46 
fOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 21, 190$. 
Rondeatj. 
In winter days, when tired out, 
And weary witli the world without, 
Before the fire, burning high, 
I light my pipe with happy sigh, 
And put my business cares to rout. 
Though failures oft my efforts flout, 
I've other things to think about. 
When in my easy chair I lie, 
In winter days. 
In dreams the streams again I scout, 
The foam-flicked pool, the moment's doubt, 
The flies, the gleam, the splash, the cry. 
The reel, the rush, then high and dry 
I land again the lusty trout. 
In winter days. 
Robert Thorne Newberry. 
Chicago. 
The Wind in the Chimney* 
Here in the depths of the country— on the edge of this 
barren moorland — how still it is at night ! 
Save the ticking of the clock and the sinking of the 
ashes in the dying fire, not a sound falls upon the ear. 
The lamp has burned low, but the light of the brilliant 
winter moon is streaming through the windows, illu- 
minating the apartment in a ghostly sort of way. 
Outside the snow-clad moor is seen stretching away in 
vague, lonely perspective. 
A sense of solitude and isolation falls upon one. This 
is too much like death is a thought that arises, and a 
longing for the city — for the hum of life — takes posses- 
sion of the mind. 
But hark! What is that? ' 
It is the wind in the chimney — the brave North Wind 
■ — arrived to tell of his adventures ! 
Ah,^ this, at least, is a variety. Let us listen. 
"With a long-drawn sigh," says Boreas, "I awoke 
from sleep in my cavern beneath the Pole; then, with a 
rush and a roar issued forth and careered over the hum- 
mock ice. 
"On I sped with such relentless force that the icy cliffs 
shrieked and wailed as I swept around them. 
"I met a polar bear and caught the echo of his growls 
as he fled before me to shelter. 
"Suddenly I came upon a band of musk-oxen who 
stood snorting for a while, defying me. But I pierced 
through their thick shield of hair with my arrows, and 
they, like the bear, turned and fled, bellowing. 
"Next I met a flock of ptarmigan. They cowered at 
my approach, thinking I might sweep over them, but I 
lifted them up with a whirring of wings and drove them 
like snowflakes before me. 
"For a while I dallied and played in an amphitheatre 
of granite, ice-bound hills, which rumbled as though 
shaken by an earthquake. 
"Then, issuing forth upon a plain like a herd of wild 
mustangs, I galloped madly for a hundred miles, leaving 
clouds of snow dust behind me. 
"At length I was swerved from my course by a huge 
rocky promontory. On rounding this I came upon open 
water, with a sea lion on an ice floe, basking in the sun. 
I swooped down upon him with the beak and talons of a 
hundred eagles; he roused himself, shuddered, and then, 
with a roar, dived beneath the black waters for safety. 
"Over the open sea I sallied, agitating its surface till 
the ice floes moaned and groaned as if in agony. 
"When I reached the shore my progress was impeded 
by towering cliffs hrmg with icicles. In a fury I dashed 
the waves against them till they boomed like distant 
thunder. 
"Vaulting over the impeding cliffs, I descended upon 
a forlorn tundra. Across this I winged my flight like a 
flock of wild geese, with a creaking, melancholy sound. 
"At length I came to the land of the muskegs. Here 
I lingered a while, keening among the sedge and the 
willows. 
"I met a starving wolf and chased him to his den, howl- 
ing dismally. 
"And then I met a skulking fox, whom I whipped 
under a rock, where he sat whining. 
"From the land of the muskegs on, on to the land of 
the moose and the elk! There I met scattered bands 
and sent them paddling softly over the snow to the shelter 
of the woods. 
"And when I reached the latter, what a panic I created 
among the jays and woodpeckers! How they screamed 
with fright as they fled hither and thither in search of 
some protecting thicket! The solitary owl, too, made a 
hideous complaint. 
"But these outcries were as nothing to those of the 
panther and the lynx. Such was the din they created in 
the resounding forest that in vain I try to imitate it. 
"Out again I rushed upon the surface of a frozen lake 
expanding for miles. I swept it clear of snow and left it 
shimmering in the noonday sun. 
"Further, further south — in among the giant trees. O 
but I love the big woods ! How I leap among the upper 
branches and play my organ and sing in solemn joy! 
"But especially do I love the pines. Among th'es-e T 
am seized with an irresistible desire to rest and sleep'' T 
play myself 3 liiJlaby~-now like the fflurmiif of 3 (Jistan^ 
sea upon a beach, and again like a mother's sigh as she 
watches her sleeping babe." 
* 'i' H! ^ ;(! :|c H= * 
- What more the North W^ind said was unheard, for the 
watcher had succumbed to the influence of the last recital. 
When he awoke the fire and the lamp had gone out, and 
the mystery of moonlight and silence pervaded all. 
