430 
FOREST AND STREAM 
April 6, 1912 
solid green of the overhanging bushes along the 
water's edge, while towering in the background 
old Camelback Mountain seemed to smile as he 
caught the glint of the rising sun coloring the 
jewel at his feet. I could begin to understand 
now why Mr. Olmstead, rather than detract from 
this sublime picture, had chosen his campsite so 
far from the lake, and in my enthusiasm at the 
enchanting view I stood many minutes in- open- 
mouthed admiration, forgetting that my host was 
waiting in the boat, and that we were there for 
the fishing. 
.Slowly paddling along the shore we cast our 
flies for more than an hour without a rise. Dur¬ 
ing this time not a fish had broken the surface 
of the water that we could see. Apparently they 
were not looking for flies or food on the sur¬ 
face, so taking off our small midges we rigged 
up with small double-bladed spoons, baiting one 
with a minnow and weighting them with split 
shot, tried trolling in the deeper water. Nothing 
doing. Not a nibble could we get all morning, 
although we tried every lure in our kits. I had 
noticed as we rowed along near the shore many 
runways where the deer came down to drink 
and nibble at the lilypads, and was told that this 
section was one of the best of hunting districts, 
both for deer and the smaller feathered game. 
And during the afternoon, while rambling 
through the woods, I saw plenty of evidence that 
an occasional bear still finds this a favorite abode. 
The next day we fried the stream fishing, 
spending a delightful time clambering over its 
boulder-strewn course, and while not catching 
any record breakers, succeeded in tempting many 
a fair-sized specimen into taking our flies, and in 
return for their pluckily waged battles, to be 
liberated unharmed again to the water. 
This stream is greatly augmented by the flow 
from a most remarkable spring that boils out 
of the mountain just above the camp. Through¬ 
out the most protracted dry weather its flow of 
300 gallons of water per minute remains un¬ 
changed, while its temperature never varies but 
little from 40 degrees summer or winter. "Where 
the brooklet from this spring enters Sand Creek, 
the owner has constructed several spawning 
races, and every fall many of the breeding trout 
from the larger brook ascend these raceways 
and deposit their eggs naturally. The spawners 
are later driven out of these brooders, and the 
outlet closed against further intrusion, so that 
each season sees several thousand little fellows 
hatch out and remain here until of a size suf¬ 
ficient to brave the larger waters of stream or 
lake. 
Several more trials at fishing on the lake 
proved as unfruitful as the first morning’s at¬ 
tempt, and Mr. Olmstead, I am sure, was begin¬ 
ning to think I doubted his statements that the 
lake really did contain fish. But on the evening 
preceding the day I was to leave, as we stepped 
out on the lake shore at the end of the trail, the 
entire surface of the water seemed alive with 
rising fish. As we hastily tumbled into the boat 
and pushed out, several silvery forms leaped 
clear of the water, falling back with a resound¬ 
ing slap, making our pulses bound, as with trem¬ 
bling fingers we looped on our flies. At my first 
cast a good sized fish half left the water in an 
attempt to take the dropper fly, and as he fell 
short, another took the trailer with a mighty 
swirl. A auick twist of the wrist, and I had 
him fast. Down he went into the depths, carry¬ 
ing the tip of the pliant little rod into the water. 
Up he came again while I reeled furiously to 
take up the slack. As he leaped into the air I 
realized that I was fast to no fingerling, and 
that only careful handling would save this fish 
on such light tackle. Finally the strain of the 
rod began to tell on him, his surges grew less 
frequent, and he rolled on the surface, showing 
his crimson sides and belly. As I carefully 
reeled him in toward the boat I noticed several 
other trout trying to take the dropper fly. An¬ 
other fish on that leader meant certain disaster, 
but with a deft dip of the landing net my com¬ 
panion lifted him safely into the boat, and I 
put down my rod to lovingly lift from the 
meshes of the net a two-pound speckled trout. 
The struggles incident to the landing of this 
fish, instead of frightening away the others 
seemed to excite their curiosity. Taking off the 
dropper fly, I cast again. Almost immediately 
several fish rose, and in their eagerness seemed 
to push each other out of the way, and I missed. 
Another cast, a strike, and this time I had him. 
