Sept, afi^ 1903.} 
timbered portions of the State, they arc nowhere very 
plenty, and so shy that parties frequently travel far 
in the forest without seeing one. We camped that 
night by the fair waters of Seven Mile creek, reaching 
the Poplars early in the afternoon of the next day, 
where for a few days we resumed our old routine of 
fishing a few hours in the morning and lounging about 
camp the remainder of the day. The lagoon leading 
up tp the Poplars has one other feature worthy of 
mention. As before stated it is formed solely by springs, ' 
has no perceptible current and its waters are very cold, 
but while in winter the great lake freezes all over with 
the ice over a foot thick, the lagoon never freezes, and 
it is quite possible to row a boat to the mouth and 
step out on to the ice of the lake. 
Considerable game can be found in the vicinity of 
the Poplars. Personally, I saw no deer; but their 
fresh tracks were seen nearly every morning within a 
short distance of the corrals, and they occasionally 
came into the pasture. Several were seen by the other 
campers, and two or three were shot at during our 
stay, but being in each instance on the jump when 
fired at, none were killed. A few miles to the north, 
on Cherry creek, we were told, there is an extensive 
salt lick, and a hunter reported that he had seen forty- 
two in that vicinity in one day, all of which, however, 
were does, with not a buck among them, most of the 
bucks probably being back on the high peaks drying 
their horns, which were still in the velvet. Blue and 
ruffed grouse were plenty and even a few Mongolian 
pheasants have found their way down there from the 
north, while duck and goose shooting in season are 
unsurpassed. 
"Varmints" of various kinds were abundant; several 
black bears frequented a mountain about six miles 
away, 'coon and fox tracks were seen every day; and 
almost every night we were lulled into slumber by 
the yelping of coyotes. These serenaders, however, 
were quite expensive to the Griffiths, who, having 
started with twenty turkeys in the spring, had but 
three left at the time of our departure, the rest having 
fallen victims to these sneaking nuisances. 
The trip back to Ager was a very leisurely one. We 
hunted and fished by the wayside the first day, making 
only eight miles to Rock creek, where I had made my 
lone camp on the way out. We spent one day at the 
summit, one of the most attractive points on the route 
from a scenic and sporting point of view; and the 
next, day went only five miles in order to enjciy an- 
other evening vvith the old pioneer ways. The charms 
of the hot springs and hotel at Shovel creek made 
another delay, and the last night was spent at the 
splendid ranch of Mr. Woolmincamps, eight miles 
from the railroad. 
This thrifty old. German, who had lived there for 
eighteen years, had grown rich feeding the teams and 
entertaining the freighters between Ager, Klamath 
Falls and other points east of the railroad. He had 
the finest house and ranch on the route, and everything 
about the place was in the most up-to-date condition. 
A fine stream, called Boger's Creek, well stocked 
with_ trout, ran through the place, but for do- 
mestic and sanitary purposes he had run an 
underground two-inch pipe from a spring high up 
in a hill two miles awaj^, giving him an abundance 
of the purest water for stock, the sink and sewer, be- 
sides power enough to grind his mower blades and 
ranch tools generally. As with most of the ranches on 
this road, hay was the great staple, the yield being 
largely increased by irrigation; but here we found a 
small vegetable garden and two orchards of apple, 
prune and plum, some of the trees so heavily laden 
•that almost every large limb was propped. In the cool 
■of the evening Mr. W. took us down into these orch- 
ards and we found the flavor of the fruit, especially 
the apples, far superior to those raised in the Sacra- 
mento Valley. 
Noticing that many of the apples had large holes 
eaten into them, I inquired the cause, and Mr. W. said 
that soon after the fruit was half grown flocks of what 
were locally known as "apple birds" began to arrive 
from the south, and ravaged the orchards until the 
apples were all gathered, when they as suddenly dis- 
appeared, and not one would be seen until the next 
year. My curiosity was instantly aroused. I had never 
heard of them nor their depredations before, and up to 
that time had always believed that the apple was a 
fruit no feathered plunderers ever meddled with. Some 
years the birds are so numerous that they get most 
of the crop in spite of the constant warfare kept up by 
the ranchers. In this orchard I should say that fifty 
bushels or about one-quarter of the crop had been 
rendered unmarketable by them this year. 
