FOREST AND STREAM 
203 
morning he took it upon himself to investigate 
the barn in which he had slept; and upon discov¬ 
ering a pile of pumpkins piled up in a corner, he 
proceeded to make a meal of them. He smashed 
every pumpkin in sight, and was in the act of de¬ 
vouring the largest one, which had been reserved 
for exhibition at the County Fair, when the 
farmer and the Canadian entered the barn from 
the opposite entrance. The bear was sitting up 
on his haunches eating the prize pumpkin. 
The farmer rushed furiously at him flourishing 
a pitch fork, but the Canadian, unwilling to see 
his only breadwinner treated in that fashion, 
seized a large club and resolutely faced the as¬ 
sailant. It is hard to tell how the matter would 
have terminated, had not the bear solved the prob¬ 
lem by climbing a nearby ladder, and disappearing 
in the hay loft. When peace had been restored, the 
Canadian mollified the farmer’s feelings by giv¬ 
ing Bruin a severe thumping, and the trouble was 
amicably settled. That was the last night the 
Canadian and his bear were allowed to sleep in 
that particular barn. 
At the risk of being compared to a kitten that 
chases its own tail, I shall now, as it Avere, de¬ 
scribe a half circle, and resume my description 
of Old Shokan, and its inhabitants. 
The people were a primitive lot. They lived 
as had their forefathers, manufacturing their own 
clothes and their wooden-soled shoes. These 
wooden soles were covered with a layer of 
leather. The leather was taken from the skins of 
freshly killed cows or sheep, and, after a series 
of treatments, had been nailed to the surface of 
the wood. Their ideas regarding other matters 
were no less old fashioned than their ideas on 
dress, and it was their custom to keep large 
bunches of herbs hanging in a dry room. They 
were familiar with their real or fancied curative 
powers, and did their own doctoring. The use 
of these medicinal remedies had, in many cases, 
been originally learned from the Indians, and it 
was from the red men of earlier days that their 
ancestors had learned many of the weird tales 
with which the later generations were often wont 
to while away the time. The older inhabitants of 
Greene, Webster, Sullivan and Delaware counties 
could tell of the early Indian depredations, and 
many of them remembered the days when the five 
nations hunted and fished through the region. 
There was a story told of Big Indian, a brave, 
who fell in love with a pretty white maiden, Ger¬ 
trude Molyneux. The Indian had been unsuc¬ 
cessful in his wooing, because of the intervention 
of Joe Bundy, a white man, who finally won the 
girl’s affections. Her marriage proved an un¬ 
happy one, however, and eventually she trans¬ 
ferred her affections to the young brave. The 
climax of the affair was reached when Bundy, 
iff’the company of a gang of cattle thieves, shot 
and killed his Indian rival. Big Indian’s body 
was found standing upright in the hollow of a 
tall pine tree, near the spot where he had been 
shot. 
Another story was told of an old man who 
lived the life of a hermit, near Alder Lake, the 
estate of Mr. Coykendall. This picturesque old 
character lived in a log cabin near a small brook 
on the side of the mountain.| He had the repu¬ 
tation of being the original of the character in 
Rip Van Winkle, and he was regarded with much 
interest by sightseers. He really did look much 
like the representations of Rip Van Winkle, with 
his long white hair and his flowing whiskers 
floating in the wind. He was more than a hun¬ 
dred years old. 
These, then, are old-time glimpses of the town 
which is now inundated to make a reservoir for 
the water supply of New York City. 
The Reverend O. Warren Smith 
A Sincere and Loving Appreciation 
O WARREN SMITH was born on a farm 
just outside of Weyauwega, Wisconsin, 
* and has spent practically the greater part 
of his life in his home state. He makes the 
claim that “I am not altogether sure that a side 
light upon my character might not be obtained 
from studying my two grandfathers, one a trap¬ 
per and hunter, the other a Methodist local- 
preacher; from the first I derived my love for 
the Open, of the chase, and the lure of the 
stream, and from the other that love of words, 
which has made me what I am by profession, a 
preacher of the Word.” Warren Smith was just 
like any other healthy and nature-loving youth. 
