Forest and Stream 
a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MARCH 30, 1912. 
VOL. LXXVIIL—No. 13. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
Across 
K ansas city had in the late sixties 
pulled away from the commonplace name 
of "Westport Landing,” and was crowing 
over and making faces at its former rival, 
Wyandotte, on the opposite bank of the Kaw, 
giving one the impression of an awkward, over¬ 
grown boy with his first suit of man’s clothes. 
Such a conglomerate lot of straggling houses, 
business blocks, hotels, shakedowns, shanties and 
tents, put down at random in the hollow, on the 
hill and half way up the ravine, was never inme 
to see before or since. But that my enthusiasm 
was the deeply-rooted grow'th of years it would 
have dribbled out the “small end of the horn” 
on that damp, soggy spring morning when first 
I trod the sloughs called streets and dodged the 
onslaughts of legions of razorback hogs. I had 
arrived the previous midnight over the Missouri 
Pacific from St. Louis, and gone dirgctly to bed 
at the "Globe’’ Hotel on the levee. 
"They knowed wot they wus talkin’ about w’en 
they called this 'ere State Misery,” consolingly 
remarked Bill Haley, after we had tired our 
legs out and slopped our trousers all over with 
a sticky substance called “sile” in native par¬ 
lance. Bill was a native Ohioan who had at¬ 
tained to his majority and struck out for him¬ 
self. I ran across him at a little four-corners’ 
village, at which I had stopped on my way west¬ 
ward in the country that Col. Tallmadge, of 
Litchfield, Conn., had parceled out to settlers 
in the early days of the nineteenth century, 
naming it the Western Reserve, or New Con¬ 
necticut. Bill was not a man of bulging men¬ 
tality, but he seemed to possess a modicum of 
horse sense, and wdthal a powerful physique. He 
was suffering from a severe attack of Western 
fever, but being penniless and not partial to 
walking, seemed unable to get relief. It struck 
me that he would make a desirable addition to 
my party of one, so I proposed that he go along 
with me, help me with my traps, and do such 
work as the coming conditions might entail, in 
return for his hoard and transportation. He 
eagerly seized the proposition, which is why he 
was with me on that dispiriting spring morning. 
He was really home sick and would have taken 
the first train eastward if he could have raised 
the price of a ticket. But I sent him out on an 
exploring expedition for a lodging place, as I 
made up my mind to make this headquarters 
during a scries of short excursions into the sur¬ 
rounding country. 
M e secured a room and furnished it as a tem¬ 
porary rendezvous, then prepared for a shoot¬ 
ing trip into ^Missouri. Having ascertained that 
the Plains in Early Days 
By SAMUEL MANSFIELD STONE 
the only game worth while at that season was 
wild turkey and occasional flocks of geese which 
stopped to feed in the rivers and ponds, I pur¬ 
chased a single shot rifle, a stock of cartridges 
and we sallied forth. Failing to find a single 
goose or turkey on the western border of Mis¬ 
souri, we took train and journeyed till we 
fetched up on the Mississippi River some distance 
A WESTERN BUCK. 
below Carondelet. A number of large flocks of 
geese had just alighted upon a small island or 
sandbar within easy range of the shore. Their 
honking was as music after our long quest. 
Walking slowly along the shore I succeeded in 
getting four big fellows in exact range. They 
were standing quietly and I had ample oppor¬ 
tunity to take careful aim, resting on a bunch 
of driftwood. As I fired, the flock floundered 
laboriously into the air, with the exception of 
four that lay on their sides on the crest of the 
bar. Then, for the first time, I remembered 
that we had no boat or means of securing the 
birds. I believe I never suffered more chagrin 
in my life than when I stood impbtently watch¬ 
ing the result of the most successful shot I had 
ever made. Later I shot one bird from a flock 
passing over, but it dropped at the foot of a cliff 
beyond reach. Then, disgusted at myself for the 
useless slaughter of game, I took train for St. 
Louis, thence returning to Kansas City. 
The important task of selecting an outfit for 
use in the wilds to which I was going absorbed 
my attention for several days. One night I met 
Joe Hickox (Wild Bill). I promptly bowed 
down in spirit to this wonderful man who had 
killed Indians and “Greasers,” doing frank hom¬ 
age to his prowess. I was not in the least de¬ 
gree backward in acquainting him with the fact 
that I, too, was soon to venture upon that en¬ 
chanted ground beyond the border. I failed at 
the time to quite catch the significance of his 
free conversation with me, but later I realized 
that he had jollied me most unmercifully. 
“Coin’ ter hunt Injuns and bufferlos, be ye? 
That’s a right smart good scheme; don’t see how 
any self-respectin’ boy kin grow up an’ hev t’ 
say, ‘I never kilt an Injun,’ ’specially when they's 
so plenty and the nation’s e.xpectin' every boy to 
do his duty. I likes you, young feller, shake. 
An’ may ye hev to charter a freight car to fetch 
back th' skelps.” 
I was not so consummately self-conceited but 
that the sarcasm of this and kindred utterances 
of the mighty scout was detected, but I was so 
consumed with admiration of the long, flowing 
locks, the buckskin clothes, the beaded sombrero 
and flashing eyes of my hero that it made little 
impression upon me. One remark hurt me, how¬ 
ever, but chiefly because of the laugh it excited 
among those who overheard it. I had ventured, 
after enumerating the leading features of my 
outfit, to ask what more in his opinion I would 
need in my campaign. 
“You haven’t mentioned cologne,” he replied 
gravely: “cologne or smelling salts. You'll find 
them the most needful of anything when you 
get among the Injuns.” Afterward I learned 
that this was the most practical advice he could 
have given, though at that time I felt hurt by it. 
The beef companies had recently located e.xten- 
sive stock yards and abattoirs at Kansas City, 
and cattle from the great Southwestern ranges 
were diverted thither. This brought cowboys 
in large numbers, the typical cowboys of pre¬ 
civilization. These fellows were a constant 
source of delight to me, and I drank in their 
tales of ranch life and adventure in big-eyed 
astonishment, though I doubt not they “guyed” 
me to the limit and enjoyed their “easy mark.” 
But they taught me some things that I greatly 
appreciated, especially how to shoot. When I 
saw two tough young specimens, half full of 
corn whiskey, set their cigars at an obtuse angle 
to their faces, and at a distance of fifty paces 
I 
