian scares and mas- 
sacres; during the whisky rebellion Bedford was promi- 
nent ; later bandits, counterfeiters, the Underground Rail- 
road and John Brown's Raid contributed to its court and 
other records. But not until I Was in the place did I 
realize that my route led into such a nest of the remark- 
able. I was hunting for a story about certain negroes 
before the war — not the least exciting sport. I found 
traces of it inside of five minutes after I entered the 
place. My pack came off and the search for history 
began. One trail took me to Judge Longnecker, and a 
right, happy lead this was, for both the Judge and his 
son came as near being old friends and acquaintances as 
could well be, for persons I never met before. They 
have the Forest and Stream regularly. 
Old newspaper files was one branch that had to be 
searched. It was curious to read under the head of "A 
Sad Accident," "A Melancholy Tragedy." etc., how in the 
1820's, '30's and '40's. this and that man shot his dearest 
friend mistaking him for a deer or bear ; how the did-not- 
know-it-was-loaded contingent blew 7 the heads off sisters 
and parents, and how the careless man sent himself out 
of the world cleaning loaded weapons. It was plain to see 
that the breechloader hasn't all the blame attached to it 
for foolishness. 
Being papers published far back in the woods, there 
were items in which wild beasts played an important part. 
"The editor" ate pieces of bear and deer venison killed by 
esteemed fellow townsmen. Of women who slew bears, 
catamounts and wildcats with axes in the hen coops there 
were a plenty. The 'coon hunters then, as now. made 
strange discoveries — skeletons in trees, dens of counter- 
feiters, and (in some remote State), pots of gold and 
precious stones. 
Of snake stories there were many. One monster rep- 
tile was the "largest that ever crossed the pike," judging 
by the trail he left, at least in printer's ink. Also the 
wicked glitter of snakes' eyes had its attractions and 
fascinations then, as now; birds fell helpless before it, 
squirrels behaved in agitated fashion under its influence, 
and men, even editors, were strangely moved by the "aw- 
ful electricity." 
Bedford has not got over its sporting days yet. Two 
masked robbers boarded a railroad train near there a 
while ago, and tried to rob the paymaster. The paymaster 
shot one of them dead ; the other escaped. The dead man 
Avas a negro resident of the town. When the negro's 
father heard of it, he said: 
"That yer learned Bill a good lesson." 
The hunt for the other robber was an exciting one. A 
man was captured at last and put on trial in the Novem- 
ber term of the U. S. Court at Bedford. The trial was 
the chief topic of conversation during my stay at Bed- 
ford. I saw later by the paper that the man was con- 
victed and sentenced to fourteen years' imprisonment. 
'Coon hunting is Bedford's favorite sport. One story 
I heard seemed unusual. A party of eight hunters and 
several dogs went out on Will's Mountain last (1900) fall. 
They carried bottles of whisky, considering that a neces- 
sity.' They were joined by a man whose bottle was larger 
than theirs, and who drank more in proportion. Early in 
the night this man became well nigh helpless. A long 
rope which had served as a dog chain was tied around 
his neck and the others in the party took turns in leading 
him. They started game, and all hands ran down the 
mountain in pursuit. The incline was steep. Suddenly 
one man shot out into space with a yell of horror. Then 
there was a loud splash below somewhere. The others, 
unable to stop, followed after. The one who was towing 
the ninth man succeeded in stopping at the brink, but he 
was pushed over the edge by the lunger in the rear. That 
was only a brook. All got out safely, then went back in 
to find a missing bottle. Then everybody gave chase 
again, but to find the 'coon was difficult, especially with 
one man so helpless that he had to be carried at the last. 
They came to a deep mill pond, and there they gave out. 
They could carry the man no further. To leave him 
where he was would be almost murder, for he would 
probably wander down grade into the water and drown. 
