April 25, 1903.] 
FORfiSf AND STRE:aM 
It was a magnificent view, and if once seen would never 
be forgotten. 
Lady Evelyn Lake is almost a thousand feet above sea- 
level, and the Maple Mountains are over two thousand 
Keeping to the left across Lady Evelyn we passed near 
an island on which there is a fine camp ground, table, 
benches and everj-thing convenient. We were on an arm 
of the lake stretching toward the west and intended to 
camp for the night on the portage around the Sucker Gut 
halls. About half waj^ down this arm we passed the home 
of a Pagan Indian who had died the year before, but his 
family still lived here, and on a little island near his 
house there were not less than a dozen bear skulls hang- 
ing on the trees. The old Indian had, no doubt, recited 
the harangue, or apology, to the spirit of the bear when 
he killed it and then hung the head where no animal 
could desecrate it, for the lower jaw-bone was securely 
tied to the upper jaw with cedar bark. The cedar bark 
wjis in a fair state of preser^'ation, though the skulls had 
evidenth' been hanging there for years, as the bones were 
old and moss-grown. 
We were traveling almost due west and directly toward 
the Maple Mountains that rose up grand and beautiful far 
beyond the wide expanse of water we were traversing. 
This arm of the lake ends in a pocket inclosed by high 
bluffs with a break on the left where the Sucker Gut 
River comes tumbling down over the falls. We camped 
on the upper end of the portage, and after supper the 
guides took us two or three miles up the river, where 
there are good feeding grounds for moose. We saw 
plenty of ducks, but no moose, although they had been 
tramping all along the shore. 
We had heard of the wonderful trout fishing in Mc- 
Pherson Lake, and, like many other tourists, were under 
the impression that we could make the trip to McPherson 
Lake, catch all the trout we wanted, and return to the 
Sucker Gut Falls in one day. On learning that this 
could not be done, we left the arrangements for the trip 
entirely to the guides. Bob had taken two parties over 
this route, and one of the parties had gone through to 
Florence and Smoothwater lakes, then down the East 
Branch to the Montreal River, which they followed to 
Mud Lake, and so back to Hailej'bury. We took with us 
enough provisions for three days, one tent, all the 
blankets and the cooking outfit. The other tent was left 
standing and everj-thing we did not take along we cached 
in it until our return. I wanted a light to get some things 
in our tent that we were to take along, and Bob made 
me a candlestick. He took a round stick an inch in 
diameter and two feet long; one end of this he sharpened 
and split the other end down about two inches; then, 
taking a piece of birch bark, made a kind of pocket in. 
which he set the candle. The loose ends of the birch bark 
were then drawn through the split in the end of the stick 
till the candle was held firmly in place. By shoving the 
sharp end of the stick in the ground the fight could be 
placed where it was needed. A. W. C. 
[to be concluded.] 
Bad Men of the West. 
The recent articles on the "bad men" of the W^est were 
quite interesting. They call to mind many dark incidents 
of border history. I quite agree with Mr. Day in his 
contention that these frontier terrors should not be 
paraded as heroes. Yet I think that some of these bad 
men were not as bad as they have been pictured. There 
were two distinct classes of bad men. One class con- 
sisted of men whose quick aim and intrepid bravery made 
them a terror to evildoers. The other was of those who 
killed for the mere love of blood and for the sake of 
i.otoriety. James Hickok, or 'W^ild Bill," as he is better 
known, was an example of the first class, while King 
Fisher, Alf Shade, Bill Longley and the Daltons were 
examples of the second class. 
Wild Bill rose to fame as a man killer in the celebrated 
Rock Creek fight, in which he whipped ten desperadoes 
in a fierce hand-to-hand encounter. From that time on he 
was a target for the bullets of the aspiring bad men and 
was thus forced into many a deadly encounter which 
otherwise he might have avoided. As marshal of Abilene 
and Hays City, he succeeded in clearing that locality of 
most of its desperadoes, but in no instance was he the 
aggressor. That his heart was not in the work is shown 
by his many acts of kindness to the widows and children 
of his victims. He always paid the funeral expenses of 
the man he killed, and always appeared as chief mourner. 
Were it not for such men the \^'^ est would never have 
been tamed. They had a mission of their own to fulfil], 
and knives and revolvers were the only life insurance 
policies they could carrv'. 
