March 22, 1902.) 
FOREST AND STREAM 
3ip of the paddle was a delight. The Baltimore orioles 
ivere calling in every direction, on the distant ridges, and 
■ear by; the crows were flying and cawing. Now and 
Ihen I could see a sfnall bird, ground sparrow, tiny 
Ivarbler and the like. For an hour or so I drifted and 
paddled on, and then suddenly I remembered that I hadn't 
Eaten any supper the night before and was forgetting my 
Breakfast. I became ravenous at once. The nearest 
mouse was a log one, and I headed for it. It was Town- 
Send's, and though they had eaten hours before, she would 
get breakfast for me. The corn bread, coffee, plank- 
salted pork and fruit tasted good. I ate heartily and a 
good deal, before I started on again. 
I crossed a couple of low fish dams, and then came 
co a pretty bad one, almost as bad as the one back at 
Mendota. At Squire Casson's house they told me that it 
was best to run close to a big rock near the center. The 
drop was nearly three, feet in two feet. I stopped and 
ite dinner first. Squire Casson said, "We can't give 
you much ; just meat and corn bread and coffee." But 
on the table were molasses, fruits and pickles. It was a 
fine meal. I felt more like jumping the. dam then. 
With nothing but myself and paddle in the boat, I 
headed for the left of the big rock, hit the slick, a mo- 
ment when it seemed as if my heart had stopped falling 
with me, and then I sprawled down through the shoal, still 
safe in the boat. 
I bade the -Squire good-bye at the lower landing, asking 
how much I owed him for the dinner. "Nothing," he re- 
plied. "We've got a son traveling somewhere; we don't 
know where. You are welcome to his share of our table." 
The river water was green, a filmy, ethereal liquid, 
seemingly too buoyant to float the wooden hulk that was 
carrying me. It scarcely held up reflections in many 
places, the images losing themselves, more than half, in it. 
There were ledges of rock again on this day, the sides 
of the stream were broken and rough, the banks high 
and beautiful, with tufts of drift in the bank side willows 
—not the flowing, weeping willow, but a coarser, more 
brittle, sort. 
I was watching out for smallpox now. Several cases 
were reported in various places throughout the region, and 
the river flowed past one of the houses which had been 
"flagged off" or quarantined. It wasn't pleasant to have 
10 approach the dread disease, and there was no telling 
if it was all located. 
The afternoon waned, and I thought to stop at Hilton, 
but ran past it unawares. I stopped to ask about it, and 
a young woman said I was miles below the town. The 
gap on the right side, up the river,- she said, led to Hilton. 
My interest in the Otter house, a great cavity in a rock, 
and in the Big Alley, a vast, cracked boulder, had made 
me miss the town. Her husband was away, but W. H. 
Hart was the next man on the left bank ; he would take 
me in probably. But I'd better not stop at the next house 
below Mr. Hart's, because smallpox was there. I made 
certain to stop at Mr. Hart's, half a mile from the in- 
fected house. 
In 1885 Hart caught what he believes to be the last 
beaver on the Holston River. He saw where it had felled 
a tree, and set steel traps in the water where the animal 
landed. Rabbits are not numerous there this winter; a 
snowstorm last April killed many of the young. In the 
morning I started on at 9:15 o'clock, with Hart's Shoal 
and smallpox to watch out for. Hughes had told me 
to look out for that shoal. It proved to be a mere gravel 
bank, with a three-foot fall down a steep slope, a broad 
ripple with a channel four or five inches deep, which I 
easily followed, though it "took a right smart water 
. man to keep off the island." "Rough water" has a differ- 
ent meaning on the Holston to what it does on an Adiron- 
dack loggers' stream. I wished many times that I could 
show the Holston River men the log drivers at work on 
the West Canada in their batteaux, and on the log jams. 
I fancy there w r ould be more than one "pshaw!" of sur- 
prise. 
The orioles were singing all around again this morning, 
bringing reveries of spring in which I lost sense of time 
and direction. Often I had the feeling that I was lost — 
an odd sensation to have in a flowing river with no forks 
ro choose. Several times I stopped paddling and let the 
current carry me along, to be sure that I was going with 
and not against the river. The crooks and twists of the 
stream were wonderful. 
I came around one bend into a suspicious still water. 
