93§ 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. is, 1906. 
HEADQUARTERS OF ONE OF THE SAN FRANCISCO DUCK SHOOTING CLUBS. 
Photograph by W. C. Gibbs. 
been first to notice her appearance, and he 
diagnosed the case as “spinster.” He was just 
poking a little fun at Robert, who was also 
unmarried, and rather shy, when a cat came 
from behind the fence, entirely unconscious 
of the presence of dogs. The cat saw Terry 
first and turned, but at the sight of Lassie lost 
her head and started in a circle around Robert 
and the lady. It was a fine race, but short, 
and ended by the cat’s jumping on the spin¬ 
ster’s shoulder after she had led the dogs to 
wrap Robert and the woman in a neat upright 
bundle with the clothesline. The dogs were 
jumping up and barking, and the cat was 
humping up and sissing, so, with the remarks 
the encircled couple were making, the con¬ 
fusion was great. Henry grabbed the cat by 
the nape of the neck, and holding her above 
the reach of the dogs, started around the cir¬ 
cle on the back track. The plan looked [ike 
being a great success until at the end of the 
first lap the old feline set her scratch mill 
going, and he had to drop her. It took about 
one second for her to get to the top of the 
nearest tree, and we were forced to finish the 
unwinding by hand. The Woman turned out to 
be better natured than she looked, so we all 
had a good laugh out of it; but Henry said, as 
he looked at his tattered hand, that he be¬ 
lieved there was something wrong in the 
theory that a cat can’t scratch when held by 
the back of the neck. 
For the first fifty miles the train ran through 
rich dairy lands, always following up or down 
some small stream, and one of these was the 
West Branch of the Delaware River. The 
farm buildings looked neat and thrifty. The 
cows showed good care and breeding. The 
oatfields were a darker shade than the grass, 
but everything was green excepting the newly 
plowed fields, where men were planting corn. 
After about two hours the country began to 
change. The hills had been round and smooth,' 
with pastures running nearly or quite to their 
tops, and were gradual in their slope; but now 
they were more abrupt, and rocky ledges oc¬ 
casionally protruded, while the quantity of 
land given up to timber was greater. The 
streams were rapid and had rather a trouty 
look. Stone walls became plentiful. A little 
further on the dairies had dwindled to a bare 
half-dozen cows, and the farms looked de¬ 
jected. The train moved slower and slower. 
The engine puffed harder and harder, until we 
saw between two hills what at first seemed to 
be the outline of a thunder-cloud, but it proved 
to be the crown of a mountain silhouetted 
, against the sky. From here we went very 
slowly for a time, wriggling our snake-like way 
between perpendicular cliffs and crawling 
along the edges of deep ravines until we came 
to the summit of the pass. 
Robert had looked out of the car window 
with an air of indifference and contempt, as 
we passed the well appointed farms. He had 
been born on the very brink of the Delaware 
River, where the hemlock timbered mountains 
begin as the waters leave off, and his mother’s 
cradle song had keyed with the. lapping of the 
waves and mingled with the voices of the 
peeping frogs. As a boy, he explored each 
little bay and rode the foaming rifts astride a 
slab, or, tiring of this, sat on the shady banks 
and watched the kingfisher dive for food. He 
knew the words of the river’s murmuring 
summer song, and exulted in the crunching, 
grinding roar of the breaking ice in spring. 
His ancestors were a hardy race, gathered 
from the sea and the forest. For business they 
rafted, for pleasure they hunted and fished, 
and some of them had been in every war from 
the Revolution down. To him a farm and 
farm life was no more like nature than a caged 
canary is like a soaring eagle. 
As the country had grown rougher and the 
streams more turbulent, his manner had 
changed, however, so that with every new 
ravine or ragged precipice he showed increas- 
• ing interest, and was in favor of abandoning 
the balance of the trip and pitching tents where 
we were. He said it was probably better look¬ 
ing trout country than any we had picked out, 
and that we were going by the best fishing. 
This was about where we had expected his 
conversation to begin, but we •insisted upon 
going on, promising to return to it in a few 
days if he was not satisfied on the east side . 
of the divide. 
The train waited several minutes on the 
summit, and we looked at the great summer 
hotel, standing a little distance away on higher 
ground. There was no sign of life about it, 
and would be none for a month to come. 
What a dismal looking thing such a building 
is, with its hundreds of shuttered windows, 
like as many sightless eyes. 
A half mile further on we began to drop 
down the mountain. The track lapped back 
and forth upon itself in the tortuous descent, 
changing the direction of the car so often that 
the more distant peaks seemed to swing in 
and out of our range of vision. The brakes 
were tight set. and the trucks trembled with 
an uncomfortable grinding, rattling sound. 
On the left, rushing out of the woods, and 
plunging down among a jumble of rocks, came 
the infant Esopus, and at the next bend of 
the track its valley opened out to receive it. 
Robert saw it. and knew it as you know a 
playmate. He watched its every crook and 
turn, with eyes and ears for nothing else. He 
noted where it first had undermined a tree, 
then where it attacked a solid rock; where it 
absorbed a little brook, and ran under a 
bridge; where it spread out to a wide, shallow 
rift, where, grown large and swift, men had 
dammed it for its strength, and where it was 
tearing away a clay bank. When finally it had 
grown to be a roaring torrent, he turned to us 
and said, “I’m beginning to forget the names 
of people at Oswenango.” 
As we sped down the hill the mountains 
grew higher and the valleys grew deeper, ever 
widening like a giant funnel, until just as the 
sun went down, we arrived at our destination, 
Unasego. Winfield T. Sherwood, 
[to b£ continued.] 
OUTDOOR BOOKS. 
Uncle Lisha’s Shop, Robinson.$1.25 
Sam Lovel’s Camps, Robinson*. 1.00 
Danvis Folks, Robinson . 1.25 
Sam Lovel’s Boy, Robinson. 1.25 
Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk Tales, ill., 
Grinnell . I -75 
Blackfoot Lodge Tales, Grinnell. 1.75 
In the Louisiana Lowlands, Mather. ..... 1.50 
Camp Fires of the Everglades, ill., White- 
head . 5*®® 
Samoa ‘Uma, ill., Churchill, (de Luxe). . . 2.50 
Camp Fires of the Wilderness, ill., Burt. . 1.25 
Sixty Years on the Plains, ill., Hamilton. 1.50 
Hunting Without a Gun, ill, Robinson. . . 2.00 
These books are more fully described in the 
Forest and .Stream illustrated book catalogue, 
which will be sent free to any applicant. 
