Jan. Id, 1903.1 
I had not been here for nearly thirty years now, and 
everything here was strange to me. After stopping 
one -night I struck out on foot next morning on my 
way to Summerset. 
The National road leads out from Uniontown and 
climbing 'the mountains here, starts for Cumberland, 
Maryland. This road was built by the general gov- 
ernment away back in the '30s, and runs from Balti- 
more to Parkersburg, on the Ohio River. In its time, 
before the era of railroads, it was about the only means 
of travel by land between the East and West. 
About every fifteen miles along the whole length of 
it, there had been fine taverns built, the ruins of them 
si ill stood here; many of tliem, if let alone, may be 
still here fifty years from now, they are built of stone. 
When 1 first knew this road as a boy, these taverns 
were still in use; now I could not find one that was 
being occupied, and I went as far as Cumberland. 
There are a number of small towns on this road 
now, some of them had been hamlets- then; others had 
not been here at all; the soft coal mines had built these 
towns; this is the country out of which the Connells- 
ville coke comes. 
There was one thing along here that I had need to 
keep away from, "moonshine" stills. This is the moon- 
shine country where old Bill Pritts and his friends 
made their whiskey and shot the U. S. marshals be- 
tween times; and a stranger wandering around here 
with a gun might get hurt. The "revenues"-^ come in 
here every once in so often, and these fellows had a 
habit of shooting first, then asking what a man's busi- 
ness might be, afterward. He might be a revenue col- 
lector. I kept close to the "Pike," the national road, 
the first day; and at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon 
a young man driving a horse and buggy, a farmer's 
son, passed me, then stopped and asked me to ride, and 
I climbed in; I was wearing a pin, the corps mark 
of our division of Volunteers; it is known all over the 
State — -the blue Maltese cross. This young man no- 
ticed it, and telling me that his father wore it, asked 
me to go home with him, and I did so. 
He liA'ed off the main road, about thirty miles from 
Uniontown, and we got there just before dark. 
The old gentleman made me welcome, then brought 
out his whiskey right awaj--. When you are offered 
whiskey in this part of the country don't begin to look 
at the bottle, you might be looking for revenue stamps, 
you might find them on the barrel that this whiskey 
came out of, the chances are that you would not, 
though, and if you happen to be a stranger, don't ask 
if this IS moonshine. Drink it and let it go at that. 
With this old gentleman I would not be in any 
danger if I did ask, but I was not hunting up any 
revenue. There are men in Pittsburg who get paid for 
doing that; if they get shot, then it is their funeral, 
or will be when the}' are buried. 
Geyer was this old farmer's name. He had a fine 
farm of about 180 acres, about all of the farming land 
here; the rest seemed to be mostly mountains. His 
place ran back between two of these mountains for 
over a mile, a creek that headed in there somewhei'e 
passed his dooryard. I had left home on Mpnday, and 
this was Tuesday; day after to-morrow would be 
iThanksgiving. I had forgotten all about it; but at the 
supper table to-night the old lady wanted to know 
what she would get for Thanksgiving? H^er son had 
brought in a load of groceries that he had be^i sent 
clear to Uniontown for, these were for Thanksgiving; 
but she needed a turkey. 
"Then kill one," the old man told her. 
No ; she would not ; she had none now that were fit 
to kill. She was not going to kill her hens; she would 
need them next spring. 
The old gentleman explained to me that he had sent 
all his young turkeys to Pittsburg. 
"Then cook chickens," he told her. "I would as 
soon have them." Then to me, "You must stay here 
until after Thanksgiving." I said I would. 
"How would a few wild turkey,«i do?" I asked the 
old lady. 
One would do if she had it. 
"There should be some in here, I tliink, are there 
not?" 
"There used to be plenty, but they have all been 
killed off," the old gentleman told me. "They and the 
. deer are scarce now, the dogs have run off the deer." 
"I think both are conimg back, though," young 
Charley Geyer says, "Gibson's boys told me — they live 
down in that small house you passed just below there 
— they told me that they had seen quite a flock of tur- 
kei'^s up on the mountains several times this summer," 
"Did they ever have a roost near here?" I asked. 