With King Fisher and the Daltons the case was differ- 
ent. These men performed their bloody deeds for the 
notoriety it gave them. That King Fisher thirsted for 
notoriety is evident; he was a law-breaker instead of a 
law-enforcer. It is said that he once placed a signboard 
at the forks of the road that ran by his home, bearing the 
inscription : 
i TAKE THE RIGHT-HAND ROAD. i 
: THE OTHER IS KING FISHER'S ROAD. 
So great was the fear of him that both desperadoes and 
law officers dared not travel on the forbidden highway. 
Bob Dalton was another candidate for the title of "man 
killer," else why did he say, j ust before his raid on Coffey- 
ville, Kansas: "I will beat Jesse James and go him one 
more." 
Most of these bad men met death "with their boots on.*' 
Wild Bill, Bob Dalton, Grat Dalton, Jesse James and 
numerous others met death at the hands of an assassin; 
Alf Slade was hanged by the Montana vigilants, and so 
the list might be extended. 
There is a tendency among writers to idealize these 
desperadoes. Never was this more evident than in the 
recent case of Harry Tracy. On every hand, even among 
people of education and influence, could be heard words 
of sympathy for the outlaw and ridicule for the officers 
of the law. Story papers, novels and even history teems 
with the words of praise for these border villains. The 
example is bad for the rising generation. If we must be 
hero worshippers let us choose more worthy examples on 
whom to lavish our praise. Clarence Vandiveer. 
Letters to a Chum. — IL 
About 1 :30 P. M, we were pushing down a steep bank 
to the water's edge. Lem stuck a pole through the wagon 
wheels so they could not turn, and it was well he did. 
The horses set the brakes on their legs and we all slid 
down about one hundred feet to the bottom. 
Here was an acre of level ground, a natural park. Big 
trees, green grass and the river pouring along as clear 
as crystal. Here was our camp, all made ready for us, 
and a beauty it was. Camp stove, table, awning, seats, 
spring, shade, everything within t^venty feet of the 
water's edge. How pleasant and home-like it seemed. 
And we were to stay there two weeks, or longer if we 
.washed. 
^ What shall we do first? Dinner, of course. All right, 
I'll catch the fish while you build the fire. No, let's just 
have a lunch with some hot tea, then all go and get a 
big mess of trout for supper. That seemed good advice, 
and we were soon seated round our new table. 
Then rubber boots, rods, reels, lines, book of flies, 
basket — a grand assembly of our entire fishing outfit. 
Some of it is hard to find, and my best reel and line can't 
be found at all. I try to hold my temper as I rummage 
through everything. I had it last night at the ford, and 
I'm sure I put the blasted thing back in my tackle-box; 
but it isn't there, and it isn't anywhere. Confound such 
luck ! I'd rather stay in camp than to try to use that old 
one; still, it might be better than nothing, "You all go 
ahead; don't wait for me; it'll take me a half an hour to 
get that old thing in running order." 
And so I hurry and sweat. Finally I get my outfit into 
some kind of shape, after some unmentionable language, 
and pick up my boots and ram a foot into one of them. 
Down in the toe is something sharp and hard. More 
cuss words. Over goes the boot and out drops my lost 
reel. Well, did you ever! If I'd had sense enough to 
put on my boots first I would have been fishing an hour 
ago. 
There were plenty of fish in that stream. I could see 
them, twenty at a time sometimes, watching me blunder. 
Throw a fly over them and they would dart away. I soon 
found it was no use tr3ang to catch them that way. 
There they w^ere, a continuous line of them, all with their 
heads up stream. All standing perfectly still without 
apparently any movement of the fins, while the water 
rushed past them at breakneck speed. "Tell me how they 
do it." 
For an hour I did not get a bite. Then I caught a 
small grayling. Then moved doAvn stream a mile or so 
to where there was dead water. Here I got a two-pound 
trout; then another larger one that made things lively 
for a few minutes. Getting down on a mud bank under 
the overhanging willows in the deep shade, the water 
looked dark and deep, with scarcely any current at all. 
The sun had gone behind the mountain. The air seemed 
cooler immediately. Making a good cast down stream, 
close to the willows, there was a lunge and a splash that 
almost gave me palpitation of the heart, and the reel be- 
gan to sing. I had 150 feet of new silk on and I let him 
go till he got enough of it. Then brought him in a ways 
till he got ready to go again. Then buz-z-z-z-z goes the 
reel till only a few yards of line is left on it. Then I 
snub him at the peril of my rod, and he throws himself 
high into the air away off there mid a cascade of spark- 
hng water. Slowly and sulkily he comes back, and I feel 
safer as I get more line on the reel. Then a short spurt- 
and another gain for me. Then he changes his course 
and darts up stream, almost faster than I can reel in, but 
he finds it harder pulling up stream, and I gain on him 
till he comes in sight near the shore— tail first, and I can't 
get him turned around. Giving him an extra hard yank 
to get him headed right, I rouse his ire again and away 
he goes, and nothing short of a log chain would stop him. 
