Forest and Stream 
?3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, |1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MAY 3, 1913. 
VOL. LXXX.—No. 18. 
187 Franklin St., New York. 
A Contraband Incident—II. 
A Story of the Forties Written by 
Illustrations from “Woodcraft.” 
T he scene I have attempted to describe passed 
very rapidly, and it could not have been ten 
minutes from the time of his appearance 
until the fugitive was on his way to the hiding 
place of his wife and child, torch in hand, and 
with fresh hope in his heart. No sooner was 
he out of hearing than Randolph rose to his feet 
and said: ‘‘Now, boys, we are in luck; you see 
what the fools have brought themselves to by 
getting these runaway notions in their heads. 
They’ve suffered more on this trip than they 
would in ten years if they’d stayed at home, 
and they’re bound to suffer if they ever get to 
Canada. The free States are no place for 
darkies, and ’twould only be doing them a kind¬ 
ness to feed ’em well, clothe ’em comfortable 
and send ’em back. That fellow’s a darky 
preacher, I know. What the devil good is he 
in Canada? Let him go back and preach to the 
niggers where he belongs. I ain’t goin’ to turn 
nigger thief, and I go in for sending ’em back 
accordin’ to law; what do you say, boys ? There 
won’t be less than $300 reward; maybe more, 
and we may as well have it as anybody else.” 
“Well,” said farmer Kelly, “the first thing 
is to feed the hungry and clothe the naked; 
after that we can see about the ‘sending back,’ 
though I have a notion that if they ever do go 
back, they’ll start from a p’int a few miles north 
of this. I’m no nigger catcher, and I ain’t 
greedy for money to be got in that kind of 
way; I call it blood money.” 
“The hell you do,” said Randolph savagely, 
“and I s’pose you don’t believe in keepin’ the 
law neither, nor in Scripter.” 
“Waal, yes, I du believe in Scripter; I be¬ 
lieve in doing to others as you would be done 
by, and I believe in loosenin’ the bonds of them 
that are bound, and in lettin’ the oppressed go 
free. I take it that’s good Scripter doctrine. 
As to law. I’m my own judge of that. If I 
break the law I’m willin’ to bide the conse¬ 
quences.” 
“Waal,” rejoined Randolph, “it's my opin¬ 
ion that you’re jest a cussed Abolitioner, and 
it’s my opinion further that the darky ’d better 
go back to his master. If the rest of you want 
to play the fool, you can, but—” 
Here he was interrupted by the return of 
the negro, without the torch, but bearing in his 
arms the almost perished child, and closely fol¬ 
lowed by his wife. The child was apparently 
some five years old, and might be described as 
an intelligent featured bright mulatto. The 
woman, save to the eye of an expert, showed 
no signs of African origin whatever. She was 
ragged and emaciated, with a look of weary, 
patient suffering that was most touching, but her 
form, when in the fullness of health, must have 
been nearly faultless, and her manners were 
actually those of a lady. She was still hand¬ 
some, even in her emaciation and misery. What 
could have induced her to marry an unmitigated 
negro of plantation speech and manners? 
Fearless, straightforward, common sense 
kindness is very quick at relieving suffering. In 
a quarter of an hour from the advent of the 
party in camp they were all comparatively com¬ 
fortable. It was no time for scrupulous deli¬ 
cacy. They were all divested of the wet com¬ 
fortless tatters which partially covered them, 
each had a stiff drink of “hot stuff,” and all 
the spare coats, overcoats, blankets and buffaloes 
were put in requisition to warm, and keep them 
warm, until other clothing could be procured. 
When we had done all in our power to re¬ 
lieve the sufferers, when they were warmed, 
fed and quietly taking the rest of which they 
stood in such need, then it was that we first 
noticed the absence of the man Randolph. Jason 
had seen him walk out of camp a few minutes 
before, rifle in hand, and we all jumped to the 
Nessmuk 
conclusion that he had gone for help to arrest 
and commit the miserable fugitives for rendi¬ 
tion in the expectation of a handsome reward. 
We all believed him mean and unprincipled 
enough to do any dirty job for money, and we 
had come to dislike him thoroughly as a com¬ 
panion. He was rude, overbearing, and a most 
egregious braggart, boasting frequently of the 
antagonists he had finished with “old bowie” or 
the “har” he had “raised” when hunting and 
trapping among the Rocky Mountains. For the 
rest he could sing tolerably, had a frank off¬ 
hand way which frequently enabled him to “wring 
in,” as he expressed it, with better company 
than he deserved, and was a capital rifle shot. 
We had concluded that Randolph had gone 
for help to arrest the runaways, but though we 
were well convinced of this, no man spoke his 
thoughts. We waited on our strange guests 
assiduously, receiving their thanks in silence and 
listening with pained hearts to the moanings of 
the sick child, or brooding savagely on the con¬ 
duct of the rascal Randolph and what the mor¬ 
row might bring. We knew that if he came 
back with legal papers and the proper officer to 
serve them, we were powerless. Had the weather 
been favorable, we might have hurried the fugi¬ 
tives to a place of present safety, but the state 
they were in and the tell-tale snow seemed to 
preclude the feasibility of this. We were at a 
nonplus, and I was half inclined to regret that 
one of us had not seen fit to follow Randolph 
and shoot him ere he reached the clearings. 
Taking his own account of himself, it would 
have been an act of simple justice. 
Jason—the only one of the party who had 
openly avowed abolition sentiments, and who 
had nightly quarreled with Randolph on politics 
—was the first to notice the absence of another 
one of the party, and asked the farmer where 
his son was. Sure enough, young Kelly had 
gone—no one knew when or where. “Waal,” 
the farmer quietly said, “he does seem to be 
missin’ jest now; I reckon he’ll turn up all right 
after a spell.” He said no more on the sub¬ 
ject, but his meaning look and a sort of cool 
confidence about the man as he sat nursing orie 
leg and smoking placidly before rhe fire some¬ 
how reassured me, and I looked on the absence 
of the quiet, harmless looking youngster as most 
significant. 
One o’clock came and found the tired fugi¬ 
tives in a deep lethargic sleep. Even the sick 
child had ceased moaning and slept soundly. The 