A consultation was held. Many expedients were pro- 
posed. Then one suggested a scheme. It was acted 
upon. The rope that was fast to the man's neck was 
feel Li? ™^ ,e ; 3n< I the ," the , ank,c was listed three 
ieet high on a tree trunk and securely fastened Thl 
man s knife was taken away, and also h S pSSSy * Thev 
reasoned that a man who was sober enough to untie him 
Thl SOb u er enough t0 kee P out of the mi pond 
They left him there. He did free himself after hou7 R 
of work and much loud language. This is a favorite 
story among the 'coon hunters tavorrte 
r5? Cr i r u hunted ° T ver setters > which point the game for 
Sf1£° r fi Sh i°-n te 5 S *- Practically no other way could deer 
be legally killed in Pennsylvania. The still-hunt" must 
u\ S i°u ° nC t0 get his game in Ae regions thrS 
WdfiSBS Very few deer are in S«S6 
Ina&Mirrr^ S ° me , eXtra ^ 6 wa co" 
3 «S -fL g *u 1 dlffere nce between walking unladen 
and with he pack was vast. In the first hour I made five 
miles, noticing only the tail of a gray squirrd in the 
Singly bea a utifd. hlIIS ^ m0rning SUn were e - 
th? roads VfSfJ 16 J° the vanous scenes alo "g 
the roads I followed. Literally at every step the view 
it Th^u?*^ ? ne ' s mood has muchto do wfth 
mil J or filT h h eSt ' balmiCSt S ^ n Wil1 not enlighten a dull 
mind or fill hungry stomach, nor does a driving mist 
w^Vfod P fc re ° f ^ tramP u ing if only ffifis^ 
worry. 1 find that I worry most when I am hungriest but 
Thermo? U H U f lly Pr ,° V f t0 b V maginar * wffiSWL 
T s K lk,n * feature of the Pennsylvania I saw 
and engross ones attention almost from morning til 
^•£ VCi ; ything else has to g''ve way to Them Vis 
breams to" S T 6 , gIanCeS t0 tbe "Son? in 
streams, to the individual trees, or to details of any sort 
rom the great masses which lead the gaze up and on to 
he blue and misty distances. I have found I my Ji "off 
dsYbut^ ZT f an ° nCe Simply because I saw nothing 
c imb fhlm fT™ T nta, , ns ' The ^mptation to 
etnt Wt,?i 0,1W /i° ng the b ^kbone is always 
present Where the road does not .give a v i ew 0 f one G f 
oackin u^knn' 13 Ilk % diSC0 Jr er i ng Sle Ioss of a com^s 
back m unknown woods. With such constant guides as 
the Bald Eagle. Ridge and. Wills Mountain tokeep me 
at g the fnrl-fnf 10nal " eCe f lty °V 00kin S at a signboard 
at the forks of a road makes a chuckle come. The sien- 
board seems so small and insignificant when compared 
to fifty miles of mountain. 
I went from Bedford to Cessna over the same road I 
c<une m on. At Cessna I saw the old woman who said 
1 ■ was big enough to work, and saw her husband, who did 
hZllt 1°™?" he looked back into the kitchen, like a 
**™t to do some forbidden thing. I turned to the 
left at the tree-sheltered, frame schoolhouse, and walked 
rapidly along a valley side hill road toward Fishertown. 
A man that I overtook was a hog-sticker on his way to a 
farm, where he had some large shoats to kill. For killing 
and cutting up a pig he received 50 cents, and in the 
course ot a day he killed from five to seven animals He 
was a soft-voiced man, who looked far away when he 
spoke. He reminded me of a butcher up in the Adiron- 
dack^ who said he felt ashamed every time he killed a 
1 1} V >i took comfort from the numbers of tough old 
bulls he'd slaughtered. 
The little brook near which the road ran, was ice-scaled 
at every dead water, and the distant hilltops showed a cov- 
ering of snow. The report of a gun told of a hunter 
abroad. It was ten miles to Fishertown and five miles 
to Pleasantville. A couple •of miles short of the 
latter place I ate dinner in a big brick farm- 
house, and then went up on a ridge, according to direc- 
tions, to follow a stony woods road for a mile to save a 
mile walk around the foot of the elevation 
At Pleasantville Morris Walker, whose father. Old 
Benny Walker, kept a station on the Underground Rail- 
road before the Civil War, remembered a couple of stories 
u a n 01 ? was aftef ' and said il was ncr use to g° °ver 
the Alleghany range to Somerset county, as I wanted to 
do, if it was worth while. 
Walker said that turkey hunting would be good as soon 
as the snow drove them off the mountains, but as yet 
the birds had not put in an appearance. The -film of snow 
a few days before had not showed the track of one of 
them near Pleasantville, so far as the hunters could 
find. 
I returned to Fishertown and stopped at Azariah Black- 
burne s house for the night. He is an old Quaker with a 
wonderful memory as to dates and events. On my way 
through in the morning I had seen him. When I returned 
at night he had several tales to tell of events in the 1840's 
which he had recalled. 
On the following morning I started for Bedford, but 
Squire Penrose, at the cross roads a few rods on my 
way, said I ought to see two men at Schellsburg, ten 
miles off my road. I went to Schellsburg, seeing a fine 
farm country with too many brick houses on the way. 
Neither of the men I wanted to see was in town, but 
by chance I was able to go through five years of a news- 
paper file beginning in 1819, so the extra walk was not 
wasted effort. Incidentally, I heard of three other pedes- 
trians — two men and a woman — who had wagered that 
they could walk from some New England town to San 
Francisco and pay nothing for their keep. They were 
"dressed spick and span," the woman who kept the inn 
at Schellsburg said, and carried canes. She suspected 
that the one in dresses was a man, so garbed that sym- 
pathy might be excited toward them. They got nothing 
there— and said it was the first place they had been treated 
thus and so. One of the county commissioners at Bedford 
gave them a great "send-off" I learned later. The long 
pikes and fine roads of southern Pennsylvania are favor- 
ite thoroughfares of pedestrians. But those who ride 
bicycles enjoy life better in that region. 
At 3 P. M. I left Schellsburg for Bedford, nine miles 
away, along a macadamized road. The views were the 
finest I have seen anywhere since I started, on a similar 
length of road. I stopped on every elevation to look back 
at the snow-covered Alleghanies, and to look along every 
line of the compass. In no direction was there anything 
to give one a sense of disappointment. Even the tele- 
graph and telephone lines in sight did not seem to mar 
the beauty, why, some one else will have to figure out, un- 