Frank Moonan. 
A Buffalo Hunt with the Comanches 
(Continued from page 27.) 
The only sorrow that these boys seemed to have was 
the fact, that they could not get guns; their fathers and 
brothers would not let them have theirs lest they broke 
or lost them. I seldom used mine, as it was a Spring- 
field and I wanted a magazine gun — the Marlin was my 
favorite — so I let the boys use mine, and one another of 
them would have it about every day. A boy would 
get it and half a dozen cartridges, then travel around all 
afterncon and either bring in a turkey or antelope for 
every shot he fired or else return me the cartridges. He 
never fired until sure . of hitting, and would crawl on his 
belly an hour to get close enough to an antelope to almost 
knock it down before firing at all. I adopted their plan 
now and made less misses myself. I did not care for the 
waste of ammunition — I was not paying for it— but I did 
care for the loss of my game. 
We moved camp over to a new site on McClellen 
Creek, a branch of the North Fork and a favorite camp- 
ing place for Indians. The Cohallie Comanches, whom 
we had defeated in 1872, had been in this camp we were 
now in only a week before we struck them, and the camp 
they were in when we did strike them was only a few 
miles from here on the main stream. Next day the chief 
and I \vere out and I proposed that we go over there 
and see if I could find the place again. We hunted for an 
hour, but could not locate it. We had burned the camp, 
and it being down in the river bottom, a high river had 
since washed all traces of it away; but at last I remem- 
bered that the chief's lodge had stood up on the edge of 
the prairie; and hunting it up, I at last could locate the 
site of the camp. These Indians had been Comanches 
also, but they had never been on a reservation. They 
roamed all over western Texas, here coming down to the 
settlements to raid them every once in a while. We 
started to round them up in 1869, but only got a few of 
them then. The next time we got after them was in 1871. 
Then we ran them across the Staked Plains, but got none 
of them ; and at last in 1872 we found them here, and the 
troop I then belonged to being sent m on foot, we sur- 
prised them, and after half an hour's fight killed about 
150 and took 135 of their squaws and children. I stood 
here on the bank and thought of this fight. It had been 
the hardest one that any Indians had ever given us up to 
that time. We had just as hard ones after this, though, 
when we were sent after Apaches in Arizona. The chief 
wanted to know what I was thinking about. "About that 
fight," I told him. 
"Yes," he said, "the Comanche can fight. He don't 
run; the Cheyenne does; but the Comanche is a soldier, 
he fights; the Cheyenne is a dog, he runs. But the 
Comanche don't fight you any more. It is not good." 
This old rascal was even then studying up a plan to 
leave the reservation and come out here, and I knew it; 
but it did not cause me any worry. If I did not want to 
stay with him I could go and he would furnish me an 
excuse if I needed it. There would be no danger of these 
Indians hurting me, I knew that. 
A few days after we had come to the new camp we 
were joined by the first Indians I had seen except our 
own since we had left the agency. These were the 
Techis and Wichitas, two large bands who hunted in 
company. They had been east of us all the time since 
starting, and had got no buffalo yet, had few rations with 
them, and were hungry. Our squaws gave them meat, 
and that evening their two chiefs with our chief and my- 
self took dinner in the chief's lodge, and then held a 
council. The chiefs squaw brought out the big pipe, a 
large bowl of red stone with a stem two feet long. She 
filled It and handed it to the chief, who lit it and offered 
it to me. I waved my hand to the Techis chief, 
and he, taking the pipe, drew a mouthful of 
smoke, _ blew it upward, and then handed it to 
the Wichita chief, who went through the same per- 
formance, then handed it to our chief, who, after he had 
got his share of it, handed it now to me, and I, taking a 
pull out of it, then handed it back to him. and he gave it 
to the squaw, who put it away. Then the Techis chief 
got on his feet, and drawing his buffalo robe around him, 
said: "The Techis and the Comanches are friends.- If 
the Comanche wants this country west to hunt in, then 
the Techis will go north; and if the Comanche want the 
country north, then the Techis will go west. I have 
spoken." 
Our. chief then got up and said: "It is good. There 
are many buffalo at the west, but there are also many at 
the north ; let the Techis go north, I will go west. I have 
spoken." 
The Wichita chief now had his inning, and he was will- 
ing to go north also. Then they looked au me. They 
want my opinion about it, I thought. Well, I am like the 
stump speaker who gets up and tells us that he did not 
expect to be called on to-night .and hardly knows what to 
gay, then proceeds to ?ay it for the next hour an4 a half. 
But I can say what I want to say Indian fashion, I guess. 