Far ahead I heard a roar. I paddled down to a hundred 
yards of a brink and landed for a look. It was the dam 
at Holston Bridge, and the worst yet. At the mill I 
was told that a 15-foot log had been washed out in the 
center and that I could go down there. I could see the 
green slick break into white 10 feet below T the fall. I 
took my duffle out of the boat, pulled my belt a notch 
tighter and headed for the green roll, where it slacked 
away over the dam. A twig marked the break in the 
dam. The curves looked pretty high, and the closer I 
got to them the worse they seemed. But I let it go. The 
bow dipped under for a gallon of water, and then away 
went the boat, dancing and tossing, but answering the 
paddle to the inch. With my duffle in the boat- again, 
away I went, eating my lunch while the water carried me 
onward. The excitement at the dam gave me a good 
appetite. 
At 1 145 o'clock P. M. I passed the mouth of Moccasin 
Creek. How far I had come there was no telling. On 
land, I had found distances varying from three to five 
miles in regard to places ten or twelve miles away. Now 
men a mile apart called the distances from ten to twenty 
miles apart, usually greatly exaggerating them, as well as 
the danger of river travel. 
Along in the afternoon, miles below the red flags that 
marked the smallpox, I came to a great brick house with a 
wide varanda, large white pillars, a sort of Mt. Vernon 
look to the place, and far back led an extension. There 
was a fancy spring house in the wide yard, large trees 
round about and a worthy old fence. I was tired and 
hungrv. Here was a real Southern mansion, one of the 
first 1 had seen. I was about to approach it, then I 
paddled on past it, round a bend and down the river, 
looking back at the tree-screened place for a mile. One 
could not disturb the repose and mystery of such a place. 
What if ; the man had not been one of those tall, splendid, 
eye-bright Southern gentlemen, and the woman not state- 
ly and aristocratic, the daughter not beautiful? I pre- 
ferred to have a lovely picture in my memory. 
At 4 in the afternoon I reached Dickenson's dam, so 
called because a man of that name lives at the place. It 
was erected by a Cincinnati (?) man for "fishing pur- 
poses." There is a trap in it, and no apron for the fish to 
climb over it, as the law demands. The result is, some 
law suits. I had to pull my boat around the end of it in 
the morning, which I did with Dickenson's assistance. I 
stopped at Dickenson's over night. Among other things 
he said,: 
"I s'pose you noticed that big brick house up the river 
when you came down?" 
"Yes," I said, eagerly. 
"Well, sir, that's got a spring house with four pipes 
coining into, and four different kinds of water running 
into the same bowl. They built that house for a watering 
place." 
So my dream of aristocracy vanished in a summer 
resort hotel. 
"What might your name be?" I was asked. I told him. 
"Yes, I've got a man here named Spears to work for 
me," 
"So-o?" I said. "Is he a good man?" 
"Yes, right faithful sort of a fellow." 
"Maybe he's a relative of mine." 
"Don't think so. Either he'll have to change his color 
or you'll have to change yours. He's a red-bone nigger." 
Raymond S. Spears. 
Floating on the Missouri* — V» 
The name of our camping places, Surgeon Island, re- 
minded us that we had promised a medical friend the head 
and skin of a sturgeon, a most repulsive-looking and ill— 
flavored fish. Accordingly, we put out a line of well- 
baited hooks from the stern of the boat, but found them 
intact in the morning. Sturgeon, cat and other fish of 
the upper Missouri are rarely caught later than Septem- 
ber, and it is said they go far down stream to winter. 
We got an early start from this camp, leaving the island 
before we could well see the channel; but I knew that 
there were no rapids for many a mile to come, and there 
would be no difficulty in getting off a shoal should we 
happen to run aground. There was some fog on the 
water which for a time enabled us to get quite close to 
numerous flocks of ducks and geese before they raised, 
hut I was too busy rowing to keep warm to try for a 
shot. Sah-ne-to, muffled in various cloaks and shawls, 
was shivering until the sun finally appeared and cast its 
welcome rays into the valley. Three miles below Sturgeon 
Island the valley suddenly widens out and the slopes are 
more gentle, the south one supporting several pine groves 
of large extent. Just where the semi-canon ends a splen- 
did grove capping a hill quite near the river tempted me 
ashore, for I felt sure that it sheltered some deer. When 
we landed the bar was all cut up by their sharp hoofs, 
and, alas ! for my plans, there were also the tracks of a 
good-sized grizzly deeply sunk in the mud. Sah-ne-to 
saw them before she got quite out of the boat and prompt- 
ly returned to her place in the stern. There was no 
need for me to ask why. "If j r ou are afraid," I said, 
"come with me. I "believe I can find a buck up there in 
the timber." 