A repetition of my former battle, and another 
two-pounder was lifted in, admired, carefully 
D uring the afternoon following my fishing 
experience I galloped over a twenty-mile 
stretch of the most beautiful prairie I have 
ever seen. A gently rolling surface, from which 
the grass of the former year had been mowed or 
burned, was now covered with a thick carpet of 
green upon which thousands of the most beauti¬ 
ful floral patterns imaginable were spread by the 
hand of the master artist. It seemed almost a 
sacrilege to ride rough-shod over the gorgeous 
picture whose floral colorings made fragrant pro¬ 
test to the vandalism of my pony’s hoofs. 
I was never able to acquaint myself with the 
flora of the prairie as I would like to have done. 
Later in the season, however, I found that the 
so-called Michigan rose was indigenous to all 
of the high prairie country, and the pungent 
odor of attar of roses made heavy the atmos¬ 
phere of early June. I also became familiar 
with that wonderful provision of nature, the 
compass plant, whose taper leaves always grow 
on the north and south sides of the stalk. Many 
a traveler has been guided to his destination by 
this unerring guide. I learned, too, of the 
medicinal qualities of other specimens of prairie 
vegetation. In the latter category may be in¬ 
cluded belladonna or deadly nightshade. One day, 
after a river bath, I extemporized an efficient 
towel of the small, thickly-growing vine which 
matted the river ba.nk. Three days later I was 
covered with an eruption from the crown of 
my head to the soles of my feet, accompanied by 
an itching torment. I applied the home remedy 
for mercury and sumac poisoning, sugar of lead 
and copperas, but to no purpose. By this time 
I was a spectacle. In this condition I halted 
one night at a cabin in the Neosha Valley. The 
woman of the house, a motherly old creature, no 
sooner saw me than she exclaimed: 
“I see I’ve, jest got to get after ye with some 
unhooked and given his freedom. Some front¬ 
ing, that! That evening there was no suspense 
of waiting for a rising fish, for as fast as we 
could cast our lines they rose, not only at the 
fly itself, but at the dropper loop, and the end 
of the line where it was fastened to the leader. 
And such trout! averaging over a pound each— 
plump, though splendidly proportioned; exquisite 
in their coloring, and carrying none of the ear¬ 
marks of the incubation trough nor hatchery 
pool. 
After about the twentieth fish had been landed 
and returned to the water—for we intended to 
kill none, unless an unusually large specimen— 
we decided that, as it was rapidly growing dark, 
it was time to stop, and though I would have 
liked to carry home with me one of the four or 
five-pounders that I certainly just missed hook¬ 
ing at different times, I was more than satisfied. 
And as we walked back to camp through the 
twilight I realized that such fishing comes but 
once in an angler’s life time, and that probab¬ 
ly never again would I be able to strike the 
trout in exactly the same voracious mood and 
fighting spirit. 
cremanightshade, er yer friends won’t know yer 
dead corpse when yer sent hum.” 
The suggestion sent a shiver through me, and 
I was more than willing to place myself under 
any treatment that would avert the implied 
catastrophe. 
My self-constituted physician hurried out upon 
the prairie, quickly returning with an apron full 
of stocky green plants covered with half-opened 
yellow flowers. These she macerated in an old 
mortar, adding a quantity of cream, and giving 
me the mixture, said: 
“Yew git up the ladder, peel off an’ eynt yer- 
self from one end to ’tother, an’ then go to bed.” 
I he relief that followed the application of the 
ointment is beyond the power of words to ex¬ 
press. I was able, too, for the first time in 
several days to go to sleep. On awakening the 
following morning, to my intense gratification I 
found that the pustules had disappeared, the irri¬ 
tation was gone and I was, in fact, cured. 
Late one afternoon there loomed up against 
the western horizon a hazy, blue peak, surmount¬ 
ed by a pile of imposing-looking buildings. This 
proved to be Mt. Oread, and the buildings those 
of the Kansas University. The institution was 
at that time located about a mile out of the city 
of Lawrence. Just at dusk I entered the city, 
and there occurred to me an incident which, 
though very startling at the time, proved of very 
great service to me in my subsequent travels. 
The Kaw River at what then was the foot of 
Massachusetts street, was very broad and not 
over three feet deep. To give my pony a drink 
and a chance to wash the mud from his legs, I 
ignored the bridge, riding into the water just 
above the structure. Skeezik had just put down 
his head to quench his thirst, when several 
pedestrians on the bridge set up a shout, which 
was taken up and reiterated by others who came 
Across the Plains in Early Days 
By SAMUEL MANSFIELD STONE 
{Contmued from last week.) 
