FOREST AND STREAM. 
— * — 
Thoreau* 
A Little Study of a Great Man. 
It is difficult 1o characterize Thoreau; it is difficult 
to understaiid what his chief motive in life was; but he 
seems to have had in mind to give to the Avorld a practi- 
cal illustration of the doctrine of plain living and high 
thinking. For this purpose he retired to the bank of 
Walden Pond, near Concord, where he built a small 
house with his own hands, and in which he lived for 
two years at a minimum of expense. In his book, 
"Walden," he gives details of his experiment in living 
a life of simplicit}-. The enlirc cost of his house was 
$28.121/2 ; he specifies the items of his building expenses 
to the cost of the chalk he used — one cent. Of his house 
he said: "I intend to build me a house which will sur- 
pass any on the main street of Concord, in grandeur and 
luxury, as soon as it pleases me as much and will cost me 
no more than my present one." His expense for pro- 
visions, exclusive of vegetables, which he raised in his 
garden, for a period of eight months, from July to March, 
were $8.74. "Yes," he says, " I did eat $8.74, all told; but 
I should not thus unblushingly publish my guilt if I did 
not know that most of my readers were equally guilty 
■with myself, and that their deeds would look no better in 
print." 
What did he do there by Walden Pond? For the most 
part he read, he wrote, he mused, he walked about, he 
worked in his garden, he talked with his friends, he 
cultivated an intimacy with the fish in the pond and the 
squirrels in the woods. It is said that he could take the 
fish out of the water in his hands, while the squirrels 
came down from the trees and climbed over his head and 
shoulders. He was one of nature's noble men. He was 
a mathematician; he was a scholar; he read Homer daily 
in the Greek for his own recreation ; in the old days, when 
abolitionists were few, he was the enemy of the slave 
power, and his "Plea for Captain John Brown," delivered 
in the public hall in Concord, was one of the most power- 
ful and eloquent utterances at a time when few had the 
courage to speak out. He was a man of the woods, and 
he was a man of books. To hold intercourse with 
Thoreau, Hawthorne said, was "like hearing the wind 
among the boughs of a forest tree." He died compara- 
tively young in the year 1862. 
President Jordan, of Leland Stanford University, char- 
acterizes Thoreau as the chief prophet of the "Order of 
Saunterers." Thoreau described himself as belonging to 
the "Church of the Sunday Walkers." He had an in- 
tense love of nature, and of home. Concord was every- 
thing to him. "Nothing can be hoped of you," he said, 
"if this bit of world under your feet is not sweeter to 
you than any other in this world — in any world." The ad- 
mirers of Thoreau form an order of themselves. They 
resent all criticism of his life or his words. They are 
impatient of all analysis of his methods or of his motives. 
President Jordan says that the most illiterate man he 
had ever known who had ever heard of Thoreau. was an 
Irishman, Barney Mullins, of northern Wisconsin, with 
whom he had once ridden on an ox sled through the 
deep snows of that region. In the course of conversation 
Barney stated that he had lived at one time in Concord, 
Massachusetts, before coming to Wisconsin. "I asked 
him," says Dr. Jordan, "if he had happened to know a man 
there by the name of Henry Thoreau. He at once grew 
enthusiastic, and he said, anwng other things: 'Mr. 
Thoreau was a land surveyer in Concord. I knew him 
well. He had a way of his own, and he didn't care much 
about money; but if there ever was a gentleman alive, he 
was one.' " And so great was his affection for Thoreau, 
though it was many years since he had lived in Concord, 
that he urged the Doctor to accompany him to his house 
and spend the night with him. "He hadn't much of a 
room to offer me," says he, "but there was always a 
place in his house for a friend of Mr. Thoreau." 
"Here is a test for you," adds President Jordan. 
"Thoreau says: T long ago lost a hound, a bay horse, 
and a turtle dove, and am still on the trail. Many are 
the travelers I have spoken to regarding them, describing 
their tracks, and what calls they answered to. I have met 
one or two who have heard the hound and the tramp of 
the horse, and even seen the dove disappear behind the 
cloud, and they seemed as anxious to recover them as if 
they had lost them themselves.' 
"Now if any of you, in your dreams," says Dr. Jordan, 
"have heard the horse, or seen the sunshine on the dove's 
wings, you may join in the search. If not, you may close 
the book, for Thoreau has not written for you." 
