Jan, 26, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
as twenty minutes. Finally the fish was landed 
and turned out to be a good big brown trout. 
The young man looked up, a picture of delight, 
while we gave a rousing cheer and threw our 
hats into the air. They tried again and got a 
nice California before it grew so dark that we 
went back and lighted the camp-fire. 
Pretty soon Jim came in, bringing the 
stranger, and we had a chance to learn more 
of him. He was small, delicately formed, and 
could not have been much over twenty. His 
manners and language were perfect* and fitted 
him like a glove. We saw at a glance that in 
his life there had been no barefoot days, no 
romping with a dog. no stealthy trips with a 
big brother’s gun. His one streak of luck was 
a gentle mother. For him it had been a few 
years of artificial life among brick walls, and 
then to form a cog on some wheel of a great 
commercial machine. True, his breeding had 
helped him to a start, but his vitality was 
sapped, and a cog he would always be, with 
two weeks’ freedom a year, when some one else 
said so. We urged him to stay and sit by the 
fire, which he did, taking a childish delight in 
all that he saw. 
. “How very charming this is,” he said; ‘T 
had never been in a camp before and did not 
realize what it would look like. I am deeply 
indebted to you gentlemen for giving me such 
a pleasant opportunity. I believe I should en¬ 
joy living in this manner very much, and when 
I have my next vacation I would like to get a 
tent, and haye mother go with me, and just 
stay in the woods all the time. It was on her 
account that I came here. I have always gone 
to the sea-shore before this season, but she 
urged me to come to the mountains for a 
change. My father used to like the mountains, 
she tells me. He fished considerably, and I 
expect if he had lived I should have been 
taught how before this time. His fishing so 
much made mother think it a fine sport, and 
when he died she said she was going to keep 
his basket until I was old enough to bring some 
trout to her in it. My vacation ends to-morrow, 
so I go home on an. early train, and I was 
dreadfully worried for fear I was not going to 
be able to take any trout back with me. Do you 
know, I have fished all this time, and never 
thought to try the swift water, for it did not 
seem to me that anything could stay in it.” 
“Say,” Jim broke in, “we’ve got some good 
ones down in the spring that we caught this 
afternoon, and you better let us put a few of 
them in your basket, and then you’ll have.a fine 
. showing.” 
“Oil. thank you!” the young man replied, 
“that is very kind of you, but I couldn’t let you 
do it; you have done so much for me already; 
and then I can tell mother I caught these my¬ 
self.” 
“You’re right,” said Jim, “she will like those 
two better than she would a whole basket full, 
if she knew someone else caught them.” 
Then we showed him about the camp, how we 
cooked and where we slept, and after he had 
politely thanked 11s he drew from somewhere 
within his fishing clothes a neat little case, and 
handing each .of us a card, said: “Now, when¬ 
ever any of you gentlemen are in New York, 
mother and I will be more than pleased to see 
you, and I shall tell her all about what a pleas¬ 
ant evening you gave me.” 
Jim lighted him out through the woods to 
the highway and did not bid him good-night 
until he was in sight of the big boarding-house 
up on the hill. Then he slowly sauntered back 
to camp, watching the shadows and listening 
to the monotonous sounds of the 'spawning 
toads along the creek. As he struck into the 
woods he.indulged himself in one of his favorite 
pastimes, singing in the night with 'a voice that 
filled the timber with echoes. The dogs, raising 
• their heads, listened for a minute, and then 
knowing the voice, fell back to sleep before the 
camp-fire. We could make out the air and the 
words of Robin Adair long before we could 
see the sweeping shadows of his moving legs 
cut across the field of light which the swinging 
lantern threw upon the leaves of the forest. 
Winfield T. Sherwood. 
. [to be continued.] 
The Hobo and the Kerosene Motor. 
West Park, N. Y., Jan. 19. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: The new kerosene motor spun like the 
proverbial top; from Croton-oii-Hudson to Ver- 
planck Point the brass- cranking pin was a shin¬ 
ning gold band around the fly-wheel, the bolts 
in the reverse gear blended away entirely, the 
green shores rolled astern with delightful speed, 
the motor’s song was one of content and duty 
well done. 
I had started on a fifty mile run up the Hudson 
in the brand-new hull of what was to be a 30ft. 
trunk cabin hunting launch with an equally new 
kerosene motor. I had neither oars nor sail, cable 
nor anchor, steering gear nor lantern, food, nor 
rope. It was the first time in my life I had 
ever run any kind of an engine or navigated 
with any boat other than a rowboat. I didn’t 
know port from starboard, injection nozzle from 
watersight feeds; for oil supply I had a garbage 
can connected to engine with a rubber hose. The 
hull did have a rudder and to this I had tied 
my only piece of rope, fastening it again to the 
clamp beside the engine; with this I stood over 
the engine and also steered. 
Off Peekskill the fun began. The governor—I 
supposed it was that—began to rattle and engine 
slowed down. Only for an instant, however, but 
in that instant my heart almost stopped. I did 
not know what caused it or how to remedy it. 
I was on strange waters, helpless in a big, high 
sided boat. I soon passed a long tow and was 
passed in turn by the “New York.” Again the 
governor rattled, the periods of speed and slow¬ 
ing down and rattling followed one another, 
the times of slowing and rattling coming oftener 
and lasting longer each time. Iona Island was 
left astern and past Highland Falls the rattling 
was continuous. I steered, powerless to do any¬ 
thing else. West Point was slowly passed, the 
tide running a good flood. In Newburg Bay I 
began to feel more at -home though I suffered 
great and increasing anxiety. The governor was 
rattling badly now, often the motor ^exploded out 
through intake ports, and I was leaving a train 
of kerosene on the water. I was almost out of 
oil too, but knew no way to prevent the loss or 
make engine run properly. I was going about 
three miles an hour, the tide adding two mak¬ 
ing five. 
