Aug. 23, 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
235 
men springing apparently from the ground, but 
in reality from a dense thicket of thorns behind 
which they were invisible. 
I had never seen a dozen black people be¬ 
fore in my life, there being very few in Eng¬ 
land, and for a moment I fancied my last hour 
had come. Around me presently there also 
swarmed a host of little children, as naked as 
when born, and also many women in purls natu- 
ralibus. They all manifested an intense curi¬ 
osity at seeing me, and one lame old man, ap¬ 
proaching, took me by the arm and led me one 
side, seeming to have authority over the rest 
of the tribe. He said in tolerable English: “I 
understand; make all right.” 
1 ascertained that he had been at one time 
employed by an English resident at Cape Town, 
and had managed to pick up some scattering 
words of our tongue. Taking me by the hand, 
he led me to the old woman’s hut, where I had 
first presented myself, and providing for my com¬ 
fort during the night, left me in her charge. 
The next morning early he sent a boy with 
me to direct me on the right road to Cape Town. 
On reaching the immediate vicinity of the road, 
I espied a wagon going in the direction of Cape 
Town, and telling the boy I should want him 
no longer, I sprang down the rocky mountain 
side, and ran as fast as my legs would carry me 
to overtake the wagon. 
By the time I reached the road the wagon 
was no longer in sight, as it was going at a rapid 
pace, and accordingly traveled forward on foot 
as fast as I was able. After walking for a couple 
of hours I met a man in a carriage coming from 
Cape Town, who addressed me as I was pass¬ 
ing him without looking up, saying-, ‘‘My lad, 
you are a deserter from the King’s ship.” 
This I strenuously denied, stating that I was 
from the whale ship, which lay off in the bay 
with the frigate. I failed to convince my scru¬ 
tinizing questioner on this point, however, and 
at length seeing that my denial was unavailing, 
I confessed that I was a deserter, but declared 
I was not going back at all events. My dress 
had betrayed me, consisting as it did of a pair 
of sailor’s pumps, a cap with a Union Jack 
round the border, and the rest of my garb un¬ 
questionably that of a man-of-war’s man. 
Having measured my man by careful ob¬ 
servation, to see how he compared with me in 
apparent physical capability, I concluded that I 
could hold my own against him, and therefore 
said: ‘‘If you won't peach on me I will for¬ 
ever thank you from the bottom of my heart.” 
Finding that I was so determined, my ques¬ 
tioner changed his tactics, and began to ask me 
about the ship. I conversed readily with him, 
and answered all of his questions, occasionally 
making inquiries in return, until I found out the 
man’s business. It seemed he was going to the 
bay to get employment as assistant steward. 
I gave him to understand that the man he 
wished to see was in Cape Town, and that if 
he would procure me a disguise I would pay 
his fare back. To this the man agreed, though 
he intended, as I felt convinced, to betray me 
as soon as he found opportunity. 
At the first house of entertainment, which 
we came to on the road I stopped and treated 
my newly found friend, and after a short rest 
pushed on again. I exchanged at this house my 
“jumper,” which I had taken from the store¬ 
house at the bay. for the pilot-cloth overcoat of 
“James Minturn,” as my treacherous companion 
declared his name to be, and not long after our 
departure the tramp of a horse was heard, ap¬ 
proaching at a rapid pace up the road. 
I cast a quick glance behind, as I expected 
it was someone in pursuit of me, and at once 
recognized in the rapidly approaching vehicle 
the third lieutenant of my ship. But I trusted 
that the overcoat I had assumed might prove a 
sufficient disguise to prevent his recognition of 
me if it should turn out that my surmise was 
correct, and the lieutenant was in pursuit of me. 
The carriage drove up abreast of us, and 
the lieutenant looked earnestly and intently at 
the two traveling companions, held up his horse 
abreast of us, and hailed me: “Dyer, Dyer, I 
say.” 
I made no reply, and still kept on. Starting 
his horse again the lieutenant followed and again 
hailed: “Dyer, I say.” Still no response. Again 
a third time he hailed, “Dyer, I command you to 
stop!” 
Whereupon, answering with the usual re¬ 
sponse of sailors when on or off duty, I bawled 
out “Ay, Ay, sir!” Then the lieutenant, draw¬ 
ing a pistol, made a spring out of the carriage 
and came toward me. I jumped from my seat 
right over the bank which borded the roadside, 
and made for a valley, which I saw in the dis¬ 
tance, between which and myself was a tangled 
and matted growth of thorn bushes. Plunging 
into these I was soon out of sight, and working 
my way as fast as possible, and at times crawl¬ 
ing on my hands and knees, I endeavored to put 
all the distance I could between myself and my 
pursuer. 