"Yes; their old roost was up on the creek near the 
head of it; I have got them there, but not for several 
years now." 
"Well, if I were not so tired I would go up and see, 
but I'll hunt them to-morrow, it won't be worth while 
to hunt them there then, though." 
"No," he told me, "I'll show you where to go. I 
wish I could go, too, but we have too much work here 
now, and I have lost two dogs on that trip to Union- 
town, besides." 
Next morning, after a good breakfast of hot bis- 
cuits, buckwheat cakes and sausage cakes (not saus- 
ages, but the meat made into cakes, then friend; I have 
never seen them anywhere else but at these farm- 
houses) I got ready to hunt turkeys. 
Charley Geyer told me to take a trail that began just 
across the creek from the house, then to follow it a 
mile or more; it ran along the base of the mountain; 
then if I saw no signs of turkey, to climb the moun- 
tain on this side and skirt it half way around, but not 
- to go too far around, I might get lost. Men have 
been lost up there. 
"Well, I won't be lost, not this week. I am not a 
city man; I have had to find my way out of far worse 
places than you have here. The Rocky Mountains are 
a good place to get lost in. I have been in them." 
Getting across the creek, I followed the path, a dim 
trail, a mile or more, not seeing any signs of turkeys 
yet. There was tall timber here, most of it hard wood, 
with very little underbrush. 
At last I stopped under a big chestnut tree and be- 
gan to scrape tlae leaves aside to see if the squirrels 
^OflEST_ AND ^STREAM. 
had left any nuts. They had, and while 1 was hunting 
them up I happened to look ahead of me on the trail 
and saw a doe coming down it as though the dogs were 
after her. 
She saw me now and stopped, then looked -back the 
way she had come, as if in doubt as to whether to come 
on, or go back or go somewhere else. 
I stepped back from the trail, then said, "Come on, 
now, I won't hurt you." She trotted right up in front 
of me, then stopping again, stood here staring at me; 
she was not more than a year old and probably had 
never seen a man this close to her before. 
"Go on out of this," 1 told her; "I don't want you, 
but some one else may; get out, now," and making a 
jump at her, she started off, and in half a minute was 
out of sight. 
"It won't take her many minutes to get to that creek 
now, and when she does those dogs, if any are after 
her, may as well go home," I thought. 
She had been gone about five minutes when the 
dogs came in sight. There were two of them, and they 
were in no hurry; they were not the kind of dogs that 
do anything in a hurry. 
I ran to where I had left my gun, and picking it up, 
said, "I'll stop you fellows, anyhow"; then I stood in 
the trail with the gun held across it, and the dogs 
coming lip now, stopped and stood looking at me. 
One of these dogs, the smaller one, was part pointer, 
but not enough of a pointer to be registered, but the 
sooner part of this one would spoil him for anything 
in the shape of a bird; he might do to point a beef 
steak. The other dog, a big black one, seemed to be 
a pure sooner, I don't think there was any cross about 
him. 
"Go and lie down, there," I told them. The Jittfe 
one lay down without asking any questions; but the 
black one wanted to go on, but seemed to be in fear 
of the gun. 
I have never yet met a dog that would offer to hurt 
me after I had spoken to him; so grabbing this one 
by the neck I dragged him over to where the other 
dog lay, and shoving him down here I asked, "How 
many times need I tell you to do a thing. Lie there, 
now, will you?" He lay down and began to whitie, and 
I sat at his head to keep him here. In about five min- 
utes the men came in sight; there were two of them, 
both carrjang shotguns. One of them was a man of 
about my age, a farmer, I thought; the other was 
hardly more than a boy yet, about 20, probably; he 
looked like a city boy; he was, too, out of my own city, 
as I afterward found out. 
They came up to where I and the dogs lay here, and 
the boy looked at us, then began to grin. I thought 
he knew that I had put up a job on them. 
"Your dogs, sir, missed the deer by about a mile, 
and were ready to quit when they got here. I called 
them off." 
"How far ahead was the deer?" the young man 
asked. 