As a boy, the call of the open was strong upon 
him, and many a long evening he sat by his camp¬ 
fires, dreaming dreams of the great adventures 
that were to befall him in that far-off time of 
which all boys dream. Warren Smith early 
agreed with that whole-hearted philosopher, Em¬ 
erson, that the silent church was more A'ocal than 
any preaching. He admits that his tramps abroad 
in the woods had more to do with the forma¬ 
tion of his character than the acknowledged 
power of the church. His life on the farm was 
the life of the average farm boy, early milk¬ 
ing, long hours a-field, with many fishing trips 
thrown into the bargain. Shortly, however, 
High School claimed him, and we can appreciate 
with him the fact that he begrudged the time 
there spent, keyed as was his desire for natural 
perfection, the great world of the out-of-doors, 
and its lasting glory. However, he was not to 
stop there. He next found himself attending 
Lawrence College, with the ministry profession 
looming large upon his mental horizon. In his 
own words, “I was anything but a bright stu¬ 
dent, I guess, for I dreamed too much. I knew 
I had rather lie on the banks of the historic 
Fox River, dreaming my dream of ‘something 
lost behind the ranges,’ than grub in my room, 
still, I worked faithfully enough, considering, 
and got much out of my college work, more in 
By Robert Page Lincoln. 
truth, than I then realized. Thanks to two pro¬ 
fessors, Merica and Nicholson, I learned to think 
for myself, as well as dream.” 
Having become thoroughly versed in the intri¬ 
cacies of preaching the gospel, and leaving his 
instructors, he shortly removed to the West, 
where he pursued his calling with more or less 
success, and in this pleasant interval he took 
advantage of the opportunity to test his skill as 
a hunter and a fisherman. But the West did not 
satisfy as he thought it would. He was a typical 
lover of home surroundings. His home state, 
with its plentiful lakes and streams, woods, flow¬ 
ers and pastures, called him irresistibly, and fi¬ 
nally yielding to the natural-bom impulse in him, 
he again found himself in Wisconsin, a full- 
fledged Methodist preacher, with several charges, 
and very much to do. In his own words, he 
says: “So the years slipped by, and the love 
for the Open grew a-pace, while my spirit chafed 
at the over-much authority of the church. I 
wanted to think for myself, in a word, be my 
true, independent, nature-loving, self.” 
As aforementioned, Warren Smith made his 
initial appearance as a fishing and outdoor wri¬ 
ter, in March, 1902, between the covers of Field 
and Stream. Thereafter articles appeared from 
his pen regularly, especially in the time-honored 
weekly you hold in your hands, Forest and 
Stream, which has published much of his best 
work, including letters, stories and articles, no¬ 
table being a recent series of articles named, 
“Now That Reminds Me.” In 1908, Warren 
Smith, his wife and daughter Lucile tramped 
some eighty miles through the northern part of 
Wisconsin, carrying their duffl on their backs. 
The story was duly published in Forest and 
Stream, beginning January, 1909. The following 
year a trip of the same kind was enjoyed, and 
the serial appeared duly in Forest and Stream. 
After the publication of these articles in this 
magazine, and as a result, the fame of Warren 
Smith grew, to such an extent that he became 
angling editor of Outer’s Book, in March, 1910, 
and has conducted it successfully for three years, 
though having left it recently, becoming angling 
editor of Outdoor Life, with this new year, 
1914. In the meantime his name has been wit¬ 
nessed between the covers of practically every 
American sporting publication of worthy 'note. 
Sports Afield has printed some forty-three of 
his articles, which is indeed a record for a 
monthly. Outdoor Life he lately entered with 
gratifying results. American Field has recently 
featured his work; likewise Recreation, Field 
and Stream, Camp and Trail, and others. But 
perhaps his best efforts have appeared in the 
well-known Independent Weekly, of New York, 
and in the Christian Endeavor World. Notable 
features of his work, in connection with Outer’s 
Book, is: “Salmon and Trout of America.”— 
“Some Familiar Fish,”—“The Fly-Tyer’s Bench” 
-—and others—selections of his work shortly to 
appear under cloth.covers. 
Vividness, and remarkableness of descriptive 
powers are closely associated with many speci¬ 
mens of this pleasing writer’s representative 
work. For instance his portrayal of a mid¬ 
summer thunderstorm while out fishing: 
“I looked, and what I saw caused me to toss 
my rod into the boat, regardless of consequences, 
and reach for the anchor rope. The lowering 
westward sky was inky black, frosted along the 
upper edge with frothy, curling, white clouds. 
Vivid lightning incessantly flashed athwart the 
threatening heavens, while thunder boomed and 
crashed, like near-artillery. Had we lingered too 
long? I began to think we had. The Mailman 
was at the oars, and I held the steering-paddle. 
How we worked, but the water-logged scoav 
seemed only to crawl. When within twenty rods 
from the shore, there came a sudden puff of 
wind, that set the ripples dancing: then a few 
large drops of rain fell. . . . The wind, 
more powerful than can be imagined, whirled 
our boat around in spite of our best efforts; 