I was much annoyed by the yelping of a 
little dog that came out of a hut nearby, toward 
which the course of the gully into which I had 
found my way was leading, and within which I 
was crawling on my hands and knees, being com¬ 
pletely concealed from sight, and not even rust¬ 
ling the tops of the bushes that bent above me, 
thus leaving no trace whatever of the direction 
taken in my noiseless course. If I could have 
got this dog’s head between my teeth it is not 
too much to say I would have served him a la 
Chinese fashion, although with no penchant for 
dog meat in ordinary. 
The lieutenant, however, kept on his way to 
Cape Town, after giving up the search for me, 
feeling that he should be sure of me eventually, 
notwithstanding I had for the present slipped 
through his fingers. There were policemen sta¬ 
tioned some three miles out from the town, who 
required passes from all who entered or left the 
town, at a place called “The Three Cups.” 
The lieutenant drove on to give warning 
to these men to keep a sharp lookout, and also 
to inform the town authorities. Finding that the 
lieutenant had driven on his way from the 
fainter noise made by his horse’s receding foot¬ 
steps, I presently emerged from the gully, and 
made my way back to the main road. Overtak¬ 
ing my companion, who had kept on slowly, I 
asked him what the lieutenant had said. 
“He said nothing to me,” was the reply. 
[to be continued.] 
The buffalo herd on the Wichita National 
Forest, Oklahoma, now numbers forty-eight, 
ten calves having been born this year. When 
the buffalo were introduced on the Wichita in 
1907 there were 15 head. 
The Grouse. 
BY C-HAS. F. BROCKEL. 
You have hunted chicks and quail, 
And have been shooting cocks; 
But were you ever on the trail 
Of a grouse among the rocks? 
If you crawl up the hillside steep, 
Old Sport is pointing stiff, 
You slip, fall over in a heap, 
When the grouse skims over the cliff. 
Without a shot she skims below, 
But where? You had no glimpse; 
And vexed you are, you holler, whoa! 
The old dog laughs at your whims. 
It was not his fault, but grouse won’t lie 
On steep, dry hillsides bare; 
She is alert and very shy, 
To be disturbed in her mountain lair. 
You follow the sound of thundering wings, 
The old dog’s steady ranging. 
The grouse to you no nearer brings. 
She flushes again, but her course is changing. 
She lights again in sweet ferns high, 
Bight near the pasture sloping, 
And again with gleaming eye you try, 
For an open shot you’re hoping. 
The dog gets stiff near edge of fern, 
Your pulse is beating fast, 
You think this time that you will earn 
An easy shot at last. 
There sounds a thunder of wings in rear. 
Before you swing around she is gone 
Over the same old hill you started ncr. 
You feel as turned to stone. 
'Too late you shoot 
In time to score; 
To tell the truth, 
You have missed—feel sore. 
But the shot made her turn 
To low and swampy rushes. 
At the left of the burn 
The little waterfall gushes. 
For another try to the swamp you hie, 
With noble old dog in front. 
If I do not score, I will say good-by 
And will stop this fruitless hunt. 
The setter roads with careful nose. 
A sudden point near the old fir stump— 
Steady, boy! and the grouse now rose, 
At the bang of gun drops down in a lump. 
The lordly bird of the mountain green 
Has met her fate near the rock. 
Forgot was the tramp, I never had seen 
A more beautiful old grouse cock. 
Dead bird! Old Sport, he now does bring. 
With tender mouth and joyful step. 
Good dog! He brings the game birds’ king. 
His noble head I gently tap. 
O lordly bird with thundering flight, 
You will never fall a prey 
To the hunter that isn’t keen of sight, 
And never say quit he may. 
His steps must be steady, his muscles like steel 
Must never shun mountain high; 
Tired and sore he never must feel, 
And let no chance go by. 
Whether down in swamp in muck and mire. 
Or up in the boulders and rock. 
Must ever be watchful and ready to fire 
A snapshot at sly old cock. 
No sport more entrancing through valley or hill 
As hunting the grouse with steady dog, 
To wander through shady nooks at will, 
Or stumbling in treacherous bog. 
Dong live the sly old forest bird! 
May nis numbers ever increase, 
So I always can dor. my hunting shirt 
And leave others to a hunt of ease. 
