184 
forest and stream. 
[March 8, 1902, 
Middle Creek of her people, so named because it flows 
through the center of the gap between the Bear Paw and 
Wolf Mountains (Little Rockies), on its way southward 
to the Missouri, 
Mention of the creek reminded her of many incidents 
of her childhood in this locality. She told of the immense 
herds of buffalo which once covered the nearby plains; 
of the numberless bands of elk and deer and antelope 
along the foothills of the mountains and the valleys. 
"How many years ago was it," she asked, "that Big 
Eared White Man [an old trader named Upham] traveled 
with us and kept the camp supplied with cartridges, to- 
bacco and sugar?" 
1 thought a little and replied that it was exactly twenty- 
four. 
'That was the winter," she said, "we lost my cousin. 
Weasel Moccasin, bravest, kindest, most generous of 
men. We had camped at the lower south end of the 
Bear Paws for a long time, and the daily hunting had 
finally driven the game away for some distance in every 
direction. So one morning my cousin announced that he 
would go eastward to the Wolf Mountains for a few- 
days' hunt. A number joined him with their wives, tak- 
ing a few lodges and many pack and travois horses with 
which to bring back the meat and hides. The next after- 
noon they came to the buffalo, herd after herd, and 
camped on a little creek putting out from the mountains. 
There for some days they had good success, the hunters 
killing fat cows faster than the women could h^uie 
them. 
"One evening Weasel Moccasin stood outside the 
lodge; the sun was setting, and just before it went down 
it seemed to split into a thousand parts, sending bright 
colored rays flashing in every direction. 'It is a sign,' 
he said aloud, 'that to-morrow I shall meet my death. 
Somewhere on the plain, in some way, I know not how. 
.my body will grow cold before the sun goes down again.' 
"His aunt, busy inside preparing the evening meal, 
heard his words, came out and scolded him: 'Go in at 
once and sit down,' she said. 'You have no right to 
think such things; you are not well. This very night I 
will prepare some of my herb water, and you shall drink 
it.' 
" T need it not,' he replied. T am not sick. Fay no 
heed to my words. I know not why I said it, and yet, 
surelv that is a sign of approaching death.' 
" 'True,' said his aunt, 'it is the sign, but why for you 
any more than for any of the rest of us here, or for some 
one back in the main camp? Come in now, and eat.' 
"Early the next morning the hunters started out again, 
riding eastward and some distance before they sighted a 
herd of buffalo. Then they separated to surround it. 
Weasel Moccasin riding ahead slowly with his uncle, 
Big Plume, in order to give the others time to make the 
circle. Suddenlv, from a knoll ahead of them, four Assin- 
aboines jumped up and ran for a coulee further on. My 
cousin had a swift horse, the fastest of all our people s 
herds, and in no time he was upon them. Twice he fired, 
and each time one of the enemy fell dead. The other two 
had separated, and he rode doAvn upon one of them re^ 
gardless of the bullets which were whizzing by him. Sud- 
denly the Assinaboine ceased firing, his cartridges ap- 
parently all expended, and disdaining to shoot, Weasel 
Moccasin raised his gun as a club, to brain the enemy. 
Abs' At that very moment the Assinaboine drew an old 
nistoi and shot him through the body. The next instant 
he was felled by my cousin's blow, and his shadow went 
to join those of his companions along their dreary trail. 
"Big Plume came hurrying up. as did the others, i 
am shot,' said the warrior; 'help me get to camp. 
"Big Plume, got up behind and supported him, and the 
little partv started for the camp. Some of the others were 
anxious to follow and kill the remaining Assinaboine, but 
the wounded man forbade it. 'Let him return to his peo- 
ple', he said, 'and tell them that the Piegans killed his 
companions.' , . *• ,1.. 
"Very slowly they rode toward camp, and their hearts 
were he^vy. The wounded one became weaker and 
weaker, blood oozed from his lips; he reeled to and fro in 
his uncle's strong arms. They came to a deep coulee and 
were sheltered from the wind. 'Help me down, he said, 
"Gentlv n thev laid him down, spreading 'their robes and 
blankets 'for his couch, and saying to his unc>e: fity 
and care for my family,' he breathed his last. His words 
had come true: the sign had foretold his death. 
