268 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
/ 
[Sept. 30, 1905. jj 
ened us up. Crawford carried a Henry rifle on the saddle 
in front of him and lugged around two Colt’s pistols day 
and nio-ht He slept with them on. We had to do that 
ourselves at times, but unless I was told to keep mine on 
it came off promptly when I lay down. I could get it 
quickly enough if I needed it. ■ , , . , 
He had been an Indian fighter all his life, or said he 
had and as he found us no Indians this trip, and never 
made another one with us, I .a' iU have to take his word 
for it but from what I saw of him afterward, if 1 were 
an Indian he would be the man I should want to fol ow 
me. I would not expect to have to fight him oftener than 
We went into camp more than half a mile beyond the 
cave, and as soon as our horses were staked out i went to 
Crawford and asked him if he would go and examine 
that cave with me. No, he did not care to walk that tar. 
‘‘It is only half a mile,’' I said. 1 t • u i 
"Yes but it is another half a mile back, and I am t used 
to walking. You may go down and get that bear if you 
want him.” . „ 
"I want him, of course, it he is there. 
•‘Oh, he is there all right. I saw his tracks there. 
I went to the major and asked permission to hunt the 
“Yes ’’ he told me, "hunt him, but don t crawl into that 
cave after him, as Mr. Crawford was going to do. " 
'l had no idea of doing that. 1 did not 
so bad as that, and I don't thina that Crawford had ev 
meant to crawl into it, either. He was not exactly a fool. 
On my way to the cave I began to study plans to ge^ 
him out of it if he was in it,, without going in and drag- 
ging him out. I first thought to climb up there, then 
live a shot or two into it, but I dismissed that plain J 
might kill him if I did, and ..wculd not know it. I was 
la, aiiu ..v\ ou.iu - 
Acebrdin^'^ to sonic authorities on 
not s-oins- in to see. /Yccoiuin-. lu 
bSrs^it takes a ma.t and a gvn haH a day to kdl one. 
Sometimes it does. I have followed _one with a rifle a 
half dav. then did not kill. him. I. don’t know that I ever 
wounded him, though I shot at him often enough. And 
ao-aiii I have killed one in less than two minutes w th a 
pfstol. It depends a good deal cn where you hit the beai, 
how many shots it takes to kill him. . . 
I o-ot down in front of the cave and examined the 
ground for bear signs, but found none. Aere^f°with 
what little there was of it that was not covered wrtl 
rocks, was hard yellow clay-an ox team passing 
over it would hardly leave, a sign j 1 T 
Gathering up a lot of dry brush weeds and leaaes I 
piled them in front of the cave, 
going off a few feet to one sice waited for the bear o 
hears to come out. I had a Spencer carbine and CoA s 
pLtol and thought that I could stop all the bears that 
miMit be in there. The wind drove the smoke right into 
Ihe cave, the fire burned out, but no bear made his ap- 
nearance There would be no danger in going into that 
S" Sw, and I tried it, bnt there was loo 
in it yet, I had to crawl out. I wait back to camp an 
Crawford wanted to know if I had seen the bear. 
“No, sir, there is none there, nor has there been any 
ves there had been”; he had seen their signs. 
‘•?ou could not see a sign there witfl a, microscope. 
■"AhTTntht bepSy’of stgn there that an old hm,. 
ter conld Set and^y'ot, could not. You have not been nr 
'“MS’l'SowSbut we have men rn this troop that have 
beerr Srne of them twenty years out on the ronlrer^ 
mvself have been pretty well over the northwest, and 
have hunted with Sioux Indians. They know something 
about sSns%on’t they?' We are .rot all tenderfeet if we 
were born and raised m the big cities. „ 
“Yes maybe so, but there has been a b ai up thar. 
“Well, as the major loM you, we will let him s y P 
^'^We started a^gatn^ early next morning to^ hunt those 
IiXi/of Crawford’s, and seen , after breaking ca^^^^ 
began to rain and kept on raining ^11 forenoon. the 
major went into camp, as scon as he could find ^rass anO 
wTd We did, not need to lock for water; we had all 
we wanted of that and some more. 