"Oh, a mile or two. She passed here ten minutes 
ahead of your dogs." 
"It was a buck, was it not?" 
"No, a yearling doe." 
"I sent those dogs after a buck, sir." 
"You may have sent them after a bear, but if you 
did it was a doe by the time it got here. I have been 
hunting deer since long before you were born, sir, and 
I probably know a doe now when I see her. That one 
was a doe." 
"Why did you not shoot her? We are not hogs. I 
would not claim her." 
"Nor would I, if I had shot her. You would be justi- 
fied in claiming half ; but I am not shooting deer with 
a shotgun nor a doe with any gun." 
"We all hunt them with shotguns here," the old gen- 
tleman says. 
"Yes, sir, many do. I have heard of them being 
hunted with an ax. Then they were run into a snow 
bank and clubbed to death. It all depends on how you 
look at it whether we use a shotgun or not." 
"Well, we can't use a rifle here." 
"I can. I don't see anything here to prevent me or 
you from using a rifle." 
"Y^'ou could not use it where we started that deer. 
There is too much brush there." 
"Then I would let them get into the open and give 
them a chance. They hardly have half a chance now 
with our rifles if we know how to use them. We arc 
not now hunting them with old muzzleloaders. You and 
I have done it, I have no doubt." 
"Yes, sir, I am older than the first breechloader." 
"We both are. Well, the deer have no better defense 
now that they had then. Let us not use a gatling gun 
on them." 
"Those dogs of yours are valuable animals, ain't they, 
uncle?" the young man said. 
"Well, they are not worth over one hundred dollars 
each ; but they did not cost me that ; in fact they cost 
me nothing; I raised them." 
"They were not built to run deer. They probably can 
run a tramp off all right, sir. Don't convict these dogs 
before hearing their defense. I appear for the dogs. We 
won't ask any delay, we are ready for trial now." 
The young fellow looked at me, and asks, "Are you a 
lawyer, sir?" 
"No, sir, but I had been thinking all along that you 
were one." 
"I am trying to be one," he said ; "I am a law student." 
"Well," the old gentleman said, getting up, "We may as 
well go home, which way are you going, sir?" 
"I came up here from Mr. Geyer's after turkeys, but I 
don't see any signs of them." 
"They are here then. I saw them only a month ago; 
but I have better ones at home that don't need hunting." 
"Suppose you go on in there, uncle, and let this gen- 
tleman and me himt them up. If we find them it will 
save the ones you have at home." 
"Go ahead then," his micle told him. "I don't want to 
climb that mountain to-day. Bring a turkey home, 
though, if you find any." 
The dogs still lay here. 
"Don't leave the dogs here, uncle, I don't want them 10 
get lost if they are not so valuable." 
"Oh, never mind the dogs. They won't get lost. See 
is 
that you don't; it would not be the fifst time you did, 
you know. I had to hunt that mountain a whole day for 
him a few years ago," he said to me. 
The young man and I started out, and I asked 
him whose office he was reading law in. We started 
another argument and proceeded to retry the case of the 
City of Allegheny versus The Pittsburg and Western 
Railroad. 
This case had been tried, appealed, reversed and re- 
inanded, then tried again in our State courts. We gave 
it another hearing to-day and came near forgetting all 
about the turkeys. 
_ It was a suit to determine the railroad company's 
title to Smoky Island, which was not an island at all, 
but a strip of river bottom land in Allegheny City. 
I had been born within gunshot of it and we used the 
island as a play ground, hunting Indians among the 
trees there with bows and arrows — the negro boys did for 
Indians in this case; and hunting "greenies," green frogs, 
with clubs. 
I appeared for Allegheny City now and not the dogs, 
while the young lawyer defended the railroad, and we 
told each other all about the rights of eminent domain, 
riparian rights, and rights, of possession, and were still 
busy trying the case and had got up to near the top of the 
mountain and well around to the right side of it, when 
happening to look ahead of me I remembered what had 
brought us here. The turkeys were here, plenty of them. 
Just ahead of us and a little below us was an open place 
nearly clear of trees and in the middle of it about fifteen 
turkeys were scattered around feeding. 
