Aug. 13, 1004.] 
FOREST AND SI REAM. 
181 
of this State (Kentucky) were still in the hands of 
nature, and none but the sons of the soil were looked 
upon as its lawful proprietors. We Virginians had 
for some time been waging a war of intrusion upon 
them, and I, amongst the rest, rambled through the 
woods in pursuit of their race as I now would follow 
the tracks of any ravenous animal. The Indians out- 
witted me one dark night, and I was unexpectedly as 
suddenly made a prisoner by them. The trick had been 
managed with great skill; for no sooner had I ex- 
tinguished the fire of my camp, and laid me down to 
rest, in full security as I thought, than I felt myself 
seized by an indistinguishable number of hands, and I 
was immediately pinioned, as if about to be led to the 
scaffold for execution. To have attempted to be re- 
fractory would have proved useless and dangerous to 
my life; and I suffered myself to be removed from my 
camp to theirs, a few miles distant, without uttering 
even a word of complaint. You are aware, I dare say, 
that to act in this manner was the best policy, as you 
understand that, by so doing, I proved to the Indians 
at once that I was born and bred as fearless of death 
as any of themselves. 
"When we reached the camp, great rejoicings were 
exhibited. Two squaws and a few pappooses appeared 
particularly delighted at the sight of me, and I was 
assured, by very unequivocal gestures and words, that, 
on the morrow, the mortal enemy of the red-skins 
would cease to live. I never opened my lips, but was 
busy contriving some scheme which might enable me 
to give the rascals the slip before dawn. The women 
immediately fell a-searching about my hunting shirt 
, for whatever they might think valuable, and, fort- 
unately for me, soon found my flask filled with Monon- 
gahela (that is, reader, strong whiskey). A terrific 
grin was exhibited on their murderous countenances, 
while my heart throbbed with joy at the anticipation 
of their intoxication. The crew immediately began to 
beat their bellies and sing, as they passed the bottle 
from mouth to mouth. How often did I wish the 
flask ten times its size, and filled with aqua-fortis! I 
observed that the squaws drank more freely than the 
warriors, and again my spirits were about to be de- 
pressed, when the report of a gun was heard at a dis- 
tance. The Indians all jumped on their feet. The 
singing and drinking were both brought to a stand, 
and I saw, with inexpressible joy, the men walk off 
to some distance and talk to the squaws. I knew that 
they were consulting about me, and foresaw that in a 
few moments the warriors would go to discover the 
'cause of the gun having been fired so near their camp. 
I expected that the squaws would be left to guard me. 
Well, sir, it was just so. They returned; the men took 
up their guns and walked away. The squaws sat down 
again, and in less than five minutes had my bottle 
up to their dirty mouths, gurgling down their throats 
the remains of the whiskey. 
"With what pleasure did I see them become more and 
more drunk, until the liquor took such hold of them 
that it was quite impossible for these women to be of 
any service. They tumbled down, rolled about, and 
began to snore; when I, having no other chance of 
freeing myself from the cords that fastened me, rolled 
over and over toward the fire, and, after a short time, 
burned them asunder. I rose j on my feet, stretched 
my stiffened sinews, snatched up my rifle, and, for once 
in my life, spared that of Indians. I now recollect how 
desirous I once or twice felt to day open the skulls 
of the wretches with my tomahawk; but when I again 
thought upon killing beings unprepared and unable to 
defend themselves, it looked like murder without need, 
and I gave up the idea. , — .«' 
"But, sir, I felt determined to mark the spot, and 
walking to a thrifty ash sapling, I cut out of it three 
'large chips, and ran off. I soon reached the river, 
soon crossed it, and threw myself deep into the cane- 
brakes, imitating the tracks of an Indian with my feet, 
so that no chance might be left for those from whom 
I had escaped to overtake me. 
"It is now nearly twenty years since this happened, 
and more than five since I left the whites' settlements, 
which I might probably never have visited again had 
I not been called on as a witness in a lawsuit that 
was pending in Kentucky, and which I really believed 
would never have been settled had I not come forward 
and established the beginning of a certain boundary 
line. This is the story, sir: 
"Mr. moved from Old Virginia into Kentucky, 
and having a large tract granted to him in the new 
State, laid claim to a certain parcel of land adjoining 
Green River, and, as chance would have it, took for 
one of his corners the very ash tree on which I had 
made my mark, and finished his survey of some 
thousands of acres, beginning, as it is expressed in the 
deed, 'at an ash marked by three distinct notches of 
the tomahawk of a white man.' 