••WeH do I remember the hunting party s return, ltiey 
came riding slowly and silently over the hill, and we all 
stoTd bv our lodges instead of running to meet them foi 
we felt "that they brought sad news. We saw that their 
aces were painted black, their hair unbound and stream- 
ng in tne wind. Then presently the word spread through 
camp, Weasel Moccasin is dead; but before he fell be 
killed three Assinaboines.' The women wailed, the war- 
nors shouted his name in praise, and for a long long 
time the whole camp mourned. They had brought his 
body, and that day we buried him, wrapping him m choree 
X and lashing him on a plattorm m his lonely lodge, 
Srt an hi weapons by his side. And near about three 
of his avorite horses were shot, that their shadows might 
accompany him on his lonely road to the Sandhills. As 
soon as 5d s was done, we struck camp and moved south- 
east to Middle Creek. But the people sorrowed; they 
could not orget his untimely end, All that long winter 
there was no more dancing nor smgmg mthe^mp^ 
Chippewa Words, 
Grand Rapids, Mich., Jan. 28.— In Fayette Durlins in- 
teresting article, "The Old Logging Camp in your issue 
of Tan 25 he refers to the unintelligible Indian words, 
and wonders if there was really any actual meaning at- 
tached to them. My knowledge of the Chippewa lan- 
o-nap-e is exceedingly limited. However, I recognize 
"Cowm" as "No." and "Nischin" as "Good," hence the 
combination would be "No good." F. J. 
"Uncle Lisha's Shop." 
"Uncle Lisha's Shop" is temporarily out of print. A 
new edition is in press, to be ready soon. It will have 
as frontispiece an~ excellent portrait of Mr. Robinson. 
The price will be $1.25. 
"The Hole." 
El Paso, Texas.— What is "the Hole" ? Ask this ques- 
tion of greaser, Yaqui or wandering prospector in the 
mountainous regions of that section where the Chihuahua- 
Sonora state line and the Continental Divide are one and 
the same, and from each you will get a different answer. 
Thejvlexican piously crosses himself as he declares to you 
that it is the abode of witches and devils, and exists only 
to be avoided. The Yaqui has no such superstitious 
fears, but says it is a wonderful, deep, inaccessible canon 
— a place formed by the gods of his fathers in the long 
ago as a place of refuge in time of peril, a place where 
game is plentiful and easily taken, and where none but 
the Yaqui can enter. Nevertheless, if you pin him dowm 
he is obliged to confess that he has never entered its 
sacred_ precincts. Disappointed, you turn to your own 
race of people, and ask some grizzled old prospector about 
it, and after pondering the question a full minute, he 
tells you that it is a deep, inaccessible canon, which has 
its head near the Continental Divide, and runs south- 
west for twenty-five or thirty miles, and empties into the 
Goviland, a headwater stream of the Yaqui. But when 
you come «to N inquire closely, you find that he, too, is dis- 
appointing, and, like Moses and the Promised Land, he 
has viewed it from afar. 
With three companions, a guide and moso, I was in 
that region hunting last October, and being camped near 
the head of the canon, I climbed a peak and got a birds- 
eye view of it. The sides are almost perpendicular, and at 
least 3000 feet deep, inclosing quite a little valley, widen- 
ing out in one place seven or eight miles; but nowhere 
could the powerful binoculors which I carried disco vor a 
trail by which a descent could be made. At the lower 
end where the stream which Hows through empties 
into the Goviland, the rocky walls come close in. forming 
a narrow, deep gorge, through which nothing unprovided 
with wings can pass. Thus it is that it remains a t>>rru 
incognita, but evidently a region rich in archeological 
treasure, as several cliff houses were to be seen, and this 
is a region of cliff house ruins, a> well as other evi- 
dences of occupation by a prehistoric people. But it is 
to-day a paradise for sportsmen, and one of the most 
beautiful countries for camping out in I ever saw. 
I am determined to explore the "Hole" next time 1 
visit that section. There is said to be a secret trail en- 
tering it, and I am determined to invade its sanctity armed 
with rifle and camera, and hope ere another year rolls 
around to tell the readers of Forest and Stream what I 
saw therein. ^ I. J. Bush. 
Woodcock and Watermelons. 
As a reward for standing well in my class, I received 
trom my father a double barreled muzzleloading gun. 1 
was very proud of the gift, because I thought no better 
or finer gun had ever been turned out of the gunsmith's 
shop. It had been made to order for Commodore 
Chauncey by one Blissert, of Liverpool. It was a master- 
piece, and I have it to this day stowed away in its brass- 
trimmed, mahogany, green baize-lined case, a memento 
of my first shooting days. 