T. J. Chapman. 
Life in the Rockies. 
From earliest boyhood the inherited love of the 
woods and undisturbed nature reigned in me supreme 
and choked out all ambitions for trade or profession, 
leaving only a longing desire to flee from civilization, 
from the burdens, disappointments and hypocrisy of 
society, to be alone in the corridors of nature's great 
domain, which had not been defaced by the hand of 
man, the study of whose inhabitants makes life a joy. 
From the day when the house dog treed an animal, we 
knew not what, a few rods from the house, on a sap- 
ling, and we boys, by an hour or more of hard work 
with an ax, felled it, and after great effort killed what 
proved to be an opossum, up to the time of manhood, 
the passion grew. 
Still fighting against what seemed, wheii soberly 
looking into the future, an aimless desire, in a half- 
hearted way I applied myself to books, until able to 
secure a position as teacher of a country school, and 
worried through two terms with success which would 
have gratified one ambitious of professional work. The 
last term had nearly expired: I was wending my way 
one morning toward the structure where the founda- 
tions for greatness are laid, one of those calm winter 
mornings when a few snowflakes were lazily falling 
from the dark clouds, when I stopped to drink in the 
beauty of the snow-covered landscape. 
I heard a faint sound floating down from a wooded 
ridge, so faint and yet so familiar, and dear to my 
heart: I at once recognized the familiar voice of a 
foxhound in pursuit of a fox. Such a morning for a 
fox chase! Warm and pleasant with just enough snow 
for good tracking, and not a breath of wind blowing to 
carry away the music. 
I stood enraptured and oblivious to my surroundings, 
then looked over at the school house on the hill, and 
knew that I must pull myself inside its walls and allow 
the sweet music, wooded landscape and pure air to be 
replaced by the buzz of restless children, pencil-marked 
walls and chalk dust. It was then and there that my 
long unsettled mind was brought to a sudden and de- 
cisive point. I would finish my present obligations to 
the young and rising generation, and to those who had 
employed me, then I would break the bonds which had 
held me, and go, I knew not where; anywhere to get 
away from the turmoil and strife of mankind. 
Accordingly, I set about deciding on a location. To 
my mind, frx>m boyhood, the Rocky Mountains were 
my idea of a wild and rugged place, and there my mind 
turned instinctively. Having heard of Fort Collins, 
Colorado, being at the foot of the Rockies, I pictnred 
it as a border town and a proper place to make my first 
stop. In due time I landed there, and found a thickly 
settled and highly cultivated community, entirely dif- 
ferent from that I was looking for. Idleness being 
one of the hardships to which I was not accustomed, I 
set out to find work on a farm until I could get my 
bearings for another move, inquiring in the mean- 
time for any person who might give me information 
concerning the farthest settlements in the mountains 
and the facilities for getting there. Securing employ- 
ment on a farm four miles from town, I worked a week 
amid unpleasant surroundings, when I went to town to 
get my mail and look around. Having heard of a ranch- 
man, hunter, trapper and guide by the name of Luke 
Wheeler, whose home was far up in the mountains, 
where big game abounded in such numbers as I had 
never even hoped to see, and who was staying tem- 
porarily at Fort CollinSj^ I proceeded to find him, just 
to see what a real, live frontiersman looked like. Hav- 
ing found his abiding place, I proceeded out to the 
stable, where he was taking care of a number of 
horses which he had brought down from his mountain 
ranch. He met me at the stable door, a giant in stat- 
ure, over six feet tall, powerful, raw-boned, with heavy 
black beard and a voice like thunder. I at once began 
to offer my apologies and excuses for calling on him, 
hardly knowing myself why I had called; only to see 
what he looked like. Like a true frontiersman, he re- 
ceived me with hospitality, gave me a brief description 
of the wild mountain country where he lived, and pro- 
posed, unsolicited, that if I was inclined to go to that 
locality, he would give me employment for the summer; 
that he was going to start for the ranch in a couple of 
weeks with two wagons, and that my transportation 
would be free if I cared to engage myself to him. It 
seemed too good to be true; the very opportunity I 
was looking for. After learning from him that I should 
provide myself with bedding if I was going to that 
country, as every person was expected to furnish their 
own bed, and getting all needed information, I left 
him and just walked on air for days after that. 