"The tree had grown much, and the bark had covered 
the marks; but, somehow or other Mr. heard 
from some one all that I have already said to you, and 
thinking that I might remember the spot alluded to 
in the deed, but which was no longer discoverable, 
wrote for me to come and try at least to find the place 
or the tree. His letter mentioned that all my expenses 
should be paid, and not caring much about once more 
going back to Kentucky, I started and met Mr. . 
After some conversation, the affair with the Indians 
came to my recollection. I considered for a while, 
and began to think that after all I could find the very 
spot, as well as the tree, if it was yet standing. 
"Mr. — •■ and I mounted our horses, and off we 
' went to the Green River bottoms. After some diffi- 
culties, for you must be aware, sir, that great changes 
have taken place in these woods, I found at last the 
spot where I had crossed the river, and, waiting for 
the moon to rise, made for the course in which I 
thought the ash tree grew. On approaching the place, 
I felt as if the Indians were there still, and as if I was 
still a prisoner among them. Mr. — — - and I camped 
near what I conceived the spot, and waited until the 
return of day. 
"At the rising of the sun I was on foot, and. after 
a good deal of musing, thought that an ash tree then 
in sight must be the very one on which I ' had made 
my mark. I felt as if there could be no doubt of it, 
and mentioned hiy thought to Mr. 
'Well, 
Colnel Boone,' said he, f if you think so it may prove 
true, but we must have some witnesses; do you stay 
here about and I will go and bring some of the set- 
tlers whom- 1 know.' I agreed. Mr. trotted off, 
and I, to pass the time, rambled about to see if a deer 
was still living in the land. But, ah! sir, what a 
wonderful difference thirty years makes in the country! 
Why, at the time when I was caught by the Indians, 
you would not have walked out in any direction for 
more than a mile without shooting a buck or a bear. 
There were then thousands of buffaloes on the hills 
in Kentucky; the land looked as if it never would be- 
come poor; and to hunt in those days was a pleasure 
indeed. But when I was left to myself on the banks 
of the Green River, I dare say for the last time in my 
life, a few signs only of deer were to be seen, and as 
to a deer itself, I saw none. 
"Mr. returned, accompanied by three gentle- 
men. They looked upon me as if I had been Washing- 
ton himself, and walked to the ash tree, which I now 
call my own, as if in quest of a long-lost treasure. I 
took an ax from one of them and cut a few chips off 
the bark. Still no signs were to be seen. So I cut 
again until I thought it was time to be cautious, and I 
scraped and worked away with my butcher knife until 
I did come to where my tomahawk had left an im- 
pression in the wood. We now went regularly to work 
and scraped at the tree with care, until three hacks 
as plain as any three notches ever were could be seen. 
Mr. and the other gentlemen were astonished 
and, I must allow, I was as much surprised as pleased 
myself. I made affidavit of this remarkable occurrence 
in presence of these gentlemen. Mr. gained 
his cause. I left Green River forever and came to 
where we now are; and, sir, I wish you a gOod night." 
I trust, kind reader, that when I again make my ap- 
pearance with another volume of Ornithological Biog- 
raphy, I shall not have to search in vain for the im- 
pression which I have made, but shall have the satis- 
faction of finding its traces still unobliterated. I now 
withdraw, and, in the words of the noted wanderer of the 
Western wilds, "wish you a good night." 
A Summer in Newfoundland*— VIIL 
(.Concluded from page 111.) 
Early one morning we sat watching on the shore of 
Fox Pond. Up at the other end a three-year-old stag 
was busily engaged trampling the bushes as he proudly 
rubbed a pair of insignificant antlers among the alders. 
Over in the shallow water a fine adult otter was catch- 
ing a breakfast of trout; and it was his glossy black 
pelt and the prospect of securing it that particularly 
interested me. He was about three hundred yards 
away, but his every motion was observed through the 
glass as we lay hidden behind a clump of bushes. A 
small moving object three hundred yards away makes 
a very uncertain mark for anyone who is not an expert 
with the rifle, and I wisely decided to watch and wait, 
hoping that the otter might decide to take a little ex- 
cursion in our direction. Jim asked permission to 
"tole 'im up 'andier," but I had little faith in "toling" 
or "bawling," as it is sometimes called in Newfound- 
land, for only a few days before the guide had tried 
it on a stag, with a result that the latter quickly de- 
parted in the opposite direction, for parts unknown. 