All my line is out again, and the fish is more lively than 
ever. I begin to get warm under the collar. I don't want 
to spend all the afternoon on one fish. I want a lot of 
them. So I begin winding up whether he likes it or not. 
Then he takes another spurt, but I put my thumb on the 
reel, and crack goes the rod, and two or three feet of 
the tip hangs slack on the line. This will never do. If I 
want that fish— and I bet I do— Fve got to keep my nerve 
and handle him like a fisherman. Careful is the' Avord. 
Back and forward he goes; now almost near enough for 
the net, and now my line is all out again. I'm sorry, Mr. 
Fish, that I can't accommodate you with more line, you 
seem to want it, but wdien you get so far you've got to 
stop if it busts the firm. Slowly and carefully I work him 
in, God! how my arms ache. And my beautiful new rod 
is a complete -wreck. Still the line holds, and still the 
fish is on. If I only had a little more room I'd snake him 
up on the bank, but there is a solid hedge of willows be- 
hind me. _ I must fight it out right here. 
I get him up close again, but can't see him, the willows 
make such a shade; but I know he is there, and make a 
dive for him with the net, but it is no go. He's off 
again, throwing the water all over me, and I have my 
work to do over again. When I get him back to the 
sticking place again he seems low spirited and sulky. He 
shows signs of giving up, and I say, "Now Fve got you," 
and yank him out on the bank. But something happened. 
Something gave way— but it wasn't the fish. I suddenly 
sat down in the mud while my fish went off somewhere to 
rest. 
Well, we both needed a rest. So I sat still. I didn't 
cry, but I felt foolishly like it. "Dick, my bov, that fish 
outgeneraled you. It was a fair fight and you "lost. Take 
your rnedicine like a man and try him again." 
I wiped the perspiration out of mv eves and looked 
around me. Holy smoke! it's pitch dark and about a 
million stars laughing at me. I wonder where camp is? 
What makes it so still all at once? Now, let me think a 
minute. Which way did I come from? Why, down 
stream, of course. All I've got to do is to follow up the 
stream to camp. Hi, ho ! I wish I had a boat. Well, no 
use sitting here in the water any longer. I'll go to 
camp. 
Easier said than done. Solid walls of brush confronted 
me at every turn. My line and basket caught on them, 
so I left the things and went through somehow. Good 
Lord, what a place, and how dark it is ! It pains me yet 
to think of that trip, but I got through to an open place 
more turned around than ever. 
I looked for the North star and found five of him. 
Standing still trying to decide which star to tackle, I 
heard a faint halo-o-o-o away off to my right. Then six 
shots in rapid succession, I gave an answering whoop 
and started on, letting a yell every few steps, till I found 
Lem coming to meet me, with my Savage and his big yel- 
low mastiff'. Bull, the bear and lion dog, 
Lem had a lantern, and, what was better still, he knew 
the way to camp, though I still maintain that I would 
have got in all right. I'll not harrow your feelings "with 
the scolding I got when we got to camp; but honestly 
it sounded good, for I was eating my supper at the same 
time. It was good to hear Lem's big laugh when I told 
them about my fish. "Thar's rainbow trout in thar," he 
says, "that'll weigh fifteen pound. You mustuv hooked 
on to a big feller." 
We had planned to go out after deer early the next 
morning, so I asked Lem what time we were to turn out 
in the morning. "Oh, the earlier the better," he says. 
"The moon's up now and deer feed the rest of the night 
and lay down before sun up. Our best show is to start 
early." They then told me that they had seen three deer 
while coming in before dark, a doe and two fawns. 
Well, to make it short, we were on our horses, Lem and 
I, at dawn, with a substantial lunch, and everything we 
thought we should need, I with my .30-30 and Lem had 
my .22 for grouse. Straight up the mountain side we 
went, through thick clumps of aspen, where we had to 
look sharp to our legs. I caught some sharp scratches 
before I learned the knack of putting my hands against 
the trees and pushing the horse away from it. 
