2 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Jan. 2, 1904. 
— ^ — 
A New Yeat's Greetingf. 
'Tis just ten years ago, "Ay de mi"— time is fleeting— 
That I sent to your readers a holiday greeting, 
Full freighted with hopes for good luck and good cheer, 
To follow their paths through the incoming year. 
Father Time, with his scythe, has been mowing away, 
And some whom we loved has cut down day by day 
Some have followed their game o'er the last long divide. 
Some await Charon's boat by the dark river's side. 
Though they drop from the column the lines do not thin, 
For the ranks are closed up by recruits falling in; 
And the tales of adventure are welcomea again. 
From the prairies of Texas, the forests of Maine. 
The ascetics proclaim that this world's but a show — ■ 
A mere prelude to one unto which we must go; 
But we hold that the Ruler, who placed us all here, 
Meant our fiillest enjoyment of all its good cheer. 
The flowers shall open their buds in the spring, 
The bobolink trill, and the mockingbird sing; 
The trout from his lair 'neath the alders shall rise. 
In; ready response to the deftly cast flies. 
The sheep on the mountain, the deer on the plain. 
Shall reward the pursuit of the hunter again; 
. The goose and the mallard come down to his call. 
As they wing their way south at the coming of fall. 
, Here's success to them all, both the old and the new; 
May their aim be unerring, their weapons be true, 
Arid through Forest and Stream may the fortune we hear 
Which has followed our wish for a Happy New Year! 
Jan. 1, 1904. Von W. 
Bright Eyes. 
The winter of 1872-3 in Montana was about the coldest 
cf any that the old timers can recollect. Snow began to 
fall early in November, and from then on until March 
liever a chinook broke the piercing cold. I was em- 
ployed that season by old Jim Wells, who had a trading 
post on Milk River, just below the Bullshook, the butte 
overlooking the present town of Havre. 
We were 'trading with the Gros Ventres and Assina- 
boines, whOj.to the number of two thousand or more, were 
camped in the timber bordering the river above and be- 
low us. They were poor. I doubt if they had more than 
one horse to the lodge, dogs being used to' drag lodge 
poles and household effects when camp was moved. Still, 
the buffalo were so plentiful, darkening the snowy plains 
in all directions about us, that there was no hunger, and 
we did a good trade in robes. 
In December the cold became more and more intense, 
and froze the mercury in our thermometer. The snow 
was a couple of feet deep, and still falling a little every 
day.. Band after band of buffalo and antelope trooped in 
from the country to the north, crossed the valley, and 
swarmed into the breaks of the Little Rocky and Bear 
Paw Mountains, the wolves and coyotes and foxes trail- 
ing along behind them; the plains were deserted by every 
living thing. In the great camp the women toiled and 
shivered, cutting fuel for their lodges^ felling green young 
cottonwoods that their horses might browse on the bark 
and tender twigs. Meanwhile their lords and masters 
kept close to the fire, leaning back on their: soft robe 
couches, smoking, feasting, gossiping in lazy indolence. 
But this state of affairs could not last. The stores of 
dried meat and pemmican dwindled rapidly. The- medi- 
cine men began to make sacrifices to Cold-maker, the 
storm fiend, to pray the sun to send a "black wind"— a 
chinoak — that would melt the snow and allow them to 
hunt once more in comfort and safety. But prayers and 
sacrifices were alike unavailing; the intense cold con- 
tinued and the Indians began to starve. Old Broadface, 
the Gros Ventre chief, came into the trade room of the 
post one morning, followed by one of his wives, who 
tossed a couple of buffalo robes over the high deab coun- 
ter. "These," said the old man sadly, "are the last we 
can spare, else we freeze within our lodge even by the 
side of the fire. Yet, perhaps it were better to freeze and 
die quickly than to die slowly by starvation. Give us for 
the one robe some flour, for the other some sugar and 
tea." 
So, it appeared, thought his people. One by one they 
parted with their couch robes until they had ■ no more. 
Our stock of provisions dwindled until we had no more 
to sell. We, too, had hoped for a chinook and the arrival 
of a bull train load of goods from Fort Benton, and we 
had sold out everything but one sack of flour, a side of 
bacon, a few pounds of sugar and hardtack — not much 
to .last a dozen men and women any great length, of time. 