To say that I was happy would put it very mild. A 
mint of money would not haA'e made me happier, and 
long and fondly will Luke be remembered for the gen- 
erous way in which he took hold of the "tenderfoot." 
Of course the next important matter for me after 
getting my blankets was what kind of a gun to get. I 
decided finally on a .40-82 Winchester, and once in pos- 
session of that and a supply of ammunition, I felt rich, 
no matter what else might be lacking. 
The eventful morning came for starting. Luke and 
his wife, with the lighter loaded two-horse wagon, took 
the lead, and Bert Reed, Bob Wheeler and myself clung 
to the other wagon, in which were four veritable 
broncos, which, not having worked any all winter, suc- 
ceeded in making things "wild and woolly" at the start; 
which was right to my taste, for I wanted to see every- 
thing as it was. Bob Wheeler was a younger brother 
of Luke's, who had a ranch joining Luke's, and assisted 
him in his hunting and guiding expeditions. Bert Reed 
was an old-timer of that section of the Rockies, and 
had also spent the winter in Fort Collins, and was go- 
ing back to the mountains, and subsequently becarne 
my trusted companion and partner in later years, in 
some of my most interesting experiences in the West. 
I frankly told the boys in the start that I was a sure- 
enough "tenderfoot" and wanted to learn the ways of 
the West, and asked them to give me such instructions 
from time to time as they might see opportunity and 
need. This they kindly did, showing me how to cinch 
up a saddle, mount a horse properly, bake biscuit and 
all the many necessary requirements of a Westerner. 
Bert being an expert four-horse driver, handled the 
ribbons over the four broncos, and after a few wild 
breaks and mix-ups, we got them untangled and strung 
out, and were off for the mountains. 
The ranch was 140 miles from Fort Collins, and the 
trip looked long to me, never having been used to long 
overland trips. The first night we rolled up in our 
blankets under the wagons, and the wind blew a hurri- 
cane all night. The next evening we stopped at the 
ranch of a friend of Luke's, where we were to stop 
over for a day or two to rest. The trout fishing was 
fine, and we enjoyed the stop and caught some fine 
strings of the speckled beauties. The "tenderfoot" 
sprained his ankle climbing among the rocks, which 
stopped all walking for a couple of days, but it was 
not until the evening of the last day of our stay at 
camp, so it did not cause any inconvenience, only the 
loss of a night's sleep. The last night there we left a 
pan full of trout, cleaned, ready for breakfast, sitting 
near the tent door, on the bank of the stream, and in 
the morning there wasn't a trout in the pan: a mink 
had been to breakfast ahead of us. 
On the evening of the third day's travel we reached 
the "Sheep Grove," a little swampy place covered with 
a growth of alders and willows, out on the Laramie 
plains, in a blinding snowstorm. This was my first 
rough experience; at least I thought it was rough. Of 
course the first work was to build a fire, and then to 
put up a tent to protect Mrs. Wheeler and her little 
baby. Anyone who has camped Gift in a snowstorm 
knows the rest of the programme; any who have not 
must try it to fully appreciate it. The next morning 
everything was snowed up so that moving our loaded 
wagons was not to be thought of, and there was only' 
one thing to do: Luke took his wife and the horses 
and went back about four miles where there was a 
"road ranch" (which is a public, stopping place along 
the road), and left us to take care of the outfit until 
the snow would go off. It was a very uninviting 
place to "put up." We could barely find enough wood, 
and of a very poor quality at that, to do our cooking, 
and the remainder of the time we kept warm the best 
way we could. It was there in the sheep grove, in the 
midst of a snowstorm, with a very poor fire, that I 
was_ informed that every fellow had to take Iris turn 
baking biscuit in the Dutch oven. 
I had never baked a biscuit, and had not the remotest 
idea how it was done, but a protest would not go; so 
I "took my medicine," but when the biscuit were 
baked, or rather dried hard, then it was that the other 
fellows had to "take their medicine"; there was no al- 
ternative; it was eat them or go hungry. At night we 
could hear the coyotes howl, which was the first greet- 
ing I had of wild life. We wore away three of the 
longest days that it was ever my lot to see, and with 
them the snow was wearing away; at last we were 
gladdened by seeing Luke come to release us from our 
prison, and we were soon on our way, all the happier 
for the discomfort. When within fifteen miles of the 
ranch I saw my first antelope. Oh, how they could 
run, and how I wished to try my new gun on them. 
