2 10 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 9, 1907. 
trayed that he did not like the arrangement. We 
called each other’s attention to Speck’s actions 
and commented on his eagerness for the chase. 
When we reached the big woods the dog was 
released and he dashed away to be swallowed up 
in the darkness immediately. 01 ’ Tige had been 
tied up at home in order that Speck might have 
the opportunity of displaying his talents with¬ 
out being hampered by the pottering ways of an 
antiquated companion. 
It was not over thirty minutes after Speck 
had been turned loose before the bay of a hound 
on a trail came to us. The sound was clear 
and strong as it is when the scent is fresh and 
the dog sure of his way. “Speck’s got one! 
Jim shouted, and away we went, uphill and down¬ 
hill, over logs and through brush, in the direc¬ 
tion of the sound. Just as our breath was about 
gone, the bay of the dog changed to shorter, 
sharper yelps which betokened that the game 
was treed. “That new hound has th’ same kind 
uv a voice an’ sings th’ same tune ez 01 ’ Tige,” 
Jim panted as we toiled up the last hill. .We 
were close now, so close that the dog realized 
that reinforcements were at hand and ceased his 
noise. The tree in which the coon had taken 
refuge was an old oak of such proportions as 
to prohibit the thought of climbing up and shak¬ 
ing him down for the dog to fight it out with, 
so as the reflector of the lantern shot the rays 
of light about the limb on which the coon was 
stretched, I fired. The animal quivered and 
hunched itself into a ball, but at the crack of 
the second barrel he let loose all holds and 
plumped down into the circle of light to be 
pounced upon eagerly by— 01 ’ Tige! 
It was all over so quickly that our surprise 
at this turn of affairs completely got the best 
of us. We had turned our new dog loose in 
the woods, had heard him pick up a trail, had 
followed him until he treed, had shot the game, 
and then had had our dog metamorphose under 
our very eves, from a young speckled hound to 
an old white one that we had left securely tied 
two miles away. Jim was the first to recover 
the power of speech. He said. “Well, I’ll 
be-.” His early Christian training told him 
not to finish it, but I knew just the word he 
had in mind. We called the dog over to us and 
examined him carefully. It was beyond doubt 
Or Tige. Jim readily identified even the yard 
or more of rope that dangled from his collar. 
The truth was evident; the old. dog had seen 
us start down the road after tying him at his 
kennel, and surmising our mission, had forth¬ 
with set about to chew off the rope. This done, 
he had taken a short cut across the fields for 
the woods, and in coming up the creek to meet 
us, had picked up a fresh coon trail, and we had 
followed him to the tree believing that we were 
following Speck, and remarking on the, way on 
the similarity of the new dog’s “tune” to 01 
Tige’s. On * our arrival at the tree, we had 
noticed a light colored dog doing sentry duty 
at the foot, but until the coon was on the ground 
no one had given the dog more than a pass¬ 
ing glance, and the lantern light had all the time 
directed upward. But where was our new dog 
all this time? Where was our new world’s 
wonder? Why had he not answered 01 ’ Tige’s 
battle cry and joined in the chase? There was 
no time to call or look for him then, however, 
as the storm which had been threatening, now 
broke forth, the cold torrents of rain drenching 
us to the skin, and we started for home at double 
quick time. By the time we had covered the 
two miles to Jim’s house we had exhausted 
every possible theory regarding the whereabouts 
of Speck, and had united in the opinion that our 
new dog was a “still trailer,” and had followed 
off some coon track until he had been baffled 
by the rain washing out the scent, but with the 
determination of a true hunter was staying with 
it. Therefore you can probably imagine our feel- 
iiio-c wlipn wp nnpnprl Tim’'; kitchen door and 
ings when we opened Jim’s kitchen door and 
saw about half of our speckled dog protruding 
from under the stove. Nor was that all, for 
seated at the table displaying to the admiring 
Mrs. Mallett a new black silk dress, which I 
mentally appraised at about twelve dollars, was 
the widow. Sutherland. In an undertone Bob 
repeated Jim’s late unfinished remark and .com¬ 
pleted it. Mrs. Mallett and the widow viewed 
us unfavorably as we ranged ourselves on the 
oilcloth before the stove to drip and dry. 