Things had come down to cases; for us angS. for the In- 
, dians it was hunt or starve. Preparations were finally 
made for a hunt out to the slope of the Bear Paws, thirty 
miles a:wayi We employes at the post drew cuts to deter- 
mine which one of us should accompany the Indians, and 
the short straw fell to me. 
So we rode forth one morning into the thick veil of 
slowly dropping frost which enveloped the plains and 
effectually hid an object at a distance of three hmidred 
yards. It had been agreed that the hunters should split 
up into small parties, and diverging like the sticks of a 
fan, spread out and cover many miles of the mountain 
slopes where the game was thought to be. There were a 
dozen men in the Assinaboine party I accompanied, and 
one of them, a . good looking, light hearted young fellow 
named Red Quiver, had allowed his wife to come with us. 
They "had but recently married, and could not bear to be 
separated from each other 'CTen for a couple of days. I 
rode a good strong horse, and. had four others upon 
which to pack the spoils of the hunt. Each one of the 
party had that number or more, which they" had' borrowed 
from relatives or friends unable to go themselves. We 
had a large lodge and lodge poles. Some were provided 
with a little bedding, others had none. I packed a few 
blankets, a couple of robes, and a wagon sheet upon 
one of my loose horses. 
The deep snow had lain and settled so long that the 
horses had hard work to travel through it. We took 
turns riding ahead and breaking trail, and in that way 
went on hour after hour all day long at a steady walk- 
ing pace. Even then we only succeeded in reaching 
Beaver Creek, and by the time the lodge was set up and 
a fire built darkness was upon us. Not a living thing 
had we seen all that day, not even a wolf or coyote. We 
had crossed a few old trails of buffalo and antelope, faint 
and frost-rimmed paths. Not one of my companions had 
brought along any food- — not so much as a scrap of dried 
meat. I had four loaves of sour dough bread and a couple 
of pounds of brown sugar. I produced two of the loaves 
and half the sugar. Bright Eyes, as I called her. Red 
Quiver's young wife, steeped a kettle full of spearmint 
tea; I poured the sugar into it, divided the bread into 
fourteen portions, and we feasted 1 But even if we had 
only a few morsels of bread, there was plenty of the tea, 
and it warmed and cheered us. I had a plug of tobeacco, 
one of the Indians a huge stone pipe and a sack of 
"I'herb." Time and again the bowl was filled with the 
mixture and passed back and forth around the circle. 
There was some little talk; tales of by-gone hunts and 
memorable feasts ; we felt drowsy. I gave a part of my 
bedding to Bright Eyes; she threw one of the heavy 
blankets over Red Quiver's shoulders, leaned against him, 
looking into his eyes with dreamy fondness. He 
drew her closer, shielding her with a part of the blanket. 
There is love in the Indian camp as well as in the town 
and city of the pale faces. 
The fire was kept going all night, and by turns every 
one had sufficient sleep. In the morning we finished the 
bread and sugar, washed down by another kettle full of 
tea, then packed up and resumed our quest. About noon 
we came upon fresh signs of game, and a little later a 
large band of buffalo were sighted, looming up huge and 
strange in the heavily frosted air. They were busily paw- 
ing the snow and thrusting their white coated heads deep 
down for the dry, rich grass. Great clouds of steam 
escaped from their nostrils and hung over them like a 
fog bank. They did not notice us and we approached 
within less tkan one hundred yards, slowly and silently, 
and then with one accord dashed swiftly into the herd, 
shooting right and left. I myself killed eight fine cows, 
others more, some less, but enough, anyhow, to load every 
pack horse in the bunch. There was a grove of cotton- 
woods and a spring near-by. The married couple put up 
the lodge while the rest of us skinned the quarry, cutting 
the meat into suitable shape for packing. Then we all 
gathered around the lodge fire, and what a feasting and 
laughing and chatting orgie we had. It lasted all the, 
afternoon and far into the night. I marveled at the 
quantity of meat those Indians stowed away. 
We packed up and started homeward the next day. ^ 
light but intensely cold wind had sprung up from the 
north, right in our faces, bringing with it a drift of fine 
falling flakes which soon obliterated all traces of our 
trail of the preceding day. We soon wished that we had 
remained in camp ; but, since we had started, it was de- 
cided to push on to Beaver Creek. It seemed as though 
we would never get there. Most of the Indians dis- 
mounted and drove their horses before them. I could 
not do that for I wore buffalo robe trousers, a heavy 
buffalo coat — was so loaded with clothes, in fact, that 
1 was unable to do more than waddle along like an overfed 
duck. Twice that morning we came on to some antelope 
which had lain down and died of the cold. I learned 
afterward from the Indians that thousands of them per- 
ished in that way during the winter. 