Whether the otter was fishing or merely enjoying a 
morning frolic, I could not determine, even by the aid 
of a glass, for he kept plunging above the surface 
porpoise-like, often remaining below for two or three 
minutes. So I finally told my companion to go ahead 
and venture a "tole" or so for luck; and he replied by 
uttering a low coughing bark in his throat, something 
between a grunt and a blat. Never have I witnessed 
a more successful attempt to decoy an animal. The 
effect of that single "tole" on the otter was magical, 
for immediately changing his course, he headed down 
the pond in our direction, leaving a broad wake of 
ripples behind. 
Nearer and nearer he came, swimming as fast as a 
fish, his round bullet-like head bobbing from side to side 
in expectation, his little beady eyes vainly searching the 
shore. I allowed him to come up within fifty yards, 
and was just about to press the trigger, when my otter 
suddenly arched his back and dove beneath the sur- 
face. Five minutes later we could just see him away 
up the pond, making a bee-line for the opposite shore. 
He outwitted us and escaped, and he is still terroriz- 
ing the trout; but after all, perhaps, it is just as well. 
Ever since the days of the bison we have read and 
learned of the game that was killed; but some time 
perhaps a writer will tell us in a book another — a 
very different tale— a story of the game that got away. 
In "The Trail of the Sandhill Stag," Mr. Seton strikes 
a chord which vibrates with no uncertain sound, but 
the whole storv of the game that escaped to live on, 
is still unwritten, for it would fill a hundred volumes 
and recall a thousand vivid memories. 
A fog on the barrens is just as misleading, just as 
perplexing to the traveler as a fog on the ocean. Hunt- 
ing is out of the question, and it is only a rash guide 
of little experience, who will venture forth when the 
highlands are shrouded in dense clouds of moisture. 
The next day was such a« one. The surrounding hills 
were veiled in a thick mantle of mist, which drifted 
down through trees and shrubbery filling the woods 
with an all-pervading dampness. So we wisely re- 
mained under shelter watching the antics of the jays 
as they frolicked m and out among the trees. 
The northern jay is perhaps the most entertaining 
of all the little creatures which furtively investigate 
a camp in the forest. He is a distinguished bird withal, 
distinguished not only in possessing the friendship of 
the woodsman, but because he is known by a list of 
titles far longer than that of his southern cousin or 
northern neighbor. Only the flicker can boast as 
many names. But whether moosebird, camp robber 
or venison hawk, whiskey jock, garbey, or just plain 
Canada jay, he is without doubt the boldest, most im- 
pudent rascal that ever visited a camp. Always rest- 
less and busy, in autumn he toils from the early gray 
of morning until after, sundown, constantly working, 
hiding away in every conceivable nook and carrying 
a store of tempting morsels for future needs. On the 
continent these stores are often rifled by the vituper- 
ative red squirrels; but such pesky vermin do not 
thrive in Newfoundland, and there the jays are at 
perfect liberty to hide their winter supplies in safety 
and then to turn about and forget the very places in 
which they are stored. During our stay at Sand Pond 
there was hardly an hour of daylight when three or 
four of the busy fellows were not picking away at our 
smoked meat; and in their selections of choice tidbits 
for the future, the birds displayed a truly marvelous 
degree of prudence and foresight, for they invariably 
breakfasted upon the tenderest parts of the lean meat, 
and afterward, when the day's work had commenced, 
only the fat was carried away—the fat that would keep 
so long without danger of tainting. Those jays knew^ 
a thing or two about housekeeping. 
By noon the sun's warmth, added by brisk westerly 
breezes, wrought havoc among the low-hanging fog 
banks, sending the clouds scurrying hither and thither, 
chasing each other across barrens and forests and 
lakes alike. Their ranks were shattered and broken 
by the sharp ridges, and here and there a peak higher 
than its fellows would capture a few which hung like 
great white birds hovering under the cliffs, as the 
rest of the flock raced swiftly over the hills to the 
eastward. 