“Got wet, didn’t you?” This remark . from 
Jim’s helpmate broke a rather awkward silence, 
but no reply seemed necessary. “Why didn t 
you take Speck ’stead uv 01 ’ Tige?” (Tige was 
also in evidence on the oil cloth in a very be¬ 
draggled condition.) We left it to Jim to answer 
his wife’s questions. 
“Why, we did take Speck—how long’s he been 
focick here?” 
“Well, you’d jest had a little more than time 
to git down to th’ big woods when I hears a 
scratchin’ at th’ door an’ opens it an in comes 
that there Speck an’ sneaks in under th’ stove 
an’ there he’s been ever since. I tried to git him 
to stay out, but he acted like he wuz scared to 
death'uv th’ dark. Did you lose him?” 
Bob did not heed this last question of his 
wife’s, but turned his attention to the widow. 
“Mis’ Sutherland, am I mistaken, er—did you tell 
me that Hank said that Speck here wuz a coon 
dog?” he asked. 
The widow smoothed out several wrinkles in 
the skirt of the new black silk before she re¬ 
plied. “I rather think that you be a little , off 
on that, Jim. Ez I ricollect our conversation, 
you asted me if my hound wuz a coon dog, an’ 
I said that Hank ’lowed he wuz, an I calculated 
to tell you th’ rest uv th’ story ’bout th’ dog 
’til you got to tellin’ ’bout you an’ Hank ( bein’ 
boys together, an’ that you’d like to have th’ dog 
jest for a keepsake, an’ bless me if I didn t 
clean fergit. But I ’spose I better tell you bout 
it now while I think uv it. A little while ’fore 
Hank wuz took sick this here dog came to our 
house, an’ so long ez he didn’t seem to belong 
to nobody, Hank let him stay. One day he took 
him out fox huntin’, but Speck here come right 
home first chance he got. Then Hank tried him 
on squirrels and rabbits an’ he acted jest th 
same. Hank’s special coon dog wouldn’t hunt 
any way but alone, so. he never tried Speck on 
coons, but he alius said that he ’lowed that th’ 
tramp dog wuz a coon ’cause he knowed he 
wasn’t good for anything else.” And Mrs. 
Sutherland laughed heartily. It seemed to me 
to be very much out of place for Mrs. Suther¬ 
land to act as she did with her husband scarcely 
cold in his grave. Bob evidently tried to re¬ 
mind her of her loss, for he said, .“Then Speck 
wasn’t Hank’s special coon dog?” “My, no,” 
she replied. “I happened to mention one day 
that I’d like to have one more cow than we had, 
an’ what did that pore, generous man do but 
go an’ trade that favorite dog uv his for a cow, 
jest to please me.” 
“Spect we’d better get started for home,” said 
Bob. Buck A. Corbin. 
The Goodly Country. 
I’ve never seen a hill but looked at me with grave con¬ 
tent, 
Good-naturedly and cheerfully, whichever way I went; 
Though it were bleak and bare and brown, it shouldered 
to the sky, 
And looked at me in quiet peace when I went slowly by; 
But any building, be it house, or templed place or mart, 
Will face a man with chilling brows that set him far 
apart. 
I’ve never seen a country road that did not have the time 
To loaf beside the forests where the blossomed vines 
would climb, 
To coax me softly, lazily, to rest with it awhile 
And see the comfort it could find in creeping mile on 
mile; 
But city streets—they blare at you and will not let you 
stay; 
They hustle you unceasingly and drive your dreams away. 
I’ve never seen the sky that shields the country-side at 
night— . . 
An ebon belvet drapery looped up with gems of light— 
That did not seem to bend to me all friendlywise and 
bless 
And pour a balm of comfort on my heart m its distress; 
But when the city has its night, the glare beats in your 
eye, 
And look whatever way you will, you cannot see the sky. 
