24 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[July 8^ 1905. 
not have them. I wanted to go alone; then if I took a 
notion to go where I had not been sent, after I had been 
where I had been sent, I went there. I had no men to 
look after and see that they did not get lost. 
This horse had a trick that I had not taught him. It 
was of more use to me, though, than all I had taught 
him. When in camp this way, I tied him out on fifty 
feet of rope, taking care that he always could reach me 
where I slept; and if anything alarmed him he would 
walk over to me and punch me with his nose, then if I 
did not get up soon enough to suit him, he would catch 
some part of my clothes in his teeth and shake me ; then 
when I had got up and said, “All right, Billy,” he went 
to grazing again. 
In the da}^ime, if I wanted to know if everything was 
all right in camp, I just looked at the horse. If he was 
quietly grazing everything was all right. If he stood 
with his ears stuck forward, something was coming. No 
rustler could get into our camp and he not know it. I 
would know it soon after he did, and the rustler would 
Icnow that we knew it as soon as I could reach my rifle. 
But I slept undisturbed to-night, no rustler came. 
The next morning I rode up to the Pawnee camp. The 
whole tribe was here. A sergeant of our regiment, but 
who belonged to a different troop from mine, and ten of 
his men were here as an escort. . I had a written order 
for him telling him tO' take his Indians home, and gave 
it to him, then told him about the rustlers’ camp, warn- 
ing him to look out for his horses. He did not, though, 
and on his way home, when in camp in the canon fifteen 
miles from the rustlers’ camp, he lost part of his horses 
and mules. He took his men and a party of Indians the 
next day, and went where I had told him the camp was. 
The camp was there all right, but his horses and mules 
and the rustlers were not, they had left. 
Leaving the Pawnees I came down as far as my last 
night’s camp. I had now sent off all the Indians I could 
find in this upper country. There were just two ranches 
at that time on the Canadian River_ in a distance of about 
100 miles, and they were eighty miles apart. _ It is prob- 
ably thickly settled no\^ ; it ought to be, for it is a beau- 
tiful country. One of the ranches was just across from 
the mouth of White Deer Creek. I wondered why the 
Indians let it stay there. _ I think I found out why. The 
men were probably carrying on a trade with the Indians 
that the Government knew nothing about. I crossed 
over to his place to take a look at him. He had 
a general store, most of his goods, though, were of the 
kind that only an Indian wants, or at least gets. He gen- 
erally wants the earth. 
“Have you any fire water?” I asked. 
“No, he dare not sell it here.” 
I knew that, did I not? I knew it and I also knew that 
they sold it right along, but I did not say so. I did not 
want it and hardly ever used it. I would not use it here 
if it were given to me. I had need to keep my wits about 
me when out this way. I only asked him to see if he 
would sell it. Had he any tobacco? Yes, he had plenty 
of that, and brought out the kind that Indians buy, long, 
flat plugs of natural leaf; they use it to smoke. A cow- 
boy would not have it; he wants black navy. I got a 
pound of tobacco for any Indian friends I might meet. 
The man began to question me now. He wanted to 
find out who I was. I might be a spy oh him ; he seemed 
to suspect me. I looked to be a cross between a soldier 
and a cowboy, I wore very little of the uniform, only a 
blouse and a blue vest. Was I with those Indians up 
the creek yonder? 
“No, sir. I have nothing at all to do with them, j.ust 
now.” 
Was I out here on duty, or just hunting? 
“A little of both, I have been sent out here to look 
around, and I also spend some time hunting. I have a 
sort of a roving commission and can suit myself in what 
I do.” 
Was I an officer in the cavalry? He saw that I had a 
cavalry horse and saddle and probably noticed that I had 
one too many pistols for an enlisted man. I had two, 
and that gun in the saddle did not prevent me from being 
an officer. Most of our men carried a gun when in the 
field. . , 
“No, sir, I am not. While I would have no particular 
objection to being one, the War Department has. At 
present I am only a sergeant. How much do I owe you, 
sir,” I asked him. ^ 
“Nothing, sergeant; you are welcome to the tobacco, 
and I might let you have a bottle of Hostetter’s Bitters 
if you care for it. I have some.” 
