May 3, 1902.1 
£48 
the off mule pricks up his ears and takes a look. "He- 
haw, he-haw, he-haw," he says, and "he-haw, he-haw," 
answers his mate at his side, cocking an inquiring eye to 
the windward. 
This is the premonitory signal for full steam ahead. 
With a plunge they are off and" you might as well attempt 
to stop a freight car as to try to check this mad stampede. 
On a dead run they go until they are about ten feet from 
the rear of the front wagon. With a jolt that jars every 
bone in your body they stop and proceed to move quietly 
along as though nothing, had happened, until the correct 
distance is gained by the leaders, then the performance is 
repeated. 
I was driving the mules when the first wild rush of 
the trip occurred. We were going down a slight hill at 
the time, and the speed we attained was something fright- 
ful. Cold sweat started from every pore in my body. I 
strained and tugged at the reins all to no purpose. _ T 
thought of every evil thing T had ever done in my life 
during that wild ride. 
"If the good Lord lets me out of this alive I'll start for 
Ohio by the first train," was my inward vow. When 
the jolt came I was braced for the shock of contact with 
the front wagon, else I would have been hurled to the 
ground. I was as limp as a rag when it was all over, and 
my hands were cut and bruised until they bled from 
tugging on the lines. When I turned to see what had 
become of the other members of my load, I found them 
rolling over each other in the back of the wagon laugh- 
ing enough to kill. It had been a put-up job. I was 
Mr. Easy Mark receiving my initiation. After that I 
knew enough to give a loose rein, hang on tight to the 
seat and let the beggars run. On the return trip we 
were sixty miles from Boone on Saturday morning. We 
took an early start, determined to make the entire dis- 
tance in one day. We covered thirty-five miles up to 
noon, and with a short rest pushed on to complete the 
journey. During the last ten miles the mules showed 
alarming signs of giving out. They fairly staggered 
in their efforts to keep the road. 
When we stopped in front of the house at home, they 
both fell down in their tracks. We unhitched them and 
put them in the barn yard, not knowing whether they 
would live until morning. Fifteen minutes later they 
had jumped a five-foot fence and were eating a neighbor's 
cabbages. 
Of such is the kingdom of. mules. But I am getting 
ahead of my story. 
Our objective point in our jaunt across the country 
was Spirit and Okihoji lakes, on the southern boundary 
of Minnesota, a distance of about 200 miles from our 
starting place. 
We took the journey for the most part by easy stages, 
making an average of twenty-five miles a day, stopping to 
hunt whenever the territory warranted it. We had a 
military A tent for sleeping purposes, in which we could 
just lay six single excelsior mattresses. It was but the work 
of a few moments to put this tent up after a suitable stop- 
ping place had been selected, and we were soon ready 
for supper and a good night's rest. Our cooking para- 
phernalia consisted of a gasoline stove and a sheet-iron 
camp stove, together with other necessary utensils. Our 
cook had been chef for a regular army mess, and never 
in my life have I eaten things that tasted so good as 
did the meals he prepared for us on that trip. I sup- 
pose the outdoor life and the exercise served as an ap- 
petizer, but I ate so much every time I had an oppor- 
tunity that I was positively ashamed of myself. 
We depended on the farmers along out way for milk, 
butter and eggs, but carried with us a' good stock of gro- 
ceries, canned meats and bacon — '"saw-belly," the boys 
called this last. 
Campers in general cannot do better than to lay in' a 
good stock of bacon for their trips. It is superior to 
butter or lard for frying purposes, and it lends a flavor to 
game that is simply fine. 
^ At 9 o'clock the cook beat "taps" on the dishpan and 
we retired to rest. "To rest, did I say; nay, I did but 
. jest." We were no more than comfortably settled on our 
respective mattresses before "zing, zing" went a mosquito 
in my ear. Crack ! I nailed him on my cheek. A moment 
more and "zing, zing," again came that plaintive wail. 
The most maddening sound to the would-be sleeper that 
an all-merciful Creator ever invented. 
By this time the others had awakened to the fact of the 
serenade. "Blankety, blank the blankety blank mos- 
quitoes." said Morgan. "Say that same thing over again 
for me," said another. "Ditto twice," I murmured, sotto 
voce. "We might as well get up and get them out of here 
first as last," said a fourth, "we won't sleep a wink till we 
do." Out we piled and started a smudge in a tin pail. 