Once we were within ten feet of a deer when he jumped 
and ran, but the leaves were so thick that we never saw 
him at all, or her rather, for Lem said it was a doe, but 
how he knew is beyond me. 
Higher up it was more open, with lots of deer tracks. 
Once we saw some buckshot on the ground that Lem 
said was elk sign. 
Half way up the mountain Lem, who was in the lead, 
stopped his horse and quietly got off. I stopped to see 
what he was going to do. Taking the .22 out of the 
holster he stepped around his horse and pointed the gun 
at the ground under a tree. Then I saw a grouse. .22 
smokeless don't make much noise, but the grouse lay oyer 
with hardly a struggle. . Then for a few seconds Lem 
worked the slide and shot. Chuck-caslump, chuck- 
caslump, caslump, chuck-caslump. Then he walked in 
there and brought out nine young grouse— all there was 
in the covey. Sounds like a fish story, don't it? But it 
isn't, and I can prove it, for I've got the .22 here now that 
he did it with. 
The sun was high by this time, and deer tracks were 
thick wherever there was a soft spot for them to show. 
We had the big dog along, but Lem kept him at the 
horses' heels. 
_ Up on the next bench we found a big patch of down 
timber. Been a cyclone through there, I guess many 
years ago. The timber must have been heavy in there 
some time, for big logs were thick on the ground. Our 
horses knew how to get over them, though. All we had 
to do w^as to let them take their own course. We went 
all right till Lem's horse tried to go over a little log that 
lay across two big ones, and couldn't make it. The horse 
wanted to turn back, but Lem urged him on, and over he 
went, bottom-side up, with Lem under him. 
Gosh, but I was scared I But it wasn't necessary. Be- 
fore I could get there to help them, they were both on 
their feet, none the worse for their tumble, I thought 
Lem was going to lick the horse for falling, but he didn't, 
'You poor ole cuss," he says, "if you had a rider that 
knew as much as you do, it wouldn't have happened." 
Lem said it wasn't safe to ride any further; so we 
Avould leave the horses there and go on foot. It was 
pretty bad w-alking for a while, but later we found 
smoother going. Lem said that it was a good place to 
find a big buck lying in there sunning and hardening his 
horns, which were yet in the velvet. 
^Pretty soon Lem says: "Give me that air field glass 
o_ yourn an' I'll set down here on a log and scan that air 
hillside over thar; mebbe I can see one, while you go on 
round that ridge and I'll meet you over yonder." 
So I went on along the top of a little ridge till I got 
to the end of it. & 5 
Before going down off the ridge I took a look around 
m all directions. Back w^here I had come from, about 500 
yards away, I could see Lem and Bull sitting side by side. 
Lem had his arm around the dog and held my glasses in 
the other hand. 
While looking at them, I saw something moving in a line 
beyond them. Another look and I saw it was a big buck, 
or an elk, coming straight toward me on the jump. I got 
behind a handy stump and waited, my heart going pitty- 
pat. The buck, for such he proved to be, and a big one, 
too, was going to get to Lem before he did to me. Would 
he change his course? 
_ He was soon up to Lem, but did not seem to see him 
till he went past about twenty feet away. Then Lem 
heard him and looked around. "Here he goes ' Here he 
goes!" yelled Lem. "Shoot, shoot! Sick 'm, Bull, sick 
im! Shoot, shoot!" 
Well, if I'd shot then I would have been pretty sure to 
get Lem or the dog, they were all about in line. I was 
aiming at the buck's head, but he was coming nearer all 
the time, and I know how to wait for a mallard when he 
comes that -way. 
Bull started after the deer like a vellow streak, but he 
couldn't keep up. The buck had changed his course and 
wasn't coming so good now. Still, I was sure of a shot. 
All this time I had been aiming at his head, and Lem had 
been yelling, "Shoot, shoot!" As the deer came nearer 
his head looked to be about all horns, and not a very sub- 
stantial target, so I lowered down to his neck and cracked 
away. Nothing dropped. 
I worked the lever as fast as I could, but by the time 
I was ready to shoot again the buck was opposite me 
going like the wind eighty-five yards away. I swallowed 
my heart and tried to draw a bead on his. Bane' 
Nothing dropped. 
I worked the lever again, and w^as trving to hold myself 
together for another shot, when the buck stubbed his 
toe on a log and stood right up on his head for a moment ■ 
then fell over and lay still. ' 
Lem yelled till he was hoarse, and Bull pounced on tO 
