Jan. is, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
91 
Col. Bent sometimes purchased these Mexican 
peons from the Kiowa. One of these peons is 
still living at the Kiowa Agency, 82 years old. 
Carson was employed by the Bents as hunter 
for many years. Sometimes he remained at the 
fort, supplying the table with meat, at other 
times he went with the wagon train to Missouri, 
acting as hunter for the outfit. The following 
advertisement from the Missouri Intelligencer 
marked Carson’s first appearance on the page 
of history: 
“Notice: To whom it may concern: That, 
Christopher Carson, a boy about sixteen years, 
small of his age, but thickset, light hair, ran 
away from the subscriber, living in Franklin, 
Howard Co., Mo., to whom he had been bound 
to learn the saddler’s trade, on or about the 
first day of September last. He is supposed to 
have made his way toward the upper part of 
the State. All persons are notified not to 
harbor, support or subsist said boy under 
penalty of the law. One cent reward will be 
given to any person who will bring back said 
boy. David Workman. 
“Franklin, Oct. 6, 1826.” 
This runaway boy joined the Santa Fe 
caravan of Charles Bent, and from that time 
on for a number of years was employed by 
Bent and St. Vrain. From 1834 to 1842 he was 
constantly at the fort. He married a daughter 
of Charles Beaubien of Taos, who, with his 
son, Narcisse Beaubien, were killed at the 
time of the Pueblo massacre in January, 1847. 
During the Civil War, Carson received a 
commission in the militia of New Mexico or 
Colorado, and rose to the rank of colonel and 
brevet brigadier-general. 
Deserved Criticism. 
J. M. Kistler, of the Delaware Water Gap, 
Pennsylvania, offers the following criticism of 
a recent cover picture of Forest and Stream : 
“The cover picture of your issue of Oct. 16 
is attractive and beautiful on first glance, but 
upon close scrutiny it gives one the horrors, and 
the beauty of it all is spoiled. Two men are 
in the picture, both evidently asleep, being tired 
and worn from the long tramp, from which pos¬ 
sibly they will never again wake, as there is a 
gun standing up against the vehicle to which a 
mule is attached—you never do know which way, 
forward or backward, a mule is going to go. 
In either direction he would go, the gun would 
fall, and anyone who is so careless as to stand 
a gun in that position and go to sleep is liable 
to stand it there loaded. If the mule did not 
start the dogs would be likely to upset or throw 
the gun down. The dogs look like good quality, 
■and so doubtless is the gun. Casting the danger 
situation aside, the gun would be destroyed or 
the dogs killed.” 
The criticism is well taken. There is no ex¬ 
cuse for placing a gun where it may injure any 
person or itself. Mr. Kistler’s comments re¬ 
mind me of a picture printed in one of the local 
Sunday papers. It was one of a series depict¬ 
ing King Edward shooting pheasants, and was 
entitled “Waiting for the King.” In the fore¬ 
ground were several men grouped about a gate. 
On the left a wire fence, and leaning against 
the loose wires several guns. It is to be as¬ 
sumed that our British cousins do not wait for 
their king with loaded guns, yet a wire fence 
is not a better gun rack than a mule-drawn 
wagon. In the tight little isle kings are not so 
abundant as to justify their subjects in being 
careless with guns, and human life is too pre¬ 
cious to play fast and loose with it. 
Embers of a Camp-fire. 
Golden gleams the winter twilight, 
Firing red the pure white snow, 
And deep shadows in the big wood 
Softly come and softly go. 
Faintly wanes the parting daylight, 
Closing all the world in gloom, 
And the Frost King in the silence 
Sends across the wastes his boom. 
’Mid the dark pines darts a glimmer 
Now the snaky flames upleap, 
In the lone camp of the hunter 
There is welcomed rest and sleep. 
Chill winds sob within the pinewood. 
Moan adown some dreary lane, 
And the embers of a camp-fire 
Doth a warmer light attain. 
Robert Page Lincoln. 
The Eskimo Curlew. 
New York City, Jan. 6 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: The contribution to the subject of the 
Eskimo curlew in Forest and Stream aroused 
conflicting emotions, bringing back to mind 
pleasant memories, and at the same time pre¬ 
senting reasons which lead one to fear that the 
species may never again become abundant un¬ 
less carefully protected. In former years—not 
so very long ago—the Newfoundland fishermen 
on the Labrador coast used to cook these birds 
by the barrelful, and then let them cool off in 
their tried-out fat, in which condition they were 
preserved, and transported for a long time for 
provender. 
The last time that I saw the Eskimo curlew 
was four years ago, in the breeding grounds 
on the western side of James Bay. There was 
no way for judging of their comparative num¬ 
bers, but among the swarming thousands of 
limicolidae that kept the air in motion about 
the broad flats of that region, one could see 
“marlins” at almost any moment by looking for 
them. 
The last time when I saw them on the Labra¬ 
dor part of the migration course was about 
twelve years ago. There is a saying on that 
coast that the “dough birds” always come on 
the tenth day of August. I had always sup¬ 
posed that file definiteness of date was merely 
one of the common sorts of statements made 
for the purpose of interesting listeners, but on 
this particular occasion the birds arrived on 
that date precisely, so far as I could observe, 
and in pretty large numbers. We were at 
breakfast on the shore of Sandwich Bay, near 
the foothills of the Mealy Mountains, when I 
happened to remark that it was August 10th. 
Two of my Newfoundland men at once said: 
“Then the dough birds will come to-day.” It 
was almost with a feeling of yielding to a super¬ 
stition that I said to Caribou Charley: “Let’s 
go for some of them.” 
There was a high plateau where we had noted 
cn the previous day the presence of large quan¬ 
tities of curlew berries (Empetuna nigrans), 
so we climbed up to that point. By the way, 
it is a curious fact that a bird which naturally 
lives on crustacean and other animal diet should 
change its habits right in the midst of an abun¬ 
dance of such diet and take on enormous quan¬ 
tities of fat from gormandizing on these insipid 
watery black berries. 
When we arrived on the plateau the only 
signs of life there were two of three saddle¬ 
back gulls taking their morning ascent toward 
the sun, a caribou standing on a snow field on 
the mountain side, and two native boys run¬ 
ning away as fast as ever they could go. We 
noticed that the boys had guns, and we tried 
to stop them by beckoning, in order to ask 
questions about the curlew, but these native 
boys are very timid, and usually run and hide 
on the approach of a stranger. 
It was a beautiful, sparkling clear morning, 
with the strong breeze which seems always to 
be blowing in that region. At the foot of the 
cliffs a heavy sea was rearing and plunging 
against the brutally immovable dark and broken 
crags. Several icebergs were booming under 
the unequal expansion caused by the sun, and 
a school of grumpus was rolling and spouting 
near shore. Two bears were watching on a lit¬ 
tle sand beach for the caplin, which, by the 
bear’s almanac, were due to arrive by any suit¬ 
able tide. 
Caribou Charley and I looked over the pla¬ 
teau thoroughly, without seeing any curlew, and 
then took a seat among some rocks out of 
the wind to light our pipes and watch things 
in general. All at once, at about 11 A. M., 
the level lilt of the marlins was heard, setting 
the whole bleak coast to tune with silvery vibra¬ 
tion. High up into the sky we looked, and 
then a little higher, and a good deal higher 
yet, and there, like specks of luminiferous ether 
away up among the flecks of frozen scintillas 
we could just make out the shimmering glim¬ 
mer of wings coming from the west and north. 
