900 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 23, 1911. 
Around the Fire 
By ROBERT GILBERT SAUNDERSON 
O N Saturday night the benches and chairs 
around the big stove in the village store 
are usually well filled, and last night was 
no exception. Levi Cook had just vacated a 
comfortable seat and started for a four-mile 
walk up the hollow to his home. The door had 
hardly closed before the grocery man said: 
“I told Levi I had a couple of dozen eggs he 
could suck, but he said he'd get along without 
’em. I guess he’s losin’ his taste.” 
“If they were as strong as the eggs Bije Green 
sold to the Justice in Stephentown, he’d taste 
’em the rest of his life,” replied Cord Jones. 
“The last time Levi was down he sucked thirty, 
and when I offered him another half dozen, he 
said he wouldn’t make a hog of himself,” replied 
the grocery man. ’ 
“What about them eggs, Cord?” 
“Well, Bije set an incubator and the eggs 
didn’t hatch. The Justice kept the store, and 
when Bije was down one day, he says: 
“‘Judge, what you payin’ for rotten eggs?’ 
“The Judge thought he was jokin’, callin’ ’em 
rotten, so he told him the price of good eggs, 
an’ Bije says: 
“ ‘All right, I’ll bring ’em down.’ 
“He sold the Judge every last one of them 
eggs and took his pay in truck; and the Judge 
sold ’em, and his customers brought ’em back 
and near raised the roof. The Judge hitched 
up, and when he got to Bije’s house, he told 
him he was goin’ to have the law on him. 
“Bije says: “Didn’t I ask you what you was 
payin’ for rotten eggs?’ 
“ ‘Well,’ says the Judge, ‘it seems to me per¬ 
haps you did.’ 
“ ‘An’ didn’t I say I’d bring you some, an’ 
didn’t I bring ’em? Now, unless you treat, I’ll 
tell everyone in town, and they’ll all know what 
a dum fool you are.’ 
“The Judge treated, but Bije told his wife, and 
everyone knew after all.”. 
The store door opened and Danny Rhodes 
walked in and up to the stove, shaking the snow 
from his coat and stamping his feet. 
“Say, Danny,” said Jock Groux, “how about 
the rabbit that ran away with a necktie a day 
or two ago?” 
“She didn’t git clean away* with it, ’cause we 
shot her, but, gosh, how I laughed at Art. Ye 
see, the rabbit ran into a stone wall, and I got 
her alive. I was carryin’ her by the hind legs, 
and perty soon we holed another. We needed 
a 1 1 our hands to dig her out. So Art says: ‘I’ll 
tie her.’ An’ he took off his necktie an’ tied 
her forelegs with it. I just layed her down 
and we started diggin’ out the other. I happened 
to look around an’ saw that first rabbit shootin’ 
for the brush. When he run, his hind legs strad¬ 
dled each side of his forelegs, an’ it seemed as 
though tying ’em let him run faster. We grabbed 
our guns an’ run, an’ just as she was goin’ into 
the brush, we both fired an' got the rabbit, but 
Art’s tie was a trifle too much cut up to be any 
good. 
“Say, I saw a big buck on John McGann’s hill 
when I came down with the milk this mornin’.” 
“This mornin’?” exclaimed Niles Steenberg. 
“I'll bet it was the one down by my house about 
6 o'clock. My mother heard a noise under her 
window, an' when she looked out there was a 
big buck right close to the house. She called 
me an’ I watched him for a while, an’ then he 
jumped the creek an’ went up toward White 
Rocks. That way would take him over where 
Danny saw him.” 
“I'll tell you where he came from,” chipped 
in Walt Goodermote. "I saw one come down 
my hollow an’ he looked as though he had been 
chased, an’ he was cornin' from Massachusetts 
way. But, pshaw, anyone can see deer. Myron 
Brown saw a bear down to the Center. If he’d 
been up here he’d ’a’ got some of Cowee’s pigs.” 
“The woods back of Cowee’s are full of par¬ 
tridges,” said Niles Steenberg. “The timber 
buyer stoppin' at the hotel was up there lookin’ 
for likely trees, an’ he said he put up about 
thirty birds. He had a .22 with him in case he 
saw any gray squirrels, an’ he acted a little mad 
because he hadn’t taken a shotgun. I’ve got two 
or three birds up there most every time I went, 
an’ I saw one fellow there from up North with 
five.” 
“Them Ossining doctors took home twenty- 
eight besides some woodcock,” remarked the 
grocery man. 
“Did you hear about the fox Art Niles didn’t 
get?” asked a heretofore silent sitter. 