Off Roseton the engine gave a final gasp and 
stopped. I knew but one way to start it, i. e., 
by rocking fly-wheel, and this I practiced for an 
hour until my hands, already. sore, were raising- 
alarming blisters. All in vain. I saw the two 
tows I had passed now pass me, also the prec¬ 
ious flood tide losing its force. Finally, after 
uselessly hailing tugs and motor boats, I drifted 
ashore where luckily I was able to make a small 
dock. Soon a crowd collected, asking questions 
and offering advice. What to do I did not 
know, except to get more oil and try again. If 
I had had a gasolene motor I would have been 
stuck for keeps, but as it was I gave my last 
dollar to a negro for five gallons' of kerosene. 
The hobo had appeared, large, dirty, lazy, with 
heavy lidded eyes. He asked me twice if the 
boat was not unfinished when the answer was 
obvious. To be asked twice such a question at 
such a time made me snap. He took no offense, 
but expanding his optimism still more, asked 
pie easily: “Say, Captain, seein’ as you’re a 
goin’ up the river, can’t I sail along?” I told 
him to get in, which he did, taking the tiller 
naturally. I fired up the engine and tried to 
start it, but only to have it make one or two 
turns and stop. Just then the negro came with, 
the kerosene. I filled the garbage can. took as 
good a hold of the crank pin as my blistered 
hands would permit, and rocked it. Like a live 
thing the p’in was jerked from my hand and the 
motor was off, singing like a bololink. “Shove 
off,” I cried; twenty pairs of hands pushed the 
boat away from the dock. I threw on the clutch, 
the hobo put the helm hard over, and in a 
moment more we were rounding Danskammer’s 
Point, cutting the ebb at eight miles an hour. 
My hands were too sore to clap for joy, as be¬ 
fore they had also been too sore to wring with 
despair, otherwise I should have felt demonstra¬ 
tive. I offered the hobo my last cracker, all 
that was left of the lunch my wife had put up 
131 
for me two days before. He nibbled it to be 
polite and we both drank river water from the 
greasy can I used to bail out the boat. 
We raced past the two tows again; Milton. 
Cedarcliff, Marlborough, were left behind and 
Poughkeepsie was at hand. I felt it my duty to 
inform the cheery hobo of the situation and told 
him that I would let him off at Poughkeepsie if 
he wished, and that the place where I was going 
only had a dozen houses or so. 
“O no, friend,” he said easily with a dis¬ 
missing wave of his hand, “It’s all the same to 
me—any place will do. I’ll go as far as you 
are a goin’:” 
Only once before had I seen such unconcern, 
such triumph of mind over physical things and 
bodily needs, and that was years ago when I 
had rowed my father and John Muir across the 
river and to my father’s remark that he would 
take him to Slabsides for the night, Muir re¬ 
plied : “O, any place will do—up here in the 
woods, anywhere,” indicating in a general way 
the western hills. 
Soon the governor began to rattle again. 
“Give her more oil,” said the hobo. 
I industriously oiled. Still the rattling. 
“Give her more oil,” said the hobo again in 
his even tones. 
I picked up the can and filled the garbage tank 
full again. Instantly the rattling ceased. Then 
I saw the truth—my connections leaked, which, 
with a full tank, leaked oil, but when oil in tank 
got lower than oil pump they leaked air which 
slowed down engine. The rattling was caused by 
pump trying to get more oil. 
I was happy now. In the gathering darkness 
we pulled through Krum Elbow and I was in 
home waters. The “Mary Powell” passed us 
here on her home stretch, too. Soon the hobo 
and I were tied up to our dock and I was giving 
him about forty cents in change for good luck 
—every penny I had left. Though I never saw 
him again I shall never forget his easy content 
with things as they are. My next thought was 
to get my hands tied up and assure a worrying- 
family and anxious neighborhood of my safe 
arrival. Julian Burroughs. 
Wyoming State Game Report. 
Judge D. C. Nowlin, State Game Warden of 
Wyoming, has issued in good time his annual 
report covering the year 1906. It contains much 
that is interesting. 
One of its subjects is the protecting the male 
elk, since in the search for large heads the best 
bulls are destroyed, and, according to the report, 
the calf crop injured. The fact that the best elk 
hunting now found in the United States is in 
Wyoming makes the big game hunting public 
resort to that S.tate in constantly increasing 
numbers. The elk herds are threatened ^nd 
antelope are growing more and more scarce. The 
assistant wardens report .that in many places the 
settlers are sincerely anxious to protect the 
game, and it is hoped that this feeling may grow. 
There are many propositions from different 
assistant wardens for changes in the seasons 
and changes in the amount of the license fee. 
Some of the propositions are to close the season 
for a term of years on antelope and on bull elk. 
Mr. Augustine Kendall, of Rock Springs, sug¬ 
gests a general gun license of $2 for anyone 
carrying a rifle or a shotgun. This gentleman 
also says: “I would like to see spring duck 
shooting abolished, and a higher nonresident big 
game license.” 
There is a report of the killing of game and 
of cattle by the Ute Indians on their passage 
through the State. Mr. Nowlin, reporting on 
general conditions, says that of all Wyoming’s 
big game animals only deer have increased since 
1903 and these but slightly. The sheep, though 
few, seem to be holding their own. Antelope 
are decreasing alarmingly. Elk are decreasing 
slightly. A close season is recommended for 
antelope for a number of years and a shorten¬ 
ing of the season for elk. 
Mr. Nowlin recon’imends the passage of a bill 
providing for a $1 resident license for all hun¬ 
ters of large or small game. Persons who are 
interested in big game hunting in Wyoming will 
do well to send for this report and read it 
through. 