I’ve never seen a country road, or brook or hill or tree, 
That did not have a kindly word to speak or sing to me; 
They never crowd us to one side, they never sneer nor 
frown, 
Nor view us strangerwise as do the streets and walls of 
town. 
And so sometimes I think that this may be the hidden 
plan 
To show us how much better God could make the world 
than man. 
—Chicago Evening Post. 
Camp Don’t Hurry. 
IX.—Old Billy. 
After all, about the most comfortable thing 
in camp life is the clothing one does not have 
to wear. A black shirt, pretty well faded, 
cast-off trousers, worn shoes, and a slouch hat 
were all that we found necessary. Take such 
a rig as that, after you have fallen into the 
water a few times and poked through under¬ 
brush for a couple of weeks, and it becomes a 
wonderfully easy fit. We had just gotten ours 
so that they suited us, and had about parted 
company with our razors, when Robert and I 
walked down to the village one day with Mr. 
Chatman. If he could not keep a little fun 
going, he never felt quite well, and on the way 
he made sly remarks about our personal ap¬ 
pearance. 
We sat down on one end of the platform 
in front of the store while Mr. Chatman, after 
getting his paper, took the chair at the other 
end and began reading. It was not long be¬ 
fore we saw two -young men coming jauntily 
down the street, decked out in new suits of 
ready-made fishing apparel. Their rods and 
baskets were new, and we were not long in 
deciding that they had an unpleasant snobbish¬ 
ness in their make-up. They stopped opposite 
Mr. Chatman, and one of them, addressing 
him in the patronizing tone of their kind, 
asked where they could find some one to dig 
bait for them, incidentally dragging in the 
information that they were New Yorkers, 
making a brief sojourn in the locality. 
Mr. Chatman, looking over his paper and 
glasses, took their measure at a glance, and 
pointing toward us, said, “One of them men 
will dig a can of worms for a quarter.” 
I looked at his face, but it was as sober as a 
deacon’s, and he apparently kept on with his- 
reading. Not wishing to be outdone in nerve, 
when they offered me a quarter to dig worms, 
I told them I would be glad to if I only had 
tools and a place to dig. 
“Go out back of Brown’s barn,” Mr. Chat¬ 
man said; “you can find a spade or a shovel 
somewhere around his stables.” 
I was fairly trapped, so without further re¬ 
marks, I hunted up an empty can, and getting 
into the shade of the barn, went at it. I had 
not been working long before Robert, who 
had gotten control of his internal convulsions, 
remarked to the young men, in a drawling 
sort of way, “There, that s just like that shift¬ 
less critter. Now, you’ve told him you’d give 
him a quarter for a can of worms, and he’s . 
goin’ to git um in the easiest place he can. He 
don’t care a rap whether you git any fish on 
um or not.” 
“Does it make any difference about the place 
where they are dug, whether they are good for 
bait or not?” one of them asked. 
“I think so,” Robert replied. “Some folks 
claim it don’t, but I notice I always have bet¬ 
ter luck when I git um near the roots of a 
pine tree. These streams here all run through 
considerable pine country, and I think the 
flavor of the worms is more natural when 
they’re around pine roots.” 
The young man seemed to rather doubt 
Robert’s very plausible theory, but the seed 
was sown, and it soon bore fruit. After a 
minute the New Yorker, who had not yet 
spoken, remarked, “I presume we shall need 
more than one can of bait anyway, and per¬ 
haps we better try some dug near a pine, and 
I will give you a quarter if you will dig them.” 
Quicker than a flash Mr. Chatman spoke up. 
“That is good sense. There is a pine out 
in the pasture there, and Cook [meaning the 
store-keeper] will let you take a spade.” 
Of course, the thing had not turned out as 
Robert had planned. He expected to make 
me move from the shade of the barn and the 
plentiful supply of worms out into the pas¬ 
ture, or else expose the whole farce by throw¬ 
ing up the job. However, since he had started 
it he was not the kind to back out. Procur¬ 
ing the necessary equipment, he climbed over 
the fence and began digging in a soft spot not 
too close to the tree. I could see what he was 