The timber here was cypress, and there wa 
blocks of it that had been cut to make shingles orit of 
which had been left; Indians had probably j^^d 
shingle-making before it had got well started T^ 
been some vears ago, “before the war probably, to use 
Crawford’s favorite expression when giving the date of 
bis numerous fights with Indians. We tried to start 
cTok fi”e Tib those blocks, but they were wet and would 
v”"’ liteafdCse'of this smoke, and a small dose of 
' ® P is a cure Then I hunted up something 
thfiYwould burn more and smoke less, and found a 1°^ oh 
dead cedars, but it took hard work 
the branches had to be broken off WeHrad no ax we 
never carried one on a pack mule 
1v anvthing- that can be carried on him that is neeciea 
o^ftene^r When I had anything to do with the pack Tams 
bn Xr vSrs I always carried at least one ax in a leather 
Sno and a spade While riding through the ram to-day 
we were continually passing 
belonged to ranches away east of this, and ha 
°'Ne^a?lv every cow had a different brand, some had none, 
at afl iTiey were still tame and would let a man ride 
close enouo-h to them to examine them; but farther W..T^ 
could be found thousands of them that we could 
within a mile of; they had been born wild. Crawford 
would examine every bunch we passed; he wanted to, see 
if any of them had his brand on, he said. This was what 
had brought him and us here, he had seen no Indians 
but wantfd a cavalry escort so that he could come out 
here and look up his and his neighbors cows. 
These men would not think of corning out here a one. 
If they, did they would have no trouble m seeing all the 
Xic^d^thl^rajor watching Crawford while he was 
engaged in taking the census of these cows, and I knew 
that if Crawford did not find Indians in a day or two he 
would hear from the major. The major had risen froni 
the ranks and could swear not only^like t^ proverbial 
trooper but like half a dO'Zen of them. He dare not 
curse an enlisted man, and never did; he would stand a 
chance of being court-martialed if he had, or else have to 
give the man he had cursed an apology in front of his 
troop. It was given to me by another officer in the pres- 
ence of the colonel once, after I had reported this officer 
for cursing me. But the major could curse a teamster 
or citizen guide, and he often did, and I expected Craw- 
ford to get the full benefit of the major’s experience in 
the line of cursing before he was a week older. When 
in camp, Crawford kept down among us. He 'would not 
go near the major unless he was called, and we kept him 
busy blowing about the Indians that he had killed. I 
had found out from him that he had been in the Con- 
federate Army of Northern Virginia, Lee’s Army, and I 
had been in the Army of the Potomac at the. same time. 
I was the only man here who had been, so I got him 
started telling about the time that “we uns had fit you 
uns,” and we put in some hours fighting the War of the 
Rebellion over again. 
The weather cleared up this afternoon, and gave the 
ground a chance tO' dry. I had been thinking that I 
would have to sleep to-night seated on my saddle with 
my back to a tree; I often had to sleep that way. We 
carried no bed blanket ; we were not allowed to put one 
on the horse ; I would not put it on anyhow ; I never car- 
ried anything on him I could dO' without; I did not want 
to make a pack mule out of him, then ride him. It had 
been good weather when we left the post, and no one had 
an overcoat along with him. I had a rubber coat, though 
few were worn then. It did not weigh much and often 
came in handy. In dry weather I used it to lie on at 
night. 
Soon after dark to-night we were gathered around the 
fire and Crawford was giving us an extended account of 
the Indians he had killed “before the war,” he had not 
got to the ones he had killed after the break-up yet. When 
he was about in the middle of this interesting narrative, 
the sentry on post outside of the horses fired a shot. We 
picked up our carbines and ran out to- form a line out be- 
yond the herd. Crawford had followed me with his rifle, 
and I thou.ght he had fallen in line until I heard a noise 
behind me as I stood in line in my -place on the left. 
Looking around I saw Crawford down on his knees here 
among the horses, with his hands pressed together; he 
was busy praying. 
I wanted to tell him to postpone that prayer, and fall 
in here and shoot a few more Indians ; but I was not in 
command. There was a sergeant here who ranked me, 
and had I begun to give orders he would soon let me 
know that he was here. The major had not got out here 
yet, he had been outside of camp somewhere when the 
shot was fired and came running out now, and almost 
fell over Crawford. What he said to Crawford need not 
be repeated here. His remarks would have to be princi- 
pally in dashes if thej? were recorded. None of them 
could be mistaken for a prayer, though. 
We satisfied ourselves that there were no Indians out 
here now, nor had there been any here lately. The sentry 
had fired at a bunch of cows without challenging as he 
had been told to do ; it was dark and he could not see 
them. We went back to the fire and tried to get some 
more Indian stories from Crawford, but I had hurt his 
feelings on the way in by telling him that we gperally 
fought our Indians without the aid of a chaplain. He 
went to bed now. 