And following quickly upon the gift of this gun came 
an invitation to try it on some woodcock, two gentlemei 
inviting me to accompany them to Huntington, L. L, 
and become initiated into the art of wing shooting. It 
was a great day of preparation; wads and caps were 
stowed away in my shooting coat (bought for the occa- 
sion), and pocket flask and'shot pouch filled to the neck 
— a reserve of powder and shot being stowed in my grip. 
How I enjoyed the ride in the baggage car surrounded 
by the pointer dogs and listening to the stories told by 
my hosts! I certainly drank in long draughts of anticipa- 
tion and inspiration. 
We were bound for Abner Chichester's farm, and, if I 
remember correcdy, it was perched on the steepest hill 
in the village of Huntington. The horses seemed to 
climb and keep a climbing ever since they left the depot. 
But in time we got there, and the last thing to be re- 
moved from the wagon was a huge watermelon, the 
largest to be found in Fulton market. It was forthwith 
placed in the tub-encircled spring under the old oak, and 
was to be left there until we came in from our afternoon's 
Fourth of July shoot the next day, hot and parched, and 
in the right mood to cut a melon. 
We were off early in the morning to a neighboring 
grove, where the trees grew so closely together as to* 
almost perfectly keep out the sun's rays except during 
the middle of the day. 
Whether it was because I missed or was not quick 
enough or what, or was perhaps in the way, I dd not 
know, but I soon let my friends hunt with the dogs by 
themselves, and I wandered here and there where the 
skunk cabbage indicated a wet spot where the longbills 
could bore. 
There were plenty of birds, and I walked up bird after 
bird. Of course, I missed and missed, and missed again, 
but now and then the birds would fly into it and I would 
get one. How excited I became when I heard my bird 
drop to earth and saw the floating feathers drift slowly 
toward the ground! I knew I fired many shots, and as 
a result my shot pouch was much lighter than when I 
started out, and when at noon we sat beside a spring-fed 
brook and laid out our game upon the moss-covered 
stone, I thought my four birds made a brave showing 
against the score or two heaped up beside them. We 
talked and dozed for a couple of hours under the cool 
shadows of the trees and I listened to much valuable ad- 
vice on wing shooting. My friends were so engrossed 
in their morning's sport that they did not heed my ab- 
sence, knowing that there was no danger of my getting 
lost, the grove not being more than a mile square. They, 
however, had enjoyed such good luck and the birds were 
so abundant — the weather had been hot and sultry for 
days, driving the birds into this spring-fed and shaded 
cover — that they insisted that I should during the after- 
noon shoot over the dogs and have the first shot at the 
rising birds. Of course I missed and got my "eye 
wiped" by my two friends repeatedly, yet I seemed to do 
beLter, and now and then got my bird, once or twice, 
they told me, making a clean and difficult kill. This, of 
course, by way of encouragement. By three o'clock we 
Voted that we had had enough, and we wended our way 
back to Abner's. It was a hot, dusty walk, and we were 
pleased when, after drawing the caps from our guns, we 
laid them up against the milk house close to the spring. 
We sat under the friendly oak around the spring. 
Abner deftly lifted out the melon, fresh and green and 
sweating at every pore. I can hear even now the crack- 
ling sound of Abner's jackknife as it plowed its way 
through the chilled rind of that melon. And as the melon 
parted the sight was one that a parched and thirsty man 
would never forget. 
Well, suffice it to say there was enough of that melon 
and yet some to spare. It certainly was a case in nature 
where excellence and bigness were combined with exact 
mathematical precision. 
Years afterward I stood one Saturday afternoon on the 
porch of a Luray, Va., hotel and saw file past a hundred 
or more darkies returning from work, each and everyone 
of them carrying a "watermillion" under his arm. They 
had been paid off, and a convenient farm wagon loaded 
with melons happened to pass as they filed along and the 
darkies all bought. 