“No, thank you, sir, I don’t like them very well. And 
I left. , , . ■ 
These bitters are but little else than whiskey under 
another name. I had known them since when a boy, 
about 1852. I had worked for old Dr. Hostetter in the 
first little laboratory he ever had, on what is now Penn 
avenue, in Pittsburg. He put out there in a year about 
as much of them as his successors now put out in two 
hours. Since then I had drank them in New York, saw 
them in San Francisco, ran across them in Honolulu, met 
them again in Valparaiso, Chili, and going asho^ at 
Hobart Town, Tasman’s Land, found them there. They 
had got pretty well around the globe and now they re- 
minded me of home. They had turned up here again 
on the Canadian River to cure the Indians of chills and 
fever. . . 
Next morning I kept on down the river, making easy 
marches each day and camping early. It was the middle 
of winter, but there is very little winter here unless a 
norther is blowing; the nights even were not cold. 
There were plenty of deer in the canon here, and when 
I had got farther down I began to pass through large 
herds of cattle. They did not belong here, but had been 
driven in off the prairie to the south of this. The grass 
had all been burned and they had to be sent in here to 
keep them from starving. The deer had come in for the 
same cause. I had nlenty of rations and would not shoot 
deer to feed wolves; I would sooner shoot the wolves. 
I met them from time to time, the big timber wolf, but he 
kept out of range, I was at war with him. Late in the 
afternoon I noticed several Indian lodges about two 
miles below me ; they were the first I had seen since 
starting to come down, the ones I had met on my way 
up had obeyed my orders and had gone home. 
I was riding through a big bunch of cattle and saw 
a number of deer among them quietly feeding with the 
cows. Getting off my horse I shot two of them, taking 
care not to^ hit a cow. The deer were so close to some 
of the cows that had I not had confidence in my rifle I 
would not have fired at them. Letting them lie here I 
kept on down to the Indian camp and found them to be 
Cheyennes. Had they been Comanches I would not have 
found these deer where I did, the Comanches would have 
had them long ago, but these Cheyennes were too lazy to 
hunt unless they were hungry. I sent them up after the 
deer; then seeing a ranch just below rode down to it. 
The ranch was just being built and was the only one in 
here below the one at White Deer Creek. The men were 
complaining about the Indians ; they did not want them 
here. 
“They won’t be here longer than to-morrow morning,” 
I told them. “I’ll send them off.” 
“Did I think I could make them go ?” 
“I am here to make them go. I don’t need to think ~ 
about it at all. They will go. Don’t fret.” 
I wanted forage for my horses, they had a pile of corn 
in the ear at the ranch and told me to help myself. I 
took enough for night and morning, then went up to the 
Indian camp and told them to go in to-morrow. The 
head man wanted to wait a day or two and hunt deer, 
he said. 
“No. I told him it is not good. You go in to-morrow, 
I stop and see.” 
I knew about how anxious they were to hunt deer, 
when they let the deer come to camp hunting them. They 
wanted to stay here and beg beef if they could, if not 
then steal it. They were not lying awake at night study- 
ing how they could get deer; they let the deer get close 
enough to bite them, then wait for someone else to shoot 
him. 
I camped with the Cheyennes that night. I was a 
Comanche, but they did not know it. I did not have my 
feathers on, though I had them with me in a buckskin 
bag in my saddle pocket; I always carried them. They 
w^ere about three inches long, each feather half white and 
half black, the Comanche colors. They were tied with a 
buckskin string that had some figures on it. A Comanche 
would look at these if he did not know me, then say, 
“Wano” — [Bueno]- — very good. I was not a counterfeit; 
I spoke their language, and nearly every Comanche 
knew me now as Cabia Blanco — White Pony, the name 
they had given me. The feathers, had I put them on 
now, would have had the same effect on those Cheyennes 
that a red rag has on a bull. The Cheyennes and Co- 
manches don’t love each other a little bit. 
I got the Indians started next morning, then kept on 
by myself and camped at night just where a trail crosses 
the valley. It ran north and south and was called Cus- 
ter’s Trail. He may have made it; he was down here 
more than once. I left the valley on this trail next morn- 
ing. I meant to go north now and go into Supply. I 
debated with myself whether to take this trail or keep on 
south and go on into Reno by way of the Wichita River. 