This happened to be his last night with us. Had he 
remained I don’t suppose he would have given us any 
more Indian stories. His failure to-night to get out to 
where he could slaughter them after both he and we had 
thought that there were plenty of them here, had put a 
large discount on the stories he had given us already. 
Next morning the major gave no orders to saddle up. 
He seemed to be going to make a permanent camp here. 
But calling Crawford up he told him to go out and find 
those Indians or their trail or be shot. That was the gist 
of his remarks. I have omitted the damns. 
Crawford started to find the trail. Whether he' found 
it or not I don’t know, he never came back to tell us 
about it. He probably found a trail that led straight 
home, then took it. The major waited until noon then 
started us home. Cabia Blanco. 
Suggests a Book of Cabia Blanco Stones. 
Pittsburg, Pa., Sept. 21. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Ynd so the “White Pony” has gone before and his tales 
ire stopped. All that your correspondents have written 
af him is true; but I would add this, the old troopers 
narratives are of the kind from which history is best 
written, truthful and graphic ; they ought to help the 
listorians who shall yet compile the history of the Great 
West and the North American Indian. I therefore sug- 
3-est .that you publish in book form the best of his stories 
in a popular and cheap edition, if possible, as low as $1. 
1 should be delighted to get a few copies for lads of my 
acquaintance and not forgetting my own book shelf. 
Could a man have a better chum on a fishing or hunting- 
trip or his own fireside in winter than such a book? Why, 
the President himself would gloat over it and pass it on-, 
to- his boys with avidity. Would not a reprint of his 
stories be the best memorial to the kindly man to whom 
we owe so much? T. A. F. 
More National Parks. 
■ Paducah, Ky., Sept. 11— Editor Forest and Stream: 
In your article on “National Parks” in Sept. 9 issue, why 
does it never occur to you to advocate National parks for - 
the Eastern section of the country? We can’t all go To 
the YeIlow?stone and Alaska. What is the matter with 
the White Mountain range of New Hampshire for one, 
the Adirondacks of New York for another, a certain wild 
section of Maine, Vermont and the hill region of weH- 
ern Massachusetts? They need not be so large as. the- 
western ranges but should be owned and controlled by 
the National Government, the same as a navy yard or 
any other United States reservation. It is foolish to talk 
about States doing this kind of work. Edwin Hallam. 
The current edition of the Game Lames in Brief, sold 
everywhere, contains all the fish and game laws a sports- 
man ought to know. It is complete, accurate and up-to- 
date. ’ , 
A Mid-Summer Revery. 
The harp-like voice of the locust. How symbolical of 
ripe fields, mid-summer fragrance and August skies. If 
conveys to one the essence, the most fruitful intimation;,: 
of the noon hour, and- after all is .not this the year’s 
noon, the midday of twelve months? Before the crisj 
autumnal harvests are reaped and gathered there comes 
this warm dreaming month, overflowing with milk anci 
honey, rich and vernal yet perishable, a month that re? 
fleets only the most mild and smiling expressions, whil^ 
man, as it were, stands on a, smoother plain and lodk? 
toward the mountain peaks of winter with calm eyes. O- 
perhaps the tranquillity of the season’s influence allo-w.; 
the mind to take a moment’s -siesta by the wayside ant! 
forget the flux of the universe. Here is sunlight and i, 
breeze on your cheek, earth and sky, birds and flowers^’ 
poesy and beauty. What a musing contentment am! 
revery dwells over the landscape. It behooves us to im- 
bibe a similar equanimity and gives rise to rural meditaf 
tion, as well as such deliciously natural pastimes, Eveii 
the kine seem to be in the possession of a similar mood 
browsing knee-deep or leisurely resting with the swee: 
grasses brushing their-, sleek bodies. This-i quality of re 
pose becomes more and more perceptible as the foliagt 
ripens and the country is, a-bloom with flowers and de 
lectable wild fruits. One bounty succeeds another unt: 
at last a heyday of abundance is reached, ■ and then b. 
their lurid brilliancy the sunsets herald a coming change 
and presently the asters stand dry and wdthered while th! 
mellowness of October dissolves into the still icy atmos 
phere of late autumn. 