Wishing to investigate this, and learning that most 
of the damage was done in the morning, I rose early 
and went to the orchard. Before I got there I saw 
numbers of the birds flying about the trees and be- 
■came satisfied that they were a species of woodpeckers 
•entirely new to me. The way they lit upon the side 
■of the posts indicated this, and subsequent examination 
confirmed it. Leaning against one of the trees was a 
fine shotgun, showing that the rancher was not sub- 
mitting to his losses without a protest; and picking it 
up I started in pursuit. None of the pickers had yet 
arrived, but the birds were wild from constant harass- 
ing, and I had some difficulty in getting within range. 
One was finally secured, however, and I will briefly 
describe it. It was the size "of a robin, the back and 
wings perfectly black; from the head down the throat 
and body to the tail ran a band of a light brick color 
about an inch wide, and a faint circle of similar feath- 
ers was around the eyes. Perhaps the editor of Forest 
AND Stream can give us some information about this 
bird, which I consider the worst pest in the section 
where it operates that the fruit raisers upon this coast 
have to contend with. I learned that it also destroys 
a great deal of green corn, husking the ears with its 
strong beak and eating the corn from the cob. 
The next day before noon we reached Ager, where 
we disposed of our _ pack saddle, kiacks and surplus 
provisions at cost price to parties who were fitting out 
for the mountains, and at 4 o'clock P. M. of the same 
day boarded the train for San Francisco. 
. _ Forked Deer. 
Forest and stream. 
Chased by Indians. 
All through the summer of 1867 I was stationed at old 
Fort Chadbourne. That is, the troop was there; I was 
for the most part of the time somewhere else, carrying 
mail or dispatches. I was kept on the road almost con- 
stantly, partly because the captain wanted me to do this 
work; he had an idea that I would not get lost, and I 
wanted to do it myself. I could combine the dispatch 
carrying with hunting, but this time I was the hunted. 
Fort Chadbourne was an old post built years before the 
war on Oak Creek, in what is now Runnels county, 
Texas. It had been abandoned years before; there was 
not enough water here, but we had reoccupied it this 
summer because there was no other place suitable in this 
part of the country. It was away out on the frontier 
then, the nearest settlement being at Fort Mason, now 
the town of Mason, eighty miles east. 
There had been a string of posts running north and 
south clear from the Rio Grande up to the Indian Terri- 
tory, but most of them had been, like this one, abandoned 
ever since 1861. 
The next nearest camp to the north of us was on the 
Clear Fork of the Brazos, where Fort Griffen was after- 
wards built. It was about eighty miles from Chadbourne, 
and a troop of the Sixth Cavalry (Chafltee's troop, I 
think it was ; he was a captain in the Sixth then ; he is a 
general now) was in camp here, but he was not with it. 
I was sent one morning about the last of August with a 
dispatch to this camp from the commanding officer at 
Chadbourne; he was the captain of my troop. He told 
me that I might take three days to go in, as there was no 
hurry, then asked if I wanted company. But I preferred 
to go alone. I meant to go through in two days, for if 
I took three, the first place I would have to camp at 
would be too near the trail the Indians took in their raids 
down the country. They were Comanches who hung 
out west of this on the edge of the Staked Plains, and 
were going and coming all the time. I knew just where 
to keep a lookout so as not to meet them, and meant to 
do it, too. 
The first thirty miles of the trail from Chadborune led 
across a wide bottom that was thickly overgrown with 
mesquite bushes. Then after crossing a creek it led 
through Mountain Pass. This was a narrow, steep pass 
between high mountains, the floor of the pass being 
covered with large trees that stood close together, and the 
walls on each side were too steep in most places to ad- 
mit of a horse being taken up or down them. The pass 
was about three miles in length and ran north and south ; 
it was a good place in there to find black bear; I found 
them there more than once. At the lower or northern 
end of it is the highest mountain in the group, and this 
Indian trail passed close to it, the trail running east and 
west. Just here a man out of my troop had been killed 
only a month before this. He had straggled back from 
the party he was with, and the Indians had either not 
seen his party, or, what was more likelv, had been afraid 
to attack it, but had killed and scalped him. I afterwards 
put up a stone at his grave; it is most likely there yet; 
his name was Daniel Worm. 
