Aug. 12, 1911] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
251 
in on either hand, guarding us to the rear, call¬ 
ing to us from the distant head of the valley; 
Jimmie was in a silent paradise, happy as only 
one can be who is a true lover of the hills and 
sees them for the first time in all the beauty 
of spring twilight. 
We trudged on quietly, I with an eye out for 
a stopping place, Louis watching for a likely 
place for trout in the merry little stream, Jim¬ 
mie seeing visions. With one accord we turned 
in to a little dell beside the brook where at the 
foot of a tiny fall it broadened and deepened 
into an amber pool from which we drank deep. 
But it was not a place to spend the night, the 
sky was reddening and the peepers tuning up, 
so we kept on, ever climbing into the gather¬ 
ing darkness, until we saw the cheery light of 
the house to which we had been commended. 
There we got a good supper and much informa¬ 
tion about the lay of the land, and soon after 
we turned in to sleep soundly, lulled by the 
music of the stream under our windows. 
The next morning we were off early, taking 
with us in addition to our own stores a loaf of 
fresh bread, and some cold meat. The road 
soon afterward changed to a grassy trail that 
led us through old fields and deep into the 
woods. Old Slide reared his head above us, 
seemingly very near and inviting, but we fol¬ 
lowed the trail still. We were getting up in 
the world, and the trees were nearly bare, so 
that we had frequent views of the valley, and of 
the mountains whose summits we hoped to at¬ 
tain before dinner time. But the day was hot, 
and we were unused to the hard work; Jimmie 
kept up with the leader, but we all felt glad 
when the trail shook itself and seemed to throw 
11s out at the foot of the lake, at Winnisook 
Lodge. 
At the lodge the direction of the trail turns 
sharply, and after going a bit south, it starts 
up nearly due east, and runs thus, varied by an 
occasional sinuous steep place, all the way to 
the summit. We had been told that there was 
water on the road, and again at the summit, so 
we had carried none. The day was close and 
hot, and the sun beat down mercilessly on our 
backs, while the packs grew heavier and heavier 
as the air grew rarer. We rested often, losing 
time as well as breath; being still used to city 
ways, we looked with anxious eyes at an ap¬ 
proaching thunderstorm, forgetting that it 
would give 11s both the water and coolness that 
we craved. Finally we reached a spring, only 
to find that the porcupines had fouled it. Then 
on again, panting, sweating, aching, we saw 
with freshened hope the barometer needle 
point to a 250 foot rise in that last spurt. As 
we lay gasping, Jimmie gave a cry, “Who’s got 
my sweater?” 
Now, he had knelt on that sweater at the 
spring, far below. Jimmie looked dismayed, 
and when it was gently urged that he might 
go back and catch up with us later, flatly^ re¬ 
fused, preferring death from cold to again 
negotiating those rocks. Now Louis is one of 
the saints that are permitted to grace this cold 
world; he arose, left his pack, and went back 
all that weary way for the sweater. Jimmie, as 
a punishment, was sent on ahead, traveling 
light, to spy out the way, while I bethought me 
that a full stomach was often the best cure for 
a bad temper, and proceeded to fry a bit of 
fragrant bacon. 
Jimmie and Louis got back together; Louis 
with the sweater, and a wrath that I stifled with 
bacon, Jimmie with the good news that I had 
made a mistake in the reading, and that we 
were almost on top. So we started on with 
light hearts, to find that Jimmie had mistaken 
a little peak for the summit. Another hour, and 
we were evidently at the foot of the summit. 
The path scrambled up on the edge of nothing, 
dove into some evergreens, and then spread 
itself out and basked in the sunlight at the foot 
of the Government monument. A grumpy 
porcupine sidled off to shelter amid a hail of 
futile bullets; a hawk sprang on broad pinions 
and we had reached the very top. We flung 
our packs off, but we did not sit down; tired 
as we were, it seemed more fitting to stand. To 
lie down would be bad manners. 