One young buck, after hugging that melon for several 
blocks, "just couldn't stand it no longer," and without ado 
sat down upon the curb and in the absence of a jackknife 
he deftly tapped the melon against the edge of the curb 
until it broke asunder. Mansfield, in transforming his 
Jekyl face into that of Hyde upon the stage, never 
equalled the lightning change of countenance exhibited 
by that darky. One moment his eyes bulged, his mouth 
distorted, his teeth glistened and his face fairly glowed 
with pleasurable expectancy, and in the iw nkhng of au 
eye, when the parted halves of that unripe and white- 
seeded melon fell from his palsied hands, his eyes con- 
tracted to mere slits, showing an angry, snake-dke red, 
his face became of an ashen hue — call it pale, if you will 
— and through his slightly parted hps like a devil incar- 
nate he hissed out imprecation aLer imprecation upon 
the farmer, showing the fact clearly that the disappointed 
one was a past grand master in the art of protanity. 
But 1 started writing about woodcock and. have di- 
gressed into melons — so au revoir. 
Charles Cristadoso. 
Nature at Boston. 
Boston, March 3. — At the Sportsmen's Show the at- 
tendance is large, and spite of the attractions in the main 
hall, the swimming tank, the high diving, hundreds will 
be found walking about to get a better view of the 
natural history attractions. The cage of armadillo, near 
the_ lower entrance, excites considerable comment. Said 
a fellow to his companion: "Box turtles. I've seen 
enough of them; not just that color, though." His com- 
panion looked to the cage label and read, "A-r-m-a- 
d-i-l-l-o." "Oh, that's only another name for them. Why 
not call them box turtles and be done with it. Don't 
you see their shells?" But wise youngster No. 2 beat 
them all. "I tell you, they are sweet potato bugs. They're 
larger than the ordinary kind." Dr. Heber Bishop's 
dogs are worth more than a passing notice, and there is 
a crowd in front of their compartment Robbie Burns 
and Lady Montell and their progeny, a litter of seven. 
Robbie has a pedigree dating back to 1836, and Lady 
Montell back to the Seminole Indians of Florida. "One 
of the pups," the doctor says, "is the most affectionate 
dog in the world," and everybody agrees with him. 
The obedience and intelligence of the whole seven is 
remarkable. Here is a cage of barred owls. The turn of 
their heads, in pivoted necks, makes everybody laugh. 
One wise man remarked to a lady, "That's well done. I 
don't see how they made them look so natural. But there, 
anybody can see that their necks are only a hinge."' A 
couple of great horned owls makes a fine exhibit ; plumage 
almost perfect, with black tufts of feathers, smooth and 
exactly like horns. The black timber wolf is a noble-speci- 
men, and said to be a very valuable animal. The wise 
man comes in here also with the remark, "I don't like 
those Collie dogs very well, especially -the black ones." 
Curious, but the wise ones don't seem to read the cage 
labels. Here is a good specimen of cinnamon bear, seen in 
almost any menagerie. The two mountain lions that 
President Roosevilt did not shoot are good specimens, 
though both females. The ocelot (Fclis partialis) from 
Mexico is a good specimen. Here the wise man comes 
up again. He will not down. "A good specimen of 
tomcat!" The bay lynx are wild and almost untamable; 
at least they snarl and growl at the keepers, even. As 
for deer, the show is simply full of them. One runs on 
to herds of them at every odd turn; so surrounded w'th 
trees and evergreens that they scarcely appear to be inside 
of wire fences. A handsome herd of Maine deer on the 
east side of the building is made up of some fine speci- 
mens; sleek and bright-colored. "All does," remarks our 
wise man again. "Why don't they show a buck or two?" 
To the lady beside him he further remarks: "I am dis- 
appointed. I wanted you to see a buck with fine antlers." 
He doubtless would have felt a little chagrin to have 
been told that the very deer he was looking at were more 
than half bucks, and that the scars of their last antlers 
were yet plain on the heads of several. It is not easy to 
make unthinking people believe that moose, deer and elk 
shed their antlers every winter. The herd of antelope is 
good. "White deer," is the common remark. But to 
the sportsman of the plains they convey more of an idea. 
They seem to thrive well in confinement, and several 
approach the front of their compartment to be fed or 
petfed. Peanuts they take with avidity. The little fawn 
of the India deer, not bigger than a cat, with its mother, 
attracts a good deal of attention. This little fellow was 
born since its mother came to Boston this time. It is 
the second one born in captivity in this country; the buck 
in the next cage being the first. This buck was bred at 
the Boston Sportsmen's Shdw two years ago. The herd 
of twenty elk is a good exhibit. Only one bull has his 
antlers, and these very small and poor specimens, doubt- 
less dwarfed, and hence slow about coming off. The 
American bison, from Austin Corbin's New Hampshire 
game park, are fine specimens of the king of game am*' 