This was placed in the tent and the smoke soon drove our 
winged visitors out into the cold, cold night. 
Carefully closing every loophole in the tent, we again 
wooed Morpheus, but in vain. The mattresses on which 
we lay had been used by one of the companies of the 
State militia, and they had developed a very healthy and 
energetic colony of that rara avis, Cimex lectu- 
larius. 
Again we were forced to arise, this time to fire our 
beds into outer darkness. 
Poets may sing to you of the delights of sleeping on 
the ground with nothing between yourself and Mother 
Earth, but a thin blanket and some scroggy brown grass, 
but I tell you it is an ingenious fabrication made to en- 
trap the unwary. Before morning I had located every one 
of the 208 bones in my body, and had lain on each one 
separately until it seemed as though they must prick 
through the flesh. It was with considerable difficulty that 
our little procession got on the move in the morning. 
However, a good stiff drink of the stuff that cheers and a 
warm breakfast did much toward reviving waning inter- 
est in life, and by the time the sun had shown his ruddy 
face over the eastern plains we were ready to proceed on 
our way. 
Iowa is the natural home of the prairie chicken. This 
second cousin of the Eastern pheasant is a beautiful bird 
with gray and brown mottled plumage, looking a little like 
our tame Plymouth Rocks. 
Soon after starting on our second morning out, the 
dogs, of which we had two, a Gordon and an Irish setter, 
were loosed and sent out over the fields on each side of 
the road. They were rapid workers, and the black fellow 
soon came to a stand. Out came the guns, and Morgan 
and I started after the dogs. The Gordon kept his stand 
and slowly we came up behind him. With a whir and a 
rush the birds broke cover in a bunch. Crack ! Bang ! 
went our guns almost together, and three of the covey 
dropped to the ground. The rest settled about 100 rods 
away, spreading considerably as they alighted. We scored 
eight out of the bunch, with two clean misses for my 
own gun. 
The prairie chicken flies like the quail, with a wonder- 
fully rapid movement of the wings at the beginning of the 
flight, but after momentum is gained the wings are spread 
and the bird sails gracefully to its selected alighting place. 
They are natural born skulkers, and often times you 
can walk within two feet of them without starting them 
from cover. In flying, if the sun is shining, they wheel 
quickly between it and the hunter, so you must shoot 
as they rise or shortly after, else the aim is affected by 
the sun's rays. After alighting they run rapidly, and 
are often 300 yards distant when you approach the spot 
at which they disappeared. 
During the day it was insufferably hot, and the dust 
of the road seemed to hang about us in a cloud. Every 
farmhouse we passed was besieged for water for man and 
beast. At one place the well and pump were located in an 
inclosure surrounded by a high board fence, with a great, 
locked gate shutting them off from the road. Taking a 
pail, I made a careful reconnaissance through the bars, and 
seeing nothing disquieting, climbed laboriously over and 
started toward the pump. About the same time the 
ugliest looking bulldog that I ever saw appeared mys- 
teriously from some place and started for me. At a glance 
I counted some 300 teeth set in a bloodthirsty mouth, and 
concluding discretion the better part of valor, I rapidly 
gave ground. I took that fence with a flying leap that 
would have done credit to a world's champion. It was 
unanimously voted that we were not thirsty, so the caval- 
cade moved on. 
The highways in Iowa are most convenient because 
so perfectly laid out. Each square mile is bounded by 
a road, so that it is almost impossible to lose your 
way. There were no fences, and we were able to cut 
across them, saving many miles, but for the most part the 
farms are carefully fenced and cultivated. The surface 
is a rolling prairie, cut here and there by large and beau- 
tiful rivers. To stand in the center of a huge circle, of 
which the horizon is the boundary, and gaze at fields of 
grain stretching in a beautiful yellow sea for miles and 
miles about you, the wind swaying the stocks and nod- 
ding heads into an almost correct simulation of waves is a 
sight never to be forgotten. Iowa abounds in such pic- 
tures. 
The third night out we slept in a little schoolhouse. It 
was well we did so, for a thunderstorm came up after 
midnight that was fearful. We had renovated our mat- 
tresses by this time, and notwithstanding the thunder and 
lightning, enjoyed a delightful night's rest. The next 
morning we were awakened by the cook with the pleasant 
information that the mules had pulled their tether pins 
and were nowhere in sight. Were you ever out in a 
camping party that you didn't 'have one in the crowd that 
had that "take Hood's Sarsaparilla feeling" all the time? 