1 don't often get a chance to say anything in council. I 
had chances after this, though. I got up, but waited a 
moment before speaking. It does not do to answer an 
Indian in council right off the handle; you must study the 
question first ; it is etiquette. Then I said : "I have heard 
what the chiefs have said. My ears have been open and 
I have listened. Let the Techis and the Wichitas go to 
the Wolf Creek country. There is much buffalo there 
always. Many moons ago I saw them. They come there 
always. The road is open now to the Techis and 
Wichitas, and no man shall stop them. I have spoken." 
This Wolf Creek country is a square strip of country 
which at that time belonged nowhere; it lay between 
Texas and Kansas, and had the Territory on the east of 
it, while New Mexico was to the west. Some inistake in 
an old survey had left it out of all of them. It should 
have been given to Texas, but is a county in Oklahoma 
now. It was a beautiful country then and had plenty of 
buffalo. We called it No Man's Land, the Indians calling 
it the Wolf Creek country. Wolf Creek, a branch of the 
North Fork of the Canadien, heads here. 
The Techis and Wichitas pulled out for the north next 
morning, and another band of Indians came in the same 
day. They were the Arapahoes from Fort Reno or the 
Darlington agency. I knew the chief and his band. In 
fact, there were very few chiefs doing business in this 
country that I did not know. The Arapahoes are a kind 
of first cousins to the Cheyennes, and while not quite as 
mean as the Cheyennes, still they" could stand a good deal 
of improvement and not be hurt by it either. The 
Comanches did not like them ; neither did I, and there 
was no love thrown away on the other side. The old 
chief did not like me, but his not liking me did not cause 
me any loss of sleep. When he camped here to-day he 
took particular pains to put his camp almost on top of us. 
Friendly Indians don't do this. They v/ant to camp by 
themselves on account of the wood and grass. 
"I'll shake up that chief," I told our chief, "if he tries 
to follow us. I have it in for him. He don't like me, 
and before many moons he may like me still less." 
"He goes after us to the Salt Fork," our chief said, "and 
I don't want him there." 
"You won't get him. I'll fix that." 
"But the Arapahoe has many soldiers," the chief told 
me. 
"Yes, I see them. I know the soldiers. They don't 
say anything. I talk, to their little chief and tell him what 
I want. He says, 'Go ahead; I don't care. I won't stop 
3'ou.' " 
The Arapahoes had an escort of a corporal and half a 
dozen men. The corporal was a young man not long in 
the service, or he would not have let this Arapahoe walk 
all Over him, as he seemed to be doing. I found fault 
with this corporal for letting these Indians camp so near 
us when they had all western Texas to camp in. 
"I can't help it," the corporal said. "You know this 
chief as well as I do. He does just as he pleases." 
"He would not if I had him out, then," I told him. 
"He would do as I pleased or go home again in a hurry. 
But I am not trying to instruct you, corporal; I am not 
supposed to know how." 
I had been a non. com. long before this corporal had 
ever seen the army, and did know how to instruct hirtl, 
though, and he knew that I did. 
"Yes, I know your chief from away back, and he knows 
m,e, too, corporal ; and if he tries any of his smart tricks 
here, I am going to straighten him out. I have the 
crowd here to do it, if you don't interfere." 
"I won't, then," he said, "I am tired of him already." 
Our chief now wanted to get off as quickly as possible. 
We had a place on the Salt Fork west of this where we 
meant to camp for some time; and that chief no doubt 
had his eye on the same spot. There were few good 
camps over there. So I told our chief to send a boy 
around and tell the families, to be ready to move early in 
the morning; and if that Arapahoe tried to follow us, 
then I would take the boys and the young men and stop 
him. 
We started early next morning, and as soon as the camp 
had got strung out on the trail the chief sent me all his 
young men. I had the boys already. I might have called 
for all hands, but if I did then the chief would come 
also, and I meant to conduct this campaign myself. 
I and my party kept back a mile or two behind the 
squaws and their train, and in about an hour we saw the 
Arapahoe chief and his band coming. We had stolen a 
march on him, but he was now digging out to get into the 
Salt Fork ahead of us, take the best camp there, then let 
us take what was left. 
I called to my Comanches to "make the line." Had they 
been cavalry I would have told them to "On right front; 
into line, gallop, march." But these Comanches formed 
their line right across the trail, and did not need any 
assistance from "Upton's Tactics" to help them form it, 
either. Then each man who had a gun drew it out of 
the case he carried it in on his saddle, and loading it, 
threw it across his arm and sat there like a statue. I 
rode to their front, and as I saw the boys stringing their 
bows (their bows are always carried in the case unstrung 
and are strung only when wanted for use), I said, "Let 
no boy shoot now until I tell him. I'll tell my brothers 
when to shoot," 
I did not draw my carbine, but sat in front of my 
command and waited. "I airi a captain of cavalry at last,"' 
i said, "It has hf?0 a lon^- tjipe in ^.oming, and is rathe^ 