Once more Jimmie was silent. This is twice 
that I have known him to be utterly squelched 
WE HAD REACHED THE SUMMIT. 
and silent; nothing in the lowlands, not even 
large slices taken from his salary in the shape 
of fines, will stop the rattle of his tongue. But 
the majesty of the circling hills is not a thing 
that can be disregarded. 
But thirst will overpower the finest rhapso¬ 
dies, and soon we were all scouring around for 
that spring. I found it, and mighty poor trash 
it was. Imagine a swampy place at the foot of 
a cliff, with a wet place on the rocks from which 
water dripped in slow drops. And when I had 
collected half a cup full, it was muddy and 
dirty and smelly, so that we dared not drink 
it. Disconsolate, we returned to our duffle, and 
as we planned a swift descent into the valley 
to the south, we heard voices, and two men 
apeared over the edge of the rocks, men whom 
we had heard of as well known walkers. They 
confirmed our discoveries, and said that the 
nearest water was far away, perhaps an hour 
below us. and then they took out oranges and 
began to eat them. 
I always have felt sorry for Dives; being in 
torment, he lifted up his eyes and saw another 
man in comfort; but the other man was not in 
reach, and was enjoying the fruits of a just re¬ 
ward. These men, one of whom I was told 
was on the faculty of Columbia, knew we were 
thirsty, could have seen that Jimmie was in 
real distress; but they ate their oranges before 
our eyes. Sometime I hope to have the op¬ 
portunity to explain to those men just what we 
felt. They expressed doubts as to our getting 
through the wilderness, where there was “no 
trail and no house for you to stop at.” Though 
we explained about the tent and blankets and 
food, they evidently thought it wise to move 
away from such maniacs, and went swiftly over 
our back trail. 
It was nearly sunset, so we dropped over the 
edge, and made our way down the cliffs, sliding 
and scrambling, until through the bare trees I 
saw a green spot, and with a shout of “Water!” 
we raced to it, and drank of that little marshy 
spring. Following its green trail down hill, we 
found a little rivulet, a flat place for the tent, 
and decided to camp. That night we had a feast 
of erbswurst, bacon and flapjacks, and turned in 
almost willing to forgive those men. 
The next morning we awoke to a violent 
snowstorm, which greatly impeded getting 
breakfast; and a smokier meal I have seldom 
had. But what it lacked in quality it made up 
in quantity, and neither of my companions was 
critical. After dinner, in which I somewhat 
retrieved my reputation as a cook by some 
fried mush, it cleared, and we packed up and 
set off for the opposite side of the valley. At 
five o’clock we reached the other branch of the 
creek which later would be the Neversink, and 
as it looked like mighty good trout water, we 
made camp. Louis and Jimmie set about get¬ 
ting supper while I started out to provide it. 
It looked like good water for a coachman and 
a black gnat; and pool after pool I fished with 
all my art, but not a rise did I get. Then I 
hunted up a dead and rotting tree and kicked 
pieces out of it until I found a fat grub, and 
made a try with him. But no trout was there. 
That whole stream was innocent of fish life of 
any sort. Evidently it ran only in wet weather, 
and was a very different stream from what it is 
in Sullivan county. So again we sat down to a 
supper of flapjacks; but they are always popular 
in camp, and with a very little trouble in the 
cooking can be made as light and healthful as 
any other food. After supper Louis and I 
washed up, while Jimmie, fed to the point of 
supreme happiness, lay on his back close to 
the flickering fire and sang comfortably to him¬ 
self. Would that I could make him sing that 
way in choir; there he sings from a sense of 
duty too often. Now he was singing from pure 
joy, and he went through' pretty nearly the 
whole repertory of a large city choir, anthem 
and cantata and oratorio. Louis is not used 
to that sort of music, and out there under the 
silent stars it seemed particularly good; I think 
we got as pure joy from listening as Jimmie 
did from singing. It was a very well pleased 
and contented little family that snuggled down in 
the tiny silk tent. 
The next day was to be a strenuous one, for 
we were not making good progress, and we 
had to be back on Sunday night. So we got up 
early and hustled. At the first drinking place 
we found a bear track in the soft earth, to 
Jimmie’s huge delight, for the few porcupines 
we had shot with the revolver had only whetted 