“What is it we look for in the landscape, on, sunsef 
and sunrises on the sea, and the firmament? What bf- 
a compensation for the cramp and pettiness of huma' 
performances? We bask in the day and the mind fine 
somewhat as great as. itself. In nature all is large, ma;' 
sive repose.” 
Especially in the northern sections of New York Sta1| 
is August a rare, w?ell-to-be-remembered month wit 
warm, smoky scents issuing from the woodlands, whi; 
pastures and uplands are aglow with a maze of shimme; 
ing goldenfod. The sunlight itself seems to brood an 
nestle amid the grasses, to linger and caress every flovi 
er’s head rising above it, and although many bird voic< 
are silent, there is still to be heard the rich, melodioj 
warble of the red-eyed vireo — that veritable sprite of co' 
tree tops whose levity seems unimpaired by the season 
advance. Or such sounds as the mellow tink-tank ( 
cow bells, mingled with shrilling insects at sundow 
when, the dew'-laden earth drifts gratefully from twiligl 
into a redolent mid-summer darkness, remain long aff 
the youth of autumn is passed. And the crickets — tl 
purring, comfortable, sociable crickets — that are n 
daunted by sharp, glistening October nights or bitti 
winds, but keep up their cheerful tune almost to tl 
verge of winter. Singularly enough, while at this seasc 
they have a warm sound, two months earlier “it is mod' 
lated shade,” and serves rather to cool and refresh. 
On the whole the cicadse, crickets and other singij 
insects are more constant and diligent in the applicatid 
of their vocal powers than our feathered rhaphodisi 
Listen to the whispering, the uninterrupted murmii 
which, although swelling in volume during the day,, dpi! 
not die out at night, but continues under the soft staU 
radiance, as if nature spoke in low undertones, and aga 
greets us at the first break of day, or a faint beady jing 
seeming to come from the air itself can generally be a 
tected, having a delicate ring especially suited to- the my 
ticism of the hour. In summer this sense of the mysi 
and unknown which the night brings with it, is a pow' 
more startlingly apparent and convincing than at a cold 
season, when the moon shines with clear, undiminishi 
. brilliancy as though icy and frosted. Now, however, t; 
beams steak'through the woods like pale luminous finge:! 
and a quivering veil of light is hung between the eb< 
tree trunks; we drift, as it were, in a perfumed drea: 
and the moonbeams flow underfoot like an ethereal cr 
rent carrying us with them. At night we feel the wor! 
and our thoughts keep gliding into misty moonlit visti 
the mind becomes for the time being like a silver-lini, 
cloud : :| 
“S-wiftly walk o’er the western wave, , : > 
Spirit of night! ' 
Out of the misty eastern cave. 
Where all the long and lone daylight 
Thou wovest dreams, of joy and fear. 
Which make thee terrible and dear — 
Swift be thy flight! 
■“Wrap thy form in a mantle ; 
Star-in-wrought. 
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; 
Kiss her until she be wearied out; ' 
Then wander o’er city and sea and land. 
Touching all with thine opiate wand — 
Come, long sought!” ^ ' ' 
Walk under the enthralling gTow of the harvest moc. 
with the trembling, sparkling clarified zenith above and 
■ spiced atmospheric purity- floating from the forest, i 
effect is acute and strikes upon the waking senses w 
such a magnetic supernal force that realism grows d 
and recedes into shadows, for does not, the most famil 
scene undergo a complete; and perfect transformatio 
The visible is- then tuned and strung to- the melody, 
imagination. While day is natural, night is supernatu- 
(if I may use the -word without disagreeable attachmer 
in that the circulating influences are quite beyond in- 
vidual conception or interpretation. The pulse of tit 
beats, more slowly, and the warm throbbing silence see? 
to press against our cheek — night pours a mystic libat: 
on the receptive spirit. , 
August in these more northern climes, as the foothi 
of the Adirondacks and the Adirondacks themselves, 
never the parched, dry , or rain-famished month which, 
often takes' possession of the Hudson valley and the 
abouts. Seldom does a breath of lassitude enervate ; 
warm, golden air,, and the dew falls early like a cool 1, 
freshing balm.; There will be sleepy, sunlit days infinif 
restful when a blue haze mantles -the hills, and sprays! 
salmon-tinted clouds drift across the filmy paste 
skies, and meadow sweet, Joe Pie weed; selLheal gold: 
rod and' all' the wild flowers, with which this season 
crowned, open to their fullest extent. ? 
■' 