She shook her head and looked away across the river. 
"Well, then," I continued, "you stay here and let me 
go; if a bear should happen along, you can push out into 
the stream." 
"You well know," she replied, "that I cannot handle 
the oars. Let us go on; we still have a little meat and 
the goose. There are plenty of deer ahead." 
We went on. Sah-ne-to is very much afraid of bears. 
Not that she has ever had any experience with them ; 
her people tell some wonderful tales of their ferocity and 
cunning, and, of course, she believes them all. Another 
mile brctight us to the mouth of Snake Creek, entering 
the river through a long, wide, sage brush flat. Up its 
barren valley, away to the north, we got a glimpse of the 
pine-clad buttes and bluffs near its source, where there 
are great numbers of mule deer. Although this stream 
is named Snake Creek. I doubt the rattlers being more 
plentiful in its vicinity than elsewhere in these bad lands; 
they are- pretty evenly distributed and very numerous. We 
saw none, as they had gone into their "dens" for the 
winter. 
Five miles below this point we came to Cow Creek, Or 
Middle Creek, as Sah-ne-to calls it, the mention of which 
the night before had prompted her reminiscences of 
other days. I also have some reminiscences of the place, 
for it was here that I got one of the bad scares of my 
life. It was on that same trip up the river on the ice, be- 
fore mentioned. We had run out of blankets down at our 
Carroll trading post, and with an English half-breed 
named John Hudson, I was sent up to the mouth of the 
Judith to procure as many as possible from another 
trader. The up trip was uneventful. On our way we 
camped one night in the Cow Island bottom in one of 
the best fortified cabins I ever saw. It had bastions and 
loopholes, and was connected with an Indian-proof stable 
by an underground passageway. Its owners had deserted 
it and we took possession for the time. We were success- 
ful in getting all the blankets our two small, home-made 
sleds ^vou'd hold, and started back. About 4 o'clock we 
came to Snake Creek and noticed a great many buffalo 
moving uneasily about the flat and crossing the river to 
the south side. As we went on they became more 
plentiful, great herds thundering down the hills from the 
north, crossing over and rushing madly up the south side 
of the valley. Occasionally we heard the booming of 
guns. A couple of weeks before this some Assinaboines 
had wantonly killed a woodhawk named Koontz, and 
his friends having caught two of the murderers, promptly 
strung them up to the nearest tree. Consequently, there 
was bad blood between that tribe and the whites. This 
was a favorite hunting ground with the Assinaboines and 
we concluded that they were the people behind the flying 
buffalo. "If we can only reach that cabin, John," I said, 
"we can stand 'em off." 
"Yes." he replied, "if we can only get there first. Let's 
pound 'em on the back." 
And we did. We were still two miles from the cabin 
by the shortest cut, which was to leave the winding 
river and strike directly across the flat. We found a 
place to get up the bank, and then lashed our ponies into 
a dead run, and the way we bounced through and over the 
sage brush must have been a sight. But long before we 
got to the cabin a number of mounted Indians came down 
out of the hills between it and us, and our haven of 
refuge was cut off. We slackened our gait at once. 
There was no possibility of outrunning them, so out- 
wardly bold, but inwardly very badly scared, we kept on 
our course. "If it wasn't for these blankets," John said, 
"they might possibly let us go; but when they see them 
'twill be all day with us." 
The Indians were quite near us by this time, and I 
picked up my Winchester, cocked it, and laid it across 
my knees. I can't say what my thoughts were, except 
that I was afraid, and at the same rime angry. I decided 
to shoot at the first hostile movement on their part. They 
were now within a few yards. I was not looking at their 
faces, but at their rifles slung across the pommels of 
their saddles, when a brown hand, was outstretched to- 
ward me, and I heard a familiar voice say : "How 1 How ! 
Appekunny." 
I could hardly believe my eyes. Why, 'twas my old 
friend Red-bird's-tail sitting there on his horse and grin- 
ning. I jumped off my sled and shook hands with him. 
"John," I said to my wondering companion, "we are safe; 
these are my old friends, the Piegans." He gave a long 
sigh of relief. "I thought," he said, "that I would never 
see my old womans any more." 