This would be where I should camp to make a three 
days' trip of it. I did not, though, but keeping on went 
into camp at Phantom Hill, twenty-five miles further on ; 
then went on to my destination next day. When I had 
given the lieutenant who was in command his mail and 
dispatches,_ he told me that he wanted me to remain a day 
so as to give him and his men time to write their letters, 
which I could take back with me and have them sent from 
our post down to Mason, that being the nearest post- 
office. 
The next day happened to be Sunday, but there is no 
Sunday in the army. They play ball on that day now; 
it had not been introduced into the army then, or else 
those of us who had been born in the United States could 
have played it. I had learned to play it soon after being 
weaned. After the troop had been inspected, I put in 
most of the day helping some of the men study the his- 
tory of the Four Kings in connection with a game of 
lo-cent ante, and I left them the following morning with 
some of their loose change in my pocket. 
I started late next morning, carrying the mail on the 
cantle of my saddle, with my horse's nose bag full of 
cooked rations; these came in handy later on when the 
Indians had me corraled in the pass. I meant to camp 
again at Phantom Hill, then go on through the pa-Ss and 
camp that night at the creek just beyond it. I camped at 
Phantom Hill all right, but made no camp on the creek; 
the Indians changed my plans. 
I had got to where the Indian trail crossed mine at 
the foot of the mountains, on the second day, and just as 
I did so I gave a look to the east, or down the country, 
and saw a party of four Indians come riding slowly up 
the trail toward me, while half a mile behind them more 
Indians were driving along a bunch of cattle. They had 
been down the country after cattle or horses — either 
would do. The Indians saw me about the same time that 
I saw them, and now began to lash their ponies; here was 
another scalp, they thought. 
"You can go to heaven," I thought. "You are just two. 
minutes too late for this scalp. I need this one myself.'* 
Then giving my horse the reins I went on a dead run 
up to the real entrance to the pass, a mile away. The 
mountains only closed it on the left here; there was an 
open country on the right for the next mile; but there 
was no danger of the Indians cutting me off; I had a 
horse that could go two miles to their one and not half 
try. "Once I get into that pass," I thought, "I can stand 
them off. It may be a case of starve me out, though, but 
I can hold the pass all right." I had a Spencer carbine 
and lod rounds for it, a Colt's powder and ball pistol and 
about 50 rounds for it, and would not be fool enough to 
fire a shot before they had got in close enough to be hit. 
The next thing I did was rather foolish, though. I 
vvas ashamed of it afterwards. I had often seen our men 
during the war of the Rebellion, when just about to form 
ia line of battle, take any cards they had about them and 
throw them away. I never carried them then, but would 
tell the men that they were foolish ; that there was no 
more danger of their being shot with cards than without 
them. I had a new deck of cards in my breast pocket 
and taking them out I quickly dropped theni on the trail 
"I may get shot by those fellows," I thought, "and if t 
do, I don't want Saint Peter, when 1 a|»ply at his gate 
without a pass, to go through my pockets and find a deck 
of cards." I heard from these cards afterwards, though; 
but they were the last cards I ever threw away when go- 
ing into an Indian fight. 
1 was at the mouth of the pass now, and pulling up 
my horse I turned and looked back for the first time since 
starting. The four Indians who had taken after me were 
si ill following, but were half a mile away. Taking off my 
hat I swung it; then turning my horse again, rode on 
into the pass and up it about 300 yards to where the floor 
was wider and there was good grass in among the trees. 
I ran my horse in here, then jumping off got the lariat 
off the saddle; one end of it was already about the horse's 
neck, I threw the other end around a tree, then dragging 
my carbine out of its boot on the saddle, I sprung the 
lever and jumped out into the trail; then got behind a 
tree. No Indian could get in here without me getting a 
fair shot at him, and they could not climb the mountain 
and flank me here. They might cross the mountains to 
the west of this, then come in behind me; but that would 
involve a march of twenty miles. "They won't do that,'" 
I thought; though it was just what 1 would have done in 
their place. 
I pulled out my watch and looked at the time; it was 
half past 3 o'clock. "In three hours now," I thought, "it 
v^ill be too dark in here for them. If they don't call be- 
fore then I need not expect them before morning." 1 had 
an idea then that no Indian would make a night attack. 