Red Quiver was in the lead when we came to Beaver 
Creek. We struck it where there was a long beaver pond, 
and on the opposite side a small grove of cottonwoods. 
The young man dismounted, and leading his horse started 
across. He had not gone half way over, however, when 
with a crashing and crackliwg of breaking ice, his ani- 
mal phtoged into the deep water clear out of sight, and 
the next moment Red Quiver went down also. He was 
no sooner in that one of his comrades threw him a raw- 
hide lariat and drew him out to the bank. "Hurry," I 
called out, "unfasten that pack and wrap him in my bed- 
ding. Put up the lodge and build a fire." 
But Red Quiver would have no blankets. His horse, 
his only remaining buffalo runner, must first be saved. 
The animal was plunging madly about in the broken ice, 
rising, sinking, snorting, its eyes distended in terror. A 
rope or two was quickly cast over its head, but our com- 
bined efforts failed to draw him out. I tried to snake 
him out with my own animal, but the rotten thongs 
broke to the strain. Then Red Quiver, wet and freezing 
from head to foot, ran to the timber, secured a stout dead 
limb, and began to break the ice from the hole to the 
shore. I took the club away from him and once more 
told him to wrap himself in my blankets. More ropes 
were thrown over the horse's head. I kept busily pound- 
ing and breaking the ice. It may have been ten minutes 
before I had a channel opened' to the bank and we pulLsd 
the animal out. It lay there in the snow, shaking, shiver- 
ing, nor could we get it up on its feet. I looked around. 
Bright Eyes had got my bedding unpacked, had spread 
out the sheet and a robe, and persuading her husband to 
lie down upon -them, was covering him with the rest. 
T hen she put up the lodge with our help. No one but a 
woman can set up one as it should be done, so that it is 
symmetrical and will not smoke. Some fuel was quickly 
gathered, and a fire started. We went over then and 
picking lip Red Quiver, bedding and all, carried him in- 
side. Bright Eyes turned down the sheet and blankets 
and uttered the most heartrendinsf cry I ever heard : her 
husband was dead. She threw herself upon the frozen 
form and wailed, and called to him over again to 
awake, to open his eyes. We sat about the fire with 
bowed heads for a little, and many a dusky cheek was 
wet with slowly dropping tears. One by one we stole out, 
unpacked the horses, and made preparations for the night. 
It had been wasted work to pull out the drowning horse ; 
he lay where we had left him, frozen stiff ; and for this 
skinny carcass a human life had been destroyed, a 
woman's happiness wrecked. Poor Bright Eyes I My 
heart ached in sympathy for her, sobbing so mournfully 
over all that the world had held dear to her. 
Since it is the law that the dead and the living cannot 
occupy the same lodge. Red Quiver's comrades wrapped 
him in a robe and laid him at the foot of a tree near-by. 
Each one for himself broiled and silently eat some meat. 
The pipe was lit and as silently passed around. Bright 
Eyes — sad eyes now — continued to mourn. After a little 
she arose, wrapped her robe about her, and went out. "We 
could hear her crying out there. The pipeful was smoked 
out and the bowl refilled several times, still no one had 
spoken a word. It seemed to come to us all at the .same 
time that the girl had long since ceased crying. "I will 
go out and get her to return," said one. A moment 
later he called to us, and we hurried after him. Red 
Quiver and Bright Eyes lay upon the robe together, and 
her arms were clasped tight around him. She had gone 
to the open hole in the pond and immersed herself in the 
water, and then lain down in death with her lover. 
"They are even now in the happy hunting grounds," 
said an old hunter, gently. "Let us not mourn, but 
rather rejoice that they have together gained the place 
of peace and plenty." 
We built a scaffold in a low branching tree and care- 
fully wrapping the two bodies in robes and blankets 
lashed thenr upon it. And when we had finished our 
v/ork, day having long since come, we again packed up 
and plodded on towards the river, not one of us but 
were more or less frost-bitten ere we reached home, 
some so severely that they lost an ear or some fingers, 
and one even a foot. And this was the case with all the 
little parties that came straggling in during the next few 
days. But there was now plenty of meat in camp, and 
save for those who mourned for Bright Eyes and Red 
Quiver, peace and happiness reigned. Once more we 
could hear the drums beating and the song and laughter 
echoing in the calm night air. 