“Well, he had his gun up to his shoulder 
aimin’ at a gray squirrel, an’ just then he heard 
a noise behind him. He turned his head around 
an' saw a fox walkin’ along a stone wall. He 
kept turnin’ an’ watchin’ an’ the fox walked 
along the wall a ways, an’ then jumped down 
an’ put out, an’ just when he got out of sight 
Art looked at his gun. It was still up at his 
shoulder, an’ then he jumped up an’ cussed him¬ 
self an’ wondered why he had brought a gun, 
anyway, if he didn’t know enough to shoot a 
fox worth $4 when he saw it.” 
“I promised a friend who was up here fish¬ 
ing this summer to send him some squirrels 
when fall come,” said a man who lives opposite 
the store, “an’ I’ll read you some verses he wrote 
in a letter I just received: 
The wind blows keen o’er the northland hills, 
The frost in the morning- air bites shrewd; 
The sun comes late and its beams are cold. 
And the woodland trees stand gaunt and nude. 
The squirrel barks in the tallest pine; 
His store in the hollow birch grows fast; 
The partridge sits on the moss-grown log, 
And watches the fallen leaves swirl past. 
The hunter sits by his cozy fire, 
And smokes and reads till the day is done; 
And the lobster waits in old New York 
For the squirrel pie that will never come. 
“He’d have got his pie a’l right, only I found 
it mighty hard to kill the little fellows. I brought 
home some squirrels early in the season an’ the 
cats had to eat four-fifths of ’em after they 
were cooked. So I wouldn't shoot any more 
fcr myself an’ the weather was too warm to 
ship any. An’ now it’s too late, anyway, an' I’m 
trappin’, though I've only got one skunk an’ 
one rat so far." 
“There ain't many skunks this year,” said 
Jock. "They all came down into the valley last 
fall, I guess, an’ were caught. Some say the 
street lights brought ’em, but I guess the food 
they depend on got scurce.” 
"There ought to be good fishin’ next year,” 
ventured a newcomer. “The brooks have been 
full since September, and there’s been thousands 
of fry planted here. Why, there was 10000 
fingerlings put in a couple of weeks ago.” 
“This week ’ll end the huntin’ season an’ then 
there’s only rabbits an’ foxes an’ mink an’ musk¬ 
rat an’ skunks to try an’ catch, ’cause the ’coons 
will hole up soon,” said Martin Grothermute. 
‘ I got five ’coons an’ a porcupine last week and 
the fellow with me got one of the prickers in 
his leg, and the doctors in Troy wouldn't cut it 
out. Told him to let it work out, but he’s wor¬ 
ried, ’cause he don’t know which way the denied 
thing is workin’.” 
“Charlie Smith found out there was a close 
season on hawks,” said the man from Troy. 
“When he was out here this summer his brother 
gave him one he had caught. Charlie took it 
back to Troy and advertised it for sale, and a 
game constable came and asked the price. 
Charlie said he’d sell it for $7 and the game 
man says: ‘I’ll take the hawk an’ you, too,’ an’ 
it cost Charlie about $17 to find out what the 
law said.” 
“Say, Will Green caught a white woodchuck 
an’ had him in a box at the telephone office,” 
said a youngster. “And another feller had a 
white squirrel an'— 
“Good-night,” cut in the grocery man. “I 
sleep usually about this time. Come round next 
week an’ ease your minds some more. It must 
be powerful relief to get rid of such truck.” 
Uncle Fide Gone. 
Philo Scott, known through the whole Adi¬ 
rondack region as Uncle Fide and one of the 
best guides that ever followed a trail, died on 
Dec. 14 after an illness of several weeks. He 
was seventy-four years old. Uncle Fide was born 
in Jefferson county, near Watertown. When he 
was a boy his parents moved into the foothills 
of the big North Woods. From there he en¬ 
listed in the Sixtieth New York Volunteers. 
On his return from the Civil War he began his 
career as a guide and hunter. He established 
a camp at Lost Lake and during the later years 
of his life entertained many prominent public 
men. Among these was Irving Bacheller, who 
on one occasion made a hunting expedition with 
the old guide, and the poem written by him, en¬ 
titled “Fide and Me,” appeared soon afterward. 
Uncle Fide always told his friends that the 
proudest moment in his life was the time he 
went to Albany as the guest of former Lieu¬ 
tenant-Governor Horace White. He was ad¬ 
mitted to the floor of the Senate and asked to 
make a speech. Fide was a picturesque figure. 
He was invariably clad in woodsman’s garb, 
wore a closely woven flannel shirt, a suit of 
heavy woolen clothing and a black cap. Many 
Forest and Stream readers have been “showed 
the game” by old Chicle Fide. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