. So instead of being shot and furnishing material for 
a scalp dance, we camped with friends that night, for 
the whole tribe was just behind the chief and the few that 
rode with him, and the flat was soon dotted with their 
lodges and horse herds. From one place we were called 
to another to feast on pummican, stewed berries, broiled 
tongues and other Indian delicacies, and we ate so much 
that we could not sleep when bedtime came. During 
the evening Red-bird's-tail asked why we were going so 
fast when they first saw us, and I coolly lied and said 
that we were cold and hurrying to the cabin to get warm. 
It will never do to let an Indian think you know such a 
thing as fear. I tried to get the tribe to accompany us 
down the river, expatiating upon the large herds of 
bnff&lo and other game in the vicinity of our post. "The 
Crees are with you," they replied, "also there is much 
liquor. We would drink and quarrel with them, and, 
while we can whip them, many good lives here would 
be uselessly wasted. To-morrow we cross here for the 
headwaters of the Yellow River," 
In the days of river transportation few steamboats 
went_ above this point after the June raise had passed, as 
the river was too swift and shallow for them. Unloading 
cargo here, it was taken overland by large "bull" and 
mule freighting outfits to Fort Benton, and the mining 
camps beyond. A book might be written about the ad- 
ventures of the freighters along the trail. War parties 
always infested it, and sometimes got the scalps and 
plunder they were seeking. 
It was near the mouth of this creek that the Nez Perce? 
crossed the Missouri on their memorable march across a 
part of Washington and Idaho, under the leadership of 
Chief Joseph in 1877. At the time a few soldiers and 
citizens, a dozen men in all, were guarding some Govern- 
ment freight. They saw the Indians crossing and lost no 
time in preparing for the worst, d : gging breastworks and 
making barricades of sacks of flour. At sundown the 
Indians opened fire from the hills, only a couple of hun- 
dred yards distant, and twice during the night charged 
the- camp, but were driven back with serious loss each 
time, the whites losing only cne man. In the morning 
the whole trrbe pulled out disgusted, only to fall into the 
hands of General Miles a few days later. Some distance 
up Cow Creek they plundered a large freight outfit, taking 
such goods as they wanted and burning the rest with the 
wagons and harness. The freighters managed to escape 
by good luck and hard riding. 
We beached the Good Shield at the mouth of Cow 
Creek, and going up on the flat sought in vain for the 
fortified cabin ; not a stick of it remained. Then we 
climbed the rocky buttes. where the Nez Perces had opened 
fire on the freight guards. Here and there we found 
many small piles of rocks behind which they had cached, 
and numerotis cartridge shells of .50, .45 and .44 caliber. 
We took a few of the shells as a memento of the place, 
and then returned to the boat. 
A mile further on, and half a mile below themouthof Calf 
Creek, another small stream coming in from the north, I 
pointed out to Sah-ne-to the place where I had fired my 
last shot at buffalo. On our way down the river the 
morning after camping with the Piegans, I noticed a 
yearling standing alone in the sage brush and shot it. I 
distinctly heard the bullet thud into it, but the animal 
never flinched nor moved, and I was about to- shoot 
again when it suddenly collapsed and fell in its tracks. 
Whether or not I had a premonition that it was my last 
buffalo, with John's aid I skinned it intact, leaving the 
horns and hoofs on the hide. Later I had it tanned 
and gaudily painted, Indian fashion, and sent it to an 
Eastern friend for safe keeping. He has it yet, and after 
all these years it is his by rights. 
At the head of Cow Island, a few hundred yards down, 
we had no l'ttle difficulty in finding enough water to carry 
us over the shoal, which extends from it clear across to 
the north shore. • What channel there is runs parallel 
with it, and about fifty feet from the shore. We saw 
many deer tracks on its sandy bars, whitetail, of course, a« 
the mule deer do not live in the timbered bottoms, and 
islands, coming down to the river only when in need of 
water. 
The general course of the river along here is south of 
east. A mile or so below Cow Island, however, k 
turns sharply west of south, rounds a high, narrow ridge 
and then turns back east of north, making a bend of 
five miles, which is only a mile across. The south side 
of t\e valley around the bend is densely timbered, and at 
the heads of the coulees are cut walls of sandstone, of a 
much darker color than that above the mouth of the 
Judith. There should be some mountain sheep up among 
the rocks and breaks, and the timber certainly shelters 
many deer, for we saw their trails leading down to the 
shore. 
Passing the bend, we came to Dry Island, so named 
because the passage between it and the south shore has 
filled up. water now standing only in pools, where once 
was a deep channel. It was time for lunch, and we went 
ashore, looking around a little before we sat down to 