I since found that these Comanches would; but few 
other tribes would. The Apache was a coward at night; 
he was one in the daytime though. 
I stood behind this tree until it had got to be so dark 
that I could not see down the trail; then going to my 
horse I moved him on fresh grass, tying him out properly, 
for I was not in so much of a hurry now. Then coming 
back I lay down on one side of the trail where I could 
sweep it if anyone came up. In about an hour I saw 
something coming toward me on the trail. It was so 
dark now that only by lying close to the ground could I 
see it move; but I knew it was not a man nor a horse. 
When they had got closer I saw that they were coyotes. 
There were half a dozen of them and they were moving 
up the trail carelessly, bound, no doubt, to the creek after 
water. "There are no Indians where you came from," 
I thought, "or you would not be so slow about getting 
through here." I gave a low whistle and the coyotes all 
stopped and looked toward where I lay. "Git!" I told 
them, rising to my feet, and they ran off back the way 
they had come. I lay a while longer, looking up at what 
stars I could see every once in a while, to see how fast 
the night was passing; I did not want to strike a light 
to look at my watch. 
At last when I thought that it must be near midnight, 
I took my hat off, held my watch inside of it and struck 
a match; it was just 11 o'clock. 
I began to study now what I had better do. I should 
not have stopped in the pass at all had I known as 
much as I did now; but I had expected the Indians to. 
follow me in. Why they did not, puzzled me; and if 
I started now part of them might have crossed the 
mountains to meet me on the far side, while the rest 
had been left at the mouth of the pass. "I'll stay here 
now until daylight," I told myself, "then I can see 
where I am going." And while still thinking this over 
I dropped off fast asleep and never wakened up until 
six o'clock the next morning. Then I wakened with a 
start and jumped up, and running out to my horse found 
him lying down fast asleep also; but he got up and 
came to meet me. 
Next going out to the trail I looked at it closely. 
No one had been through here, my trail and those of 
the coyotes were plain enough, but no other marks. 
I put my saddle on; while I was doing it the horse 
kept rubbing his nose against me; and putting my arm 
around his neck I said, "They did not get us, did they? 
And they won't, neither, before they raise a new breed 
of horses. A pony has no business following you, has 
he?" 
I led the horse out to the trail, and mounting, sat 
here studying. I was in doubt which way to go now. I 
wanted to go back down the trail and try to find out 
if the Indians were still there; why they had not come 
here still kept me thinking. 
"No," I said at last, 'T was not sent to hunt In- 
dians, but to carry the mail. I'll get into the post as 
soon as I can; then let a troop hunt them." 
I went through the pass at a trot, and when I had 
got to the creek beyond it, my friends the coyotes 
were here before me. "That settles it," 1 thought, 
"there are no Indians here, anyhow." Now taking up 
the gallop I kept it up and got into Chadbourne at 
10 o'clock, handed the captain his dispatch and gave 
the proprietor the mail to take to the adjutant's office. 
"Where did you camp last night?" the captain asked. 
"In the pass, sir. The Indians drove me into it 
yesterday afternoon." Then I told him all about it. 
"Orderly," he said, "go and tell Major Callalian 
with my compliments that I wish to see him right 
away." 
I could hardly keep my face -straight. Callahan was ' 
our lieutenant; the troop would have to hunt Indians 
now; they might not get them, but I would get a cuss- 
ing when the troop had got back for reporting these 
Indians. 
"Shall I take another horse and go along, sir?" I . 
asked. 
"No, you stay here, you have had your share of them. 
Let the troop have them now." 
The troop was out four days, but brought back no 
Indians. When it had got back I went to the first 
sergeant, a good fellow he was, too, and asked if they 
had found my Indians. 
"No, of course not, they are out on the Staked Plains 
now. If you want them, why did you not keep them 
when you had them? We only found their trail." 
"That let's me out, then; if'they left the trail they 
must have been there to make one." 
"Oh! they were there all right; you don't get stam- 
peded at a buffalo, the major says; but they did not 
wait for us. See here," he asked, "would it be possible 
for you to go 500 yards from the post and not find us 
Indians?" 