I focused my glass on the highlands back of camp 
and saw a small herd of deer, five does, and behind 
th em an old stag with inferior antlers slowly bringing 
up the tail end of the procession. Further up the slope 
three more does with a single fawn were feeding 
on the moss, while away across on the opposite ridge 
another herd appeared like mere specks against the 
mountain side. Yes, at last the. caribou were on the 
open country. So Jim and I took the big "lead," which 
led from the pond, and, after an hour of climbing, 
loked out over a vast expanse of rolling hills and bar- 
rens. Twenty or thirty caribou were in sight, but 
none bearing good antlers, although among them were 
four or five full sized stags. One of them, a big, heavy 
fellow, stared defiantly at us as we passed by at a 
hundred yards. One branch of his antlers was of 
great size, well pointed, and carried an enormous brow 
palmation, but the other was so grossly mishapen and 
deformed as to have lost all semblance to a horn; and 
that crooked antler proved a very successful talisman, 
for it saved his life. The, stag seemed to be fully aware 
of it, too, for fully five : minutes elapsed before he 
finally gathered his scattered wits and trotted off after 
his does. A caribou stag always brings up the tail 
end of a herd and rarely, if ever, leads the procession. 
Tins may be at variance with the experience of other 
observers, for in "American Animals," Mr. Witmer 
Stone, in quoting Mr. W. M. J. Long's "Wilderness 
Ways," says: "The leaders on the barrens are wise 
old bulls that make no mistakes." Mr. Long's obser- 
vations _ at the time were made, I believe,' in New 
Brunswick; but such a statement when applied to the 
caribou of Newfoundland is incorrect and opposed to 
the experience of many sportsmen who have hunted 
on that island. 
The runways out on the open barrens seemed to 
have been much more generally used by the animals 
than during the previous week, and in each were count- 
less hoof prints of all sizes, "footens," as Jim called 
them. In one trail he pointed out a new and peculiar 
tracks one now rarely: seen in the east, it was the track 
of a wolf. The eastern wolf is doomed. Slowly re- 
treating from lower' Ontario and Quebec, he has al- 
ready relinquished his old hunting grounds in Maine, 
New Brunswick and Nova Scota, and is rapidly van- 
ishing before, the vanguard of civilization. In New- 
foundland he is rarely- if ever seen near the coast, and 
only infrequently in the wild fastnesses of the interior. 
And strange, too, is it not, for the wolf is the hardiest 
beast of the forest. Suffering and starvation and en- 
durance are bred in his very blood and bone. . He is 
the rnost destructive to game, the wariest of traps, 
the boldest marauder when driven by hunger, and the 
most difficult to shoot of all game animals, and yet, 
slowly but surely, in the east at least he is passing 
along m the trail of the Indian. These two savage 
races have lost strength in the struggle for existence, 
the great battle for the balance of power. These wild, 
free natures, companions in the hunt for centuries pasC 
are now vanishing together. 
The air was crisp and cold that afternoon, and many 
deer were seen roaming about in little herds and com- 
panies, but stags carrying really respectable antlers were 
difficult to find, and it was not until well toward evening 
that we discovered one worthy of a shot. There were 
two of them, grand old fellows with snowy necks and 
broadly palmated antlers. They were standing together, 
side by side, and seemed fully to enjoy each other's com- 
pany. How different would be their feelings a few weeks 
later, after the rutting season had commenced; then it 
would be head on, horn to horn. It was a long creep up 
to the edge of that pond, over moss soggy with rain and 
saturated huckleberry bushes ; and the latter, rarely more 
than a foot high, offered the meagrest cover for a suc- 
cessful stalk. But caribou are far different creatures 
from white-tailed deer or mountain sheep, and in less 
than fifteen minutes I had crawled the necessary three or 
four hundred yards and stopped behind a friendly rock 
before venturing a shct. They were grand beasts, those 
stags, now in easy range and in no hurry to escape. So 
I watched them through the glasses for a moment, trying 
to choose the better head. The one with numerous but 
small points on his antlers was lying down chewing the 
cud, while directly behind him, broadside on, stood his 
comrade calmly awaiting the arrival of the leaden death 
In a moment it came, swift and certain, behind the shoul- 
der. The deadly mushroom bullet did its work well 
for the powerful beast trotted off a few paces as if un- 
hurt, and then fell in a heap with a deep sobbing cough 
The other, jumping to his feet at the report, stood staring 
and astonished. Pie waited a moment as if for his dead 
companion to rise, and then, breaking into that peculiar 
lope, started off across the barrens toward the highlands 
Five minutes later, on the crest of a neighboring ridge 
I could see his dark form and great branching antlers 
silhouetted against the sky as he rushed forward with 
headlong strides. , \ , 