One who was so blasted lazy that he had not energy 
enough to seek shelter from the rain ? We had such an one 
with us. He would move around in a sort of a trance 
doing something he had been told to do, in such a slipshod 
and listless manner that some one usually had to go and 
do it all over again. 
He had tethered the mules the night before and had 
only driven the pins about six inches into the ground. 
Such a cussing as he got. The old Englishman swore at 
him in seven different languages. Fortunately for us, the 
mules had discovered a farmhouse about half a mile up the 
road, and had stopped to investigate. They were captured 
there and brought back with but little loss of time. 
Quail in Iowa are so common that the native sportsmen 
rarely hunt them. They sit on fence posts and whistle at 
you as you drive by. A mother and her brood will 
scurry into the grass, but a few feet in front of your 
horses, and sit there as unconcernedly as you please, while 
you stop and look at them. To me this was wonderful, for 
I had been accustomed to hunt hard for a half-dozen of 
these fellows. I frequently made little side trips by 
myself for the sake of shooting a few of the brown 
beauties. 
In many of the marshy places that we passed we found 
plover, curlew and what Iowans call snipe or yellowlegs. 
These latter looked to me more like rail, although I was 
unable to find out exactly what they were. They would 
rise from the edge of a pond in a dense flock and it was 
a poor marksman that could not get a half-dozen at one 
shot. Morgan killed twenty-three one day with both 
barrels. They were exceedingly plump and of fine flavor. 
Rabbits were so common that we scarcely looked at 
them. Occasionally, some one would knock a youngster 
over for a supper if he had not secured any other game. 
The boys had been taking turns riding the broncho. 
It looked so easy and seemed so exhilarating to skim 
on in advance of the rest and look up stopping places, 
etc., that I concluded I would try it myself. The pony 
was a beautiful saddler, with an easy, springing lope that 
seemed almost like being in a rocking chair. I was an 
entire novice at horseback riding, but the first two miles 
I enjoyed immensely. It was early morning, and a light 
rain had laid the dust and made the atmosphere fresh and 
clear. I drank in great draughts of the pure air as I 
skimmed along, and made up my mind that the broncho 
would get me for the rest of the journey. 
The third mile wasn't quite so pleasant. The sun had 
begun to get in its work; and my trousers would persist in 
trying to edge up around my neck. The fourth mile was 
worse. I had begun to perspire. My clothes chafed 
my legs and my backbone ached terribly. 
At the end of the fifth mile I gave up in disgust and 
crawled into the wagon, willingly resigning my "soft 
snap" to another. Since that time my horseback exercise 
has been taken in a buggy. 
We arrived at Pomeroy, famous for its destruction by 
cyclone, about noon of the day they were to hold their 
annual county trap - and bird shooting contests. We 
watched the various events with considerable interest, 
some very good shooting being done. One man in par- 
ticular, Dr. Stuart, I think his name was, put up a first- 
class exhibition. I remarked to one of the members of 
the club that we had a pretty good shot in our party, and 
that if they felt so disposed he would shoot the doctor a 
friendly contest. He replied that it could be easily ar- 
ranged, and that a little side bet would be acceptable. 
This struck me favorably, and we soon got together $25 
in our party, which was covered by the doctor's friends. 
Morgan was our representative. The event was to 
be twenty live birds, each man to shoot his targets in 
succession. We won the toss, and chose last place for our 
man at his request. It was a pretty contest. The Doctor 
killed eighteen straight, but missed the nineteenth, and the 
twentieth fell dead out of bounds. 
Morgan took his place after this fine exhibition with- 
out the quiver of a muscle. The old man was nerve to 
the backbone. One after another the birds fell before his 
rn&rring aim. Twenty straight was the record he made. 
The $25 kept us in "necessaries" for the rest of the 
trip. 
We arrived at Lake Okiboji without further mishap, 
and there spent two weeks very pleasantly. 
Perch, bass and muscalonge were plentiful, and what 
with yachting and flirting with the pretty girls spending 
their summer at the resorts about, we had a most delight- 
ful vacation. 
I had no particularly unpleasant experiences while at 
the lakes, excepting possibly the one of standing in my 
shirt tail in the midst of a pouring rain clinging desperate- 
ly to a guy rope of a big tent to keep it from blowing 
over while a companion hunted for an ax to redrive the 
stakes that the wind had loosened. But happily for most 
of us the pleasant things of this life are strongest in our 
memory. The unpleasant ones seem trivial as time les- 
sens their force. 
