FOREST AND STREAM 
621 
“Alright,” said Daniel. “Nero—Nero, old dog 
—watch; he is coming—he is coming— watch, 
Nero.” 
Nero, hushed all over waited, alert, and the 
other two dogs crouched in skillful readiness. 
The limb was shaken; followed a crash, and by 
the light of the lifted lanterns we could see 
a form shooting down, legs working like piston 
rods, for they fall practically running. It all 
happened in an instant. With a thud the coon 
hit ground; three palpitating, energy-filled canines 
leaped into the fray, as one, and there followed 
a tussle that drew three cries of pain from the 
dogs as coon-teeth sank in flesh, but in the end 
Nero had the coon pinned and the shepherd, 
Tom, was shaking the utter life out of the still 
vitally-animated hind-quarters. But the life spark 
was speedily squelched. The veteran coon had 
run his last trail. And such a monster, with 
beautiful fur in prime condition, his body, sleek 
and fat to the core, he presented a picture that 
sent a wave of joy lingeringly through the breast. 
He would run to fifteen pounds easily, Daniel 
said, as he lifted him, and ran his fingers through 
the bushy fur. 
“If that isn’t success just you show me some¬ 
thing equal to it,” uttered Fred, lost in a rapture 
of admiration, while he lifted the coon. “Well 
if this hasn’t been a night, eh.” 
“We’re not through yet,” asserted Daniel. “We 
just started, I guess. I take you somewhere else 
and we get another coon by midnight, and per¬ 
haps before—if you fellows like go.” 
“Lead on,” I spoke, embracing Fred’s total 
convictions. “While there are coon, and while 
we can run we will follow!” 
The dogs were heeled by the word of com¬ 
mand from Daniel and once more we took our 
Very few people have had the doubtful pleas¬ 
ure of seeing a bandit ply his trade first, be¬ 
cause bandits are rare, and secondly, those who 
have gone through a “hold-up” are usually so 
carried away with excitement that they have but 
little recollection of the personality of the main 
character in the event. 
Forest and Stream through the kindness of 
one of its friends, John G. Scattergood, a young 
bank man of New York, is able to tell some¬ 
thing about one of the queerest and the boldest 
hold-ups ever conducted in the United States, and 
more than that to present actual photographs 
of a real live bandit at work. Mr. Scattergood 
was one of the party which fell foul to a lone 
highwayman last summer in Yellowstone Park. 
The occurrence was widely noted at the time, 
but the best account was prepared by Mr. Scat¬ 
tergood for his fellow members of the City 
Bank Club of New York, for publication in 
“No. 8,” the club’s official medium. Through 
his courtesy, Forest and Stream is also permitted 
to make use of his manuscript, and a mighty 
clever story it is. Mr. Scattergood writes: 
Tired but happy, we arrived at Old Faithful 
Inn in Yellowstone Park after three successive 
nights on a railroad train and a stage ride of 
thirty miles. The Inn is constructed entirely of 
logs and has a peculiarly restful atmosphere. 
After having our respective rooms assigned to us. 
way across the woods, through an open, and 
then again we plunged into the woods- Daniel 
said that he was returning to the creek, for he 
knew another place where he thought he had 
one spotted, but could not say for certain. This 
little seemed to matter, now that we had made 
this singular capture. Of course another coon 
would be that much more of an addition to our 
pleasures but we were not, at least, foiled in our 
search' for raccoon trophies. 
As eminent luck would have it, after coursing 
the bank of the creek, near the woodland we 
struck a second trail, and again the dogs were 
hurry-scurrying over the fallen leaves, one des¬ 
tination and one determination in view. Now as 
we plunged forward we could see that the trail 
was taking us in an opposite direction to the one 
just covered. However, this did not mind, only 
the going was rougher by far, what with under¬ 
growth profuse, hollows and weed grown ditches. 
But on we went, in the rear of Nero’s inimitable 
trumpet voice, which at regular intervals burst 
out upon the stillness, echoing and re-echoing 
through those silenced glades. 
I am mindful of the fact that I fell twice in 
that memorable charge, and barked my shins so 
that it turned black before my eyes, and a sick¬ 
ness went through me; but when I recovered I 
felt oddly more healthy and enthusiastic than 
ever. It was all rush and excitement again; 
voices mingling, and the dogs shattering the 
night air with their ringing howls. 
In the end we treed the coon, but I will say 
that he beat the first one, as a marathoner, all 
to pieces. Where the first one might have gone 
two miles this one took us practically three 
miles from home; but we treed him, not in a 
giant, but a mere sapling; a small, fluffed-up, 
we found that not only are the outside walls 
made of logs, but as well the walls of our rooms 
and, in some instances, the bedsteads themselves. 
Having to some extent got back to Nature, we 
Your Photo or Your Life. 
wiry animal, seemingly built for running—and 
his last race had been monumental! 
And there we stood breathing long and deep, 
in company with the winded dogs, their tongues 
far-lolling—and yet they wagged their tails and 
kept their eyes rooted upon the quarry. Un¬ 
doubtedly they would want to shake them up a 
little more but they knew their labors had been 
done, and done perfectly well. Fred bit off a 
chew of Climax that would have caused the de¬ 
cease of a mule; and between his gnawing upon 
the capture, let whang with innumerable memories 
Of laughter, his prediction being that coon hunt¬ 
ing was by far and away the best sport ever 
created for men and others, and that Daniel’s 
dog’s were the best ever that run earth, caused 
that worthy individual exceptional emotions of 
pleasure. And now, then, home we stole, with 
the hand in the watch marking the hour of ten 
and one-half; with fond thoughts of the roar¬ 
ing fire to be in the fireplace. 
Fred and Daniel, in perfect comradeship, slept 
side by side that night, and it was two o’clock 
in the morning that I closed my eyes, and was 
wafted away into the fair regions of slumber- 
land, and in the other section of the cabin I 
heard Fred telling Daniel of his past years of 
greatness. 
“Well, sir, I never forget the time George 
Washington and me come up the Mississippi.” 
This so delighted Daniel that another historic 
encounter had to be related, hut I went to sleep; 
the last I heard was when Fred demanded the 
keys to the Saint Paul courthouse, and was 
thrown out and slugged; and there followed of 
course the bombardment of Saint Paul, with all 
its grevious disasters equal almost to the Iroquois 
Fire! 
Camera 
felt that a good night’s rest was before us and 
we were not disappointed. 
Morning found us refreshed and eager for our 
day’s drive, and at eight o’clock we started. The 
day was a beautiful one and the horses them¬ 
selves must have caught the spirit of it for they 
struck a smart gait and we rolled rapidly toward 
Shoshone Point. The coaches keep far enough 
apart to escape each other’s dust and yet are 
near enough that laughter and voices may be 
heard from coach to coach. And so we traveled, 
a merry party; good spirits were the order of 
the day. 
Suddenly, the leading coach stopped and then 
each coach in turn. The passengers wondered 
at the delay but felt no concern until it grew 
unusually long. A hush fell over the party 
as we endeavored to ascertain the reason for 
having stopped. Very shortly the word was 
passed from coach to coach that a hold-up was 
in progress and as our coach went slowly for¬ 
ward much the same as does a funeral coach, 
we looked ahead and there saw the bandit him¬ 
self. My first thought was “Why didn’t I bring 
some of the Bank’s travelers’ checks instead of 
money ?” 
Shoshone Point, where the hold-up occurred, 
is, as the name suggests, a sharp point of land 
from which a beautiful view of Shoshone Lake 
Shooting a Bandit—With a 
