310 
FOREST AND STREAM 
July, 1921 
FROM AN OLD SUBSCRIBER 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream : 
I N 1872 the writer, then 22 years old, went 
West and for several months hunted 
buffaloes, trapped beaver and otter, poi- 
soned wolves, etc. I was acquainted 
"with some of the old-time hunters, Jim 
Uamb, Ben Savenack, “Lonsman” Sher- 
ry, Cole Hennery, afterward killed by 
Indians; White (Buffalo Chips) killed by 
Indians; Kind, who had a hard fight with 
the Sioux and a very close shave; Buck- 
skin Bill, who killed the Ogallah Sioux 
chief Whistler; Wils Parker, who at the 
fight at Dobe Walls, killed an Indian at 
1,250 yards. 
I knew all these and others whose 
names I do not now recall. I saw the real 
West, and lived its life, and I feel as 
if some who write for Forest and 
Stream are kinsfolks of mine. 
Yesterday, for the first time in years, 
I got hold of a copy of Forest and 
Stream. Needless to say I devoured it, 
ads and all. 
Two of the articles in this number 
(December, 1920) appeal to me. In the 
main I agree with Mr. J. W. Stolle that 
thousands have gone on hunting or fish- 
ing trips who don’t know how to camp 
out and never can learn. Some genius 
should invent a portable hotel for these 
people. They carry all kinds of useless 
junk into the most inaccessible places. 
The greatest requisite in camping is 
to have enough blankets so that the 
camper can be comfortable without 
keeping a fire going all night, and with- 
out building brush shelters, leantos, 
sheds, or any other monkey-work. If 
he has enough blankets he won’t need 
any of these things. 
In my experience I have found a tent 
to be a nuisance. When the wind 
blows hard, often it would take four 
men and a boy all of their time to keep 
it from blowing away, and what is it 
wanted for anyway? I have camped in 
places where Mr. Stolle’s tarp would 
have departed on the wings of the wind 
for parts unknown unless it was fast- 
ened to the earth with hooks of steel. I 
find a piece of canvas laid on top of the 
bed best of all; tucked under carefully 
it would take a lot of wind to carry off 
the whole works, and if it should snow, 
why all the better; a few inches of snow 
would help to keep the sleeper warm. 
I have never found any use for a 
camp ax. If I am camped in or near 
timber there are always enough fallen 
branches for a fire, and on the plains an 
axe would not be needed to split buffalo 
chips, but alas, there are no more buf- 
falo or chips either. 
Dr. Robert H. McNair’s letter on 
turkey hunting in Missouri brings up 
old memories, as I have hunted them 
there, and I don’t know of any game 1 
would rather hunt. The ancient gob- 
bler the doctor killed must have been a 
turkey of extreme simplicity. He 
couldn’t have had any experience with 
a real hunter otherwise he would have 
died young. Where there are lots of 
turkeys and few hunters, turkeys are 
comparatively green. Where there are 
many hunters and few turkeys the 
turkey is a bird of great wisdom. 
There are no expert turkey callers. 
I am not an expert but I have beaten 
many so called experts. Sometimes a 
turkey will come when you call him and 
sometimes he won’t. Why I don’t know. 
Perhaps he gets scent of the hunter. 
Sometimes he will answer and come al- 
most into shooting distance, then stop 
and call for perhaps half an hour, but 
come no closer. What is wrong? If 
he can’t scent the hunter there is no 
answer. 
Once an old hen turkey demonstrated 
to me that she could smell the smoke of 
a corncob pipe. She neither saw nor 
heard me, and I did not see her, but I 
heard her say, “put, put, put,” often 
and fast as she departed for other 
scenes. Never mind, thinks I, she will 
go to roost in half a mile or so and be 
easily found, but she went more than 
half a mile and I did not find her. Per- 
haps she objected to the kind of tobacco 
I smoked. 
John Kelly, Florida. 
BEAR BROTHERS 
To the Editor of Forest and Streams 
S ON and I had spent three weeks in 
Yellowstone National Park. It was 
our last night in camp. With youth’s 
impatient anticipation, Son urged haste 
that nothing might be lost of the eve- 
ning camp-fire gathering and story- 
telling and we hurried from our tent. 
Nearing the camp-fire the red hot 
blaze that cleft the darkness invited us 
to enter the magic circle that enclosed 
it. The long bark-encased log stand- 
ing on end formed a perfect Indian 
ochee, which as the bark crackled and 
split, seemed ready to crumble in an in- 
stant into red-hot ashes. A new bark 
ochee was placed around the crumbling 
logs and darkness and silence for a mo- 
ment reigned. 
When the flames burst between the 
logs, I remarked that Mother Nature 
sometimes holds her tongue, whereat 
the fisherman observed that she didn’t 
hold it long. 
It was funny to watch the shifting 
and getting ready that we big folks 
were doing, when my small son was 
fairly bursting to get our evening’s 
adventure out of his system; to tell 
who was who in bear-land tonight, but 
it was the fisherman’s turn. 
The encircling audience was com- 
posed of two cow-boys, the camp nurse, 
fisherman, matron and manager, not 
forgetting Old Tom, the stable rat, and 
us two stay-overs. 
We all urged the fisherman to be- 
gin. He started abruptly: 
“I will tell you a true story, for it 
was the handsomest thing I’ve ever 
seen in the bear line. This summer I 
was fishing one day in Yellowstone 
River, right near the lake. 
“All of la sudden out of the woods 
came a big black she-bear, quite cau- 
tious like, and stood there looking up 
and down. I said ‘My Lady, you are 
bent on some mischief.’ Then she went 
back to the woods, and in a jiffy out 
she came with two of the cutest, pret- 
tiest black cubs, as round as butter- 
balls, and they all started for the 
water. She looked from one side to 
the other and was as proud as Punch. 
“In she went, but they hung back. 
They touched and tested it with their 
toes and did not seem to like it very 
well. Finally they followed her until 
they felt the cold water on their little 
bellies when they both refused and out 
they scooted. 
“Their Ma followed them out and 
whimpered around and around them 
and then started for the water again, 
but those little bear brothers would not 
budge. Then she came back again and 
acted as if she were laying down the 
law, and the three started for the water 
again, but they would follow her only 
to the water’s edge. 
“Finally, they picked up their little 
heels and started across the sand-bars 
towards the woods in double-quick time, 
but that old she-bear headed them off 
and chased them to the brink, where 
they stood like two little statues just 
where the river lapped their paws. 
“That poor mother bear looked up to 
Heaven as if praying for patience. 
They saw that look out of the corner 
of their shiny eyes. I had not dropped 
a line out of the boat. Thought I, ‘Old 
Lady, let’s see who will win out.’ Those 
two little fellows took advantage of 
that look and both took to their heels 
at the same time, and she after them. 
One little fellow crouched down in the 
sand as she was gaining on him, but 