There was a fringe of bushes and blackberry vines 
between the turkeys and us here, and we dropped down 
out of sight. 
The young lawyer proposed that he should go down 
and around this place out of sight of the turkeys, then 
get above them and send thera down to me; I, in the 
meantime, to get in through the bushes, then do the rest. 
I'he turkeys were too far off now for us to reach them 
from these bushes and we could not get in closer on 
them here. 
He started, while I crawled in through the bushes, 
then lay here. I could see him as he went dodging be- 
hind the trees on his way up and at last the turkeys saw 
him and came right toward me. 
I let them come to within thirty yards; had I my old 
Fox gun sixty yards would have been close enough, but 
I did not knovv this gun; I had never fired it. 
They were in among some dead weeds now, and I 
sent them the contents of both barrels, then jumped up to 
load. The turkeys ran back, then began to fly and the 
young man gave them both of his barrels and got two, 
the rest dropping down just ahead of him to run again. 
A turkey does not want to fly any longer than he has to, 
he can't fly far anyhow. 
The young man was going to follow them, but I called 
to him to let them go, we had enough now. I did not 
know yet how many I had, the weeds hid them, but I 
must have at least two, and going over to them I found 
I had three, two small ones and a big one. He brought 
his two down now and I told him to take as many as 
he wanted, I would take the rest. 
He would like the big one, he said. 
"You have it; take it and one more at least. I only 
want two." 
I would have to take all four or else leave them. He 
had four miles to go ; he would have to return the -way 
we came, while I could get to Geyer's in about two miles 
and a half. 
"Well, these four will make a load for a pack mule; 
but I am not shooting turkeys to feed 'coons. I'll take 
them.'; 
I tied them together in pairs, got the heaviest pair 
across my gun, then got the gun on iny shoulder and 
taking the other pair in my hand we started, the young 
man leaving me now after telling me where I could find 
him in the city. 
I kept on straight down the mountain, he having told 
me that at the foot of it here I would find an old stone 
quarry and lime kiln, and a road ran from it past Geyer's 
but I might have some trouble in finding the road, it had 
not been used for years now. 
"It will be used 'to-day though," I said. "I have fol- 
lowed too many Indian trails not to" be able to find a 
wagon road." 
The turkeys really weighed about sixty pounds in all, 
but they felt as if they weighed half a ton, and I had to 
stop and rest every quarter of a mile, but got to the 
quarry at two o'clock, and from here the roadhouse 
was plain enough, and a mile and a half over it took me 
to Geyer's. 
I left my turkeys outside, then went in the kitchen. 
Mr. Geyer wanted to know if I had found anything. 
"Only a few turkeys, sir. I met a doe but did not 
want to shoot her; I let her go." 
"I guess she came here. A doe came in here from 
across the creek and ran in among my cows in the pas- 
ture; Charley's dog went after her but Charley called 
him off, then she left." 
"That was right, she had all the dogs she wanted be- 
fore I met her, I called them off." 
The old lady examined the turkeys and then said that 
two of them would be all she could use; she would send 
the others to a widow below here who had a house full 
of boys to eat them. Then she called in her son, who 
was at work in the barn, and sent the turkeys off with 
him. Next she spread me a good dinner on her kitchen 
table; it was long after dinner now, but she had been 
keeping mine for me, she said. 
Mrs. Geyer's daughter and her husband came in here late 
this evening from Meyersdale to spend Thanksgiving with 
the old folks. They had driven across here in a buggy. 
It snowed to-night, the first of this season, but it was 
only a "rabbit snow;" the next one, and it looked as if 
it were coming soon too, would be more than a rabbit 
snow, so I vvould not hunt on foot clear to Bedford 
Springs this time. 
The two young men here, Charley Geyer and his 
brother-in-law, wanted to hunt rabbits to-day. So did 
I, but they had only one gun between them, and I gave 
them mine. They were out until nearly dinner time but 
got a big bunch of rabbits. 
The snow was still on the ground the next morning, 
and it looked as if more were coming. The young son- 
