1200 
FOREST AND STREAM 
What Goodyear Cords Will Do For You 
F LEXIBILITY is the vital essential to the 
remarkable results which users are get' 
ting from Goodyear Cord Tires. It 
makes the tires resilient, fast, light'running, 
sturdy and strong. 
It resists road injury. It enables the car to 
coast farther with the power shut off. It 
makes the motor’s work easier in hilbclimbing 
and in ordinary running. 
It gives more comfort to the passengers in 
the car. 
And those passengers also ride on a larger air 
cushion because the tires are larger. 
Because they accomplish these results. Good' 
year Cord Tires have found first favor with 
thousands of motorists who count last cost 
more important than first cost. 
These users seek tire and car economy, just as 
you do. They, like you, want the maximum 
of mileage with the minimum of annoyance 
and delay. 
And they have learned that the service and 
the comfort of Goodyear Cords, which make 
their higher price a minor consideration, are 
not approximated in any other tire. 
The Goodyear Tire 6s? Rubber Company 
Akron, Ohio 
Wherever you hear the click of the 
well kept gun or the hum of the free 
running reel you will find a sportsman 
who uses Nyoil and declares it to be 
the cleanest, smoothest, most reliable 
lubricant and polisher he ever saw. 
It positively prevents rust, will not 
gum or chill in any climate, is odorless 
and free from acid. Don’t go into camp 
without it. Ask any dealer in hardware 
or sporting goods. Large bottle, cheaper 
to buy, 25 c. Trial size 10 c. 
Win. p, Nye. New Bedford, Mass. 
Dixon’s 
Graphitoleo 
is a combination of selected _ flake graphite— 
known as the very best lubricant—and petro¬ 
latum. For gun mechanisms, rod reels, etc., it 
has no equal as it both lubricates and prevents 
rust—unaffected by cold weather. 
TRY IT! 
Send 15 c. in stamps and dealer’s name for a 
trial tube No. 52 -H. 
Made in JERSEY CITY, N. J„ by the 
Joseph Dixon Crucible Company 
ESTABLISHED 1827 . H-8. 
GOVERNOR OF THE TRIBE OF 
PENOBSCOT. 
(Continued from page 1188.) 
So it is certain that at fifty he was still doing- 
a young man’s work, because he was supple and 
liked it. On the other hand I have no record of 
any notable feat of skill or daring performed by 
Joe on the river. Which means only that Joe 
was lucky. 
But in one particular Joe had a record unsur¬ 
passed. That was in the amount of hardship he 
underwent in the woods, the tremendous drains 
upon his power of endurance through exposure 
or accident or both combined. 
It is about twenty years since he told me the 
story of his then latest accident. I repeat it 
with hesitation, because I made no notes at the 
time, but many will know about it. He was at 
his hunting camp at Debsconeag in mid-winter 
with a party, and one very cold and windy night, 
not long before sunset, he left camp to go down 
the lake and set some traps. I could see the 
sort of evening, the bright yellow glow of sunset 
reflected on the bare spots of ice, and Joe, trudg¬ 
ing along, head down, axe in hand and traps on 
back, toward the foot of the lake against the stiff 
wind. Suddenly he went through the ice. The 
current had worn it away underneath. There 
he was, heavily clothed, weighted with iron, 
darkness near, the current drawing him under 
the ice, and his only possible source of succor his 
friends inside a camp nearly a mile away. Those 
of us who dwell in the north know that he had 
just about five minutes to live. None knew that 
better than Joe. But he did everything in order. 
First he slipped his weight of traps. Then he 
threw his cap out on the ice that his friends 
might know what had happened. Then his 
pocket-book containing a considerable sum of 
money, that it might go to his family. Then he 
froze his woolen mittens to the ice and began to 
shout for help. What chance was there of his 
making his mates, a mile away, telling stories in¬ 
side a warm camp, hear him, or, hearing, of their 
getting to him before he was gone? But he 
kept on shouting. And he shouted till they heard 
him, and he held on till they got to him and 
pulled him out. “I was about done for,” he ad¬ 
mitted. It was forty minutes—(and my recol¬ 
lection prompts me to say “fifty”; being utterly 
incredible either way it does not matter)—it 
was certainly forty minutes after his watch 
stopped before his friends got him out and by 
building a fire of dry cedar on the shore and 
wrapping him in their coats, saved his life. 
Of Joe’s drollery and cheerful merriment I 
can hardly speak. They were characteristic 
traits of our Indians. Whether the white blood 
in them made them different, or whether writers 
who paint Indians as silent, morose, taciturn, do 
not know Indians, our Penobscots were taciturn 
only when with people they did not know or did 
not like. Again it is less Joe I see than the host 
of men and women behind him, beside him, who 
dearly loved a joke and a merry tale. Yet at 
one point Joe stands out clear. I see those 
June evenings at Ripogenus long ago, Joe and 
Steve Stanislaus toiling wearily up the hill to 
our tent and lying out in the star-light, dippers 
of tea in hand, while we all talked of everything. 
How many friends he had! What good ones! 
What good service he did them by being just 
himself! It was well said, “He was a Man!” 
But it is also true that he outlived the times he 
belonged to and we may not hope to look upon 
his like again. 