The buffalo did not return to the plains until March, 
and the Indians alternately feasted and starved. Our 
bull train finally pulled in, and before a pound of any- 
thing was sold we laid aside an ample supply for our- 
selves. To add to the troubles of the Indians about us, 
they lost a large part of their horse herd. Despite the 
cold weather a war party of Blackfeet was abroad and 
drove them off one night and were never overtaken. 
Long John. 
Jerry's ''Panthy'' Hunt. 
All day a heavy southeast wind had blown steadily 
up the lake, turning the blue, sparkling water to a 
gray, sullen hue, flecked with long streaks .of white 
foam. The wooded mountains and sloping hills that 
surrounded it appeared wet and indistinct, veiled by 
thin, misty rain clouds, and there was a chill in the 
air that foreboded the coming fall. 
Inside an old workshop that rested on the shore of 
this wilderness lake, a cheerful fire crackled in- 
vitingly in a rusty, aged stove standing on four wooden 
blocks near the center of the room. Its reap- 
pearance from amid a pile of rubbish and shavings 
had been appreciated by more than one individual, and 
the sage, who was the only partaker of the genial 
warmth, did not long remain without company. 
The Veteran and Wallace had been the first to dis- 
cover the rejuvenation of the old stove, and were dis- 
coursing on the deer hunting of the past and present, 
when the shop door opened, letting in a gust of rain 
and wind, and — Jerry, who bore more than one proud 
distinction in this region of the North Woods. 
In the first place he was the brother of the only andl 
ever famous John Plumbly, a woodsman whose per- 
sonality and knowledge will never be forgotten by 
those, who, during by-gone days were privileged to 
have him for their guide. This distinction Jerry treas- 
ured more deeply than the others, although he was the 
first child born in the town of Long Lake, and him- 
self one of the oldest and most experienced hunters in 
the woods. 
Jerry, as the fourth discoverer of the comfort and 
cheery interior ef the old shop, stamped a portion of 
the black muck mud off his rubber boots, and then 
neared the stove, with an open ear to the conversa- 
tion going on. 
"Come, Jerry," said Wallace, after the farmer had 
silently warmed himself before the crackling stove, 
"Let's have that panther story of yours." 
"He only likes to tell about those hundreds and 
hundreds of deer carcasses he saw coming up the lake 
years ago," remarked the Veteran from his seat on 
top of a cracker box, with a sly wink at the Sage, who 
reclined against the shop table. At this Jerry's de- 
meanor suddenly changed, as was expected, and he 
spoke up, saying, "I'm tellin' ye facts about them deer, 
fer when I come up the lake one time on the ice I 
see five or six carcasses, jist hair an' bones layin' 
round whar the wolves bed killed 'em." 
"That's more like it," replied the Veteran. "I tell 
you Jerry has to stick to facts with this crowd." And 
a general laugh followed at the latter's expense; but 
it did not seem to disturb his serenity in the least, 
rather he chuckled at the joke on himself, for his good 
nature was a hard thing to ruffle. 
Setting the blue yachting cap that he wore on the 
back of his head with a jerk, and throwing open wide 
the front of his wet tarpaulin coat, Jerry planted him- 
self closer to the glowing stove, gave a thoughtful 
yank to his beard, and commenced with, "Well, I tell 
ye how the hull thing happened, an' this was the very 
last panthy I ever knowed of bein' killed in the Adi- 
rondacks. 
"Me an' Will Cullins heard one day, it was in March 
an' pretty cold, too. We heard, I forgot who told us, 
thet Mr. D an' Jack Shepard was comin' in ter 
go up Cold River an' hunt a panthy somebody's seen 
around that region. So quick as a wink we rigged up 
thet very night an' started the next morning ter get 
thar ahead of 'em. 
"On the way we lost one o' the dogs we hed took 
along, but I sez to Cullins, I thought we cud get on 
with the other all right, so v^^e kept on. After travelin' 
about twenty miles we come ter Hough's shanty, an' 
was glad ter put up thar fer the night. As soon as 
daylight the next morning we started out again an' 
later on reached the head of a flo' or dam up on Cold 
River. Near a mile above here we struck the panthy's 
trail about nine o'clock. Thar was a good trackin' 
snow, an' we hed no trouble f ollowin' it round Ragged 
Mountain, in ledges, out o' ledges, an' over ledges. 