When within seven miles of our home we stopped at 
a large stock ranch for dinner, where our whole outfit 
was fed with the hospitality prevalent among frontier 
ranchmen. With much interest I wandered around 
among the outbuildings and saw hanging everywhere 
some evidence of big game in the way of old deer, 
elk or antelope horns and hides. I felt that at last T 
had reached the ideal place, the place I had 
thought and dreamed of and longed for from boyhood. 
I could hardly stay indoors long enough to eat; the air 
was so pure and bracing, the atmosphere so clear and 
everything so bright. 
About four o'clock in the evening we rounded the 
curve, which brought us in full view of our destina- 
tion, when Bob let forth one of his Comanche yells, 
which was no doubt familiar to any living creature 
which may have been in hearing. The buildings were 
all little one-story log cabins, which was the only kind 
of buildings to be found in that locality. I dumped my 
belongings into the bunk-house, which was a little 
10x12 cabin, with the ground for a floor, and bunks 
made of poles fastened up in the corners. The location 
was a small park called Big Creek Park, six miles long 
by one mile wide, in the midst of the rugged Rockies, 
hundreds of miles from any settlements in most direc- 
tions; a place too picturesque and beautiful to describe, 
within ten miles of where snow lies all summer and at 
an altitude of 8,200 feet above sea level. I felt just as 
I imagine a young duck would feel which had never 
been in sight of water, and which was suddenly turned 
loose to abundance of water; I just reveled in my sur- 
roundings. 
The snow falls there to a depth which drives all big 
game to other localities in winter, and we had as yet 
no opportunity to learn whether it had come in, but 
I could not wait to find out; I was up next morning and 
out in the woods before it was clear daylight, to see if 
anything might be in sight. In the woods, just back 
of the house, I found old deer trails beaten solid with 
their travel, and many tracks of the year before were 
visible, but no fresh tracks. I was back in time for 
breakfast, and was ready to begin work. During the 
entire day I could see a fine bunch of antelope feeding 
on the hillside, less than a mile away, and I plotted 
their destruction. 
The next morning I was up before daylight, took my 
gun and determined to go over and hide among some 
rocks near where they had been feeding and surprise 
them when daylight came. When 1 got half way over, 
while going through the meadow, I suddenly came to 
Big Creek, a good-sized stream and much swollen by 
the melting snows in the mountains, so that I could 
not cross over. I had not figured on any such ob- 
stacle in my way, and felt sort of "up a stump," In 
the darkness I could see the dim outlines of some of 
our horses nearby and soon found one which I knew to 
be gentle. I took off my suspenders and made a halter, 
and was soon mounted and agoing merrily over the 
stream. The first streak of dawn found me safely hid 
near the favorite feeding grounds of the antelope. 
When the light of day revealed the surroundings there 
were no antelope in sight. Not having time to wait, I 
crept over to another rocky ledge, which overlooked 
a draw or swale of low ground, where the green grass 
made a tempting bait for game. There I saw, about 
200 yards away, a fine bunch of antelope, all unconscious 
of danger, if a tenderfoot could be termed dangerous. 
There was no way of getting nearer, and I ventured a 
shot, but they all got away with whole hides. 
A few evenings after that Luke w^as going up to the 
other end of the park on horseback, where there had 
been no settlements, to try for a deer, and he took my 
gun to initiate it. When he came back he had a fine 
deer lashed on behind his saddle. 
Bert and Bob purposed spending a few Aveeks trap- 
ping for beaver, and soon had their traps strung out 
for several miles up the creek. One morning we found 
several inches of snow on the ground and I gladly ac- 
cepted an invitation to go with them to visit their 
traps. They went on horseback, and as I had neither 
horse nor saddle, Luke allowed me to take one of his 
horses. When about two miles from the ranch, we 
crossed the trail of a big bull elk which had passed 
less than half an hour before, where it went through 
the snow-covered willows. It made a path through the 
willows like a "steer in a cornfield," and tUe tender- 
foot's eyes bulged out to see such huge tracks made by 
a wild animal. I was fairly wild to get out with my 
gun and kill something, but as I was employed as a 
ranch laborer, and my employer was an experienced 
hunter and could easily keep himself supplied with meat, 
my opportunities for bunting were limited; but since 