I had not been given any orders as to what route I should 
take going home, and I thought I knew why. The cap- 
tain probably thought it would not be worth while. If 
the route he laid out did not suit me I would take my 
own. He had given me so many orders in the past four 
years that I had not obeyed but always had a good rea- 
son why I did not obey them, that he had about quit 
giving me orders. He was so kind as to tell me at one 
time that he might as well give my horse our orders 
as give it to me. 
“Yes, sir, but you generally get your object accom- 
plished if I don’t carry out the orders to the letter,” I 
told him. “That, I think, is what we are both here for.” 
I camped that night on a small creek on the trail and 
got up next morning to find it snowing hard, and I started 
to look for timber. I knew where to find it. Just before 
I had got to it about noon, I saw a smoke rising out of a 
canon on my right a mile away, and went for it at a 
gallop. There would be Indians there. A big band of 
Comanches was in camp down there, and I was at home 
now ; it might snow now until it got ready to stop. I 
need not stay out in it. 
I got down into the camp, and riding up to the chief’s 
lodge got off my horse, took the rifle off the saddle, piled 
it on a pack at the lodge door, then taking off my pistols 
laid them on top of it. I was a friend here and must 
not go into that lodge with arms on; the squaw would 
carry them in for me. A squaw now came and took my 
horses, she would get their saddles off, then stake them 
out; I need not look after them unless I chose, if I 
staid here a month. 
I looked now to see if the chief had a stick or piece 
of brush across his door. If he had, he did not_ want any 
of the band in here. I would not try to go in, but he 
would soon get that stick out of the way. It is only a 
sign that he is at his meals or is busy. He would not 
keep a stranger out. There was no stick, and pulling 
the flap aside, I walked into the lodge. The chief was 
seated on the floor eating his dinner. 
“1 have come to see my brother,” I told him. 
“My brother is very welcome. Let him sit down and 
eat.” 
I sat down and ate. The chief was going west. He 
had not got the order. 
“I have been to the west as far as the Adobe Walls. 
There are no buffalo in all that country. I have looked 
and seen it. But the Great Father has meat for his chil- 
dren at Camp Supply. Let them go there and get it.” _ 
He said that he had plenty of meat in camp now, his 
people were not hungry; they generally were not. If 
there was nothing else to be got the white man’s cattle 
were here; and if I were to find them killing a beef I 
would not kill my horse trying to get to them in time to 
stop them. I might do as they do when they see a friend 
doing wrong, “look the other way.” 
The chief did not want to break camp until the weather 
moderated. 
“Any time is good,” I told him. “There is plenty of 
time. I will stop and go in when my brothers go. I am 
in no hurry.” 
In a day or two the weather cleared up, then we started 
and got into Supply in two days. Here the chief got beef 
on the hoof, he could kill it himself. He got flour also, 
but no sugar or coffee. I got what I could buy of that 
for them. The commissary here was an open one, a sol- 
dier could buy anything they had here at the cost price 
without an order. A citizen could buy nothing, and if a 
soldier were caught buying anything for a citizen he 
would be court-martialed; but there was no law to pre- 
vent me from buying stuff and giving it to these Indians. 
That commissary officer certainly knew that I did not 
want fifty pounds of coffee and 150 pounds of sugar for 
myself. I might have drawn all the rations I wanted for 
myself here on my traveling order, a paper I carried to 
tell who I was and what I was doing out here alone; 
but Troop I of ours was stationed here and they piled 
all the rations and forage on my pack horse that I would 
take on him. 
We pulled out again now, and two short marches (we 
were in no hurry now, or else one march would have 
done it), took us to a big turkey roost called Sheridan’s 
Roost. Here we went into camp and the chief proposed 
to stop here and hunt turkeys. He had an old muzzle- 
loading shotgun that looked as if it had been new about 
the year 1800, but it must have left a blacksmith shop. I 
think that is where it had been made, the maker had 
forgot to put his name on it. Later than that, as it was a 
percussion lock, it had been probably given to the chief 
by some white man to get rid of the gun and the chief 
at the same time. The stock had been broken and 
mended with rawhide. 
I went after turkeys with a rifle and got two in a small 
park by creeping up on them through the brush to where 
they were feeding. We kept on next day and at last got 
to Fort Reno, and went into camp across the river from 
the post. Then I and the chief went over to see the 
commanding officer, the chief to beg chuckaway (any- 
thing that can be eaten is chuckaway) while I wanted 
to report my return. 