So as a whole I remember my sojourn in Iowa as a 
most delightful one, and I trust that I may be able to 
revisit that same ground on some future occasion. 
R, H. Patchtn, 
Floating on the Missouri. — X. 
Five miles below Elk Island is Devils, or Rattlesnake 
Creek. It cuts through a flat thirty feet or more above 
the river, and its slopes are covered with massive, irregu- 
lar blocks of the soft bad-land soil which the water has 
undermined. In among these blocks are many crevices 
and miniature caves, no doubt much frequented by snakes. 
The cottontail rabbits also make their hotnes in such 
places, and as they are nowhere especially numerous along 
the river, I believe that their numbers are kept down by 
the rattlers, 
Two miles further down we came to the mouth of the 
Fourchette, a running stream which heads forty or fifty 
miles away to the north, near the Little Rockies. It 
enters the Missouri through a wide, sloping valley, and 
has a fringe of cottonwoods and willows along its course. 
This point was always a favorite camping place with the 
Indians in other days, as the buffalo and elk seemed to 
frequent the vicinity the year around. In the winter of 
1862-3 Major 'George Stull managed a small post here- 
for the American Fur Company, and did a large trade 
Avith the Gros Ventres and Assinaboines. That was the 
winter Nelse Keyser found his placer mine, and the Major 
says that he came to the post several times during the sea- 
son for supplies. He never told exactly where he was 
located, but pointing away to the southwest would say: 
"There is my country. There's where I am going to make 
a big stake." 
One time during that winter a large party of Crows 
came into the post, ostensibly to trade some robes and 
furs. The trade room was a long, low cabin, and across 
it ran a counter nearly five feet high, behind which the 
goods were piled on shelves. The room was packed full 
of the Indians, and while the Major was trading with one 
of them, the others began to climb up on the counter and 
reach over for one thing and another. "When he gets - 
mad," he heard one of them say, "every one shoot and 
then we'll clean the place out quick." 
The next instant they saw two six-shooters pointed at 
them, and the Major said: "I'll kill the first man who 
starts to raise his gun or bow. Get out of this room at 
once, every one of you. Hurry, for these guns are going 
to begin talking very soon." 
The Crows stood for a little in astonishment, and then 
a panic seized them and they rushed for the door, pulling, 
pushing and trampling on each other in their hurry, drop- 
ping and leaving their bundles of robes and skins. About 
that time the cook and a couple of half-breed employes 
came over from the other cabin, and then the Major 
went to the door and faced the crowd, who were now 
protesting that they meant no harm, and begging for 
their property. He told them that five of their number 
could come in and trade at a time, and they did so. 
But the first in traded some robes belonging to others, 
and afterward there was a big row, in which three men 
were killed. 
Passing around Trover Point, long and narrow, we 
came to the mouth of Killed Woman Creek, a "dry" 
stream also coming in from the north. Years ago a 
camp of Assinaboines were attacked here by a war party 
of Teton and Ogallalla Sioux, and one woman was killed, 
hence the name of the stream. It is not generally known, 
I believe, that these branches of the great Sioux nation 
warred upon each other, but such was the case. The 
Assinaboine Sioux separated from the others nearly tw r o 
hundred years ago, after a quarrel over some women, 
and came west. They never increased, as their numbers 
were kept down by the new enemies they found, princi- 
pally the Blackfeet. 
Opposite the mouth of the little creek we saw a skiff 
tied to a stake, and going ashore beside it, I climbed the 
trail leading to the top of the high bank. Just as I 
reached the top I nearly ran into a man coming after a 
bucket of water, and was not a little surprised to recog- 
nize my old friend Ed. Herman. "Well, well," he ex- 
claimed, almost yanking me off my feet. "What on earth 
are you doing down here?" 
"Oh," I replied, "just drifting along and revisiting our 
old stamping grounds with Sah-ne-to. And you?" 
"Why, I'm building here and am going to buy a few 
cattle. There's my shack over there; just bring up your 
bedding and things and make yourselves comfortable until 
next spring at least." 
The first news that Ed. had to tell was that no white- 
tail deer has died below the mouth of the Fourchette of 
the disease which had so decimated their numbers further 
up the river. "I'm thinking of going into the sheep busi- 