I should have done that to my captain, but had an idea 
that if I reported to this commanding officer here he 
would tell me to get these Indians out of this, they were 
not wanted here. That is what he did tell me, and his 
orders went, he ranked the captain. He said I seemed 
to be able to do more with these Comanches than some 
others could, for me to go home with them and see that 
they got there in some reasonable time. He did not 
want them ranging all over the country, he said. I took 
them tO' their reservation now, taking our time about go- 
ing to it also. Then we held a dance to celebrate our 
safe return home again. 
I could not strike up any more excuses to keep me out 
here longer now ; I had about exhausted them all, so I 
went home to Fort Reno and reported to the captain and 
got a blowing up from him. He wanted to know if I 
thought that when he sent me out last Christmas he had 
sent me to stay all summer. Cabia Blanco. 
Touring the Adirondack Lakes. 
If you would hear of the pleasures of Adirondack 
touring you must prepare for eulogy and not _ for 
apology, for the Adirondacks suffer not by comparison 
with ail the master works of nature. Our Canadian 
border is studded with many a sylvan lake and track- 
less forest. The mountains and wilderness of our great 
West are wild and grand and the charm of our Sierra 
Nevadas is never exhausted. Nature’s beautiful scenery 
lures the traveler into the wilds of Oklahoma or de- 
lights him as he seeks refreshment in the orange groves 
of Southern California. The woods of Maine with 
their myriad ponds and rugged camps fascinate the 
man who loves to rough it, roaming in a wilderness 
far. from civilized restraints. But the great body of us 
cannot avail of such enjoyable outings; we can but read 
and think of them with longing. 
There is a field, however, for the realization of the 
peculiar pleasures of the woods, accessible to the busy 
people of the East, a field free from the primitive incon- 
veniences which delight the hardy, but which deter the 
many from seeking the enjoyments of woods life. 
Marvel not when you hear that this field is in the 
famous Adirondack region of New York State. If you 
are ignorant of the charms of Adirondack touring, you 
but belong to the vast majority. Touring the Adiron- 
dack lakes in a guide-boat is the best substitute we have 
for the various pleasurable outings famed in song and 
story. Nay, it is' more than a substitute, for it has an 
individuality about it which makes the trip attractive 
even to those who can indulge in what the world calls 
better things. And but a brief few days is required, so 
that the trip can be compressed into the busy man’s 
fortnight of vacation. 
The Adirondack Mountain region is remarkable for 
the diverse characteristics of its eastern and western 
sections. The eastern half is filled with lofty mountain 
peaks, rising in rugged outline from the valleys that lie 
amid these surrounding barriers. Loftier ranges as- 
pire in vain to equal the magnificence, the impressive 
grandeur, of the range about Keene Valley. The west- 
ern section, so unlike the eastern, is a high plateau, 
dotted with innumerable ponds and pretty lakes, joined 
by the intertwining of winding streams and little rivers. 
It is in this lake region of the west that the guide- 
boat comes into use, for long distances can be traversed 
almost entirely by water. A chain of lakes so well 
adapted for touring is rarely formed. The trip is not 
a journey to a distant point. The lakes lie in circular 
location, so that the tourist may start from where he 
may and reach always the starting point, seeing new 
country at every turn. The whole lake section is em- 
braced in three distinct circles. All three can be 
covered easily in less than two weeks, making one con- 
tinuous trip of about 212 miles. 
Let us accept an imaginery starting point, and let it 
be Blue Mountain Lake, for more attractive spot and 
one more convenient to the trip could scarce be found. 
There is a station at Racquette Lake, reached by the 
New York Central lines, where a small steamer is 
boarded that continues the journey through Racquette 
Lake and thence through Utowana and Eagle Lakes to 
Blue Mountain Lake. At one of the hotels about this 
lake we may be accommodated for the few days that are 
useful for resting and for becoming acclimated and 
making various preparations. Another way to get to 
Blue Mountain Lake would be by the Adirondack 
division of the Delaware and Hudson Railroad to North 
Creek^ whence, by the famous North Creek Stage 
Route, we drive through thirty miles of a beautiful, 
wilderness, to the country of Blue Mountain. 
