Sept. 25, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
491 
“They started, running fast, and others fol¬ 
lowed. They waded out to the island, sur¬ 
rounded it and then when the chief shouted they 
all rushed in. Hearing them, the woman ran 
away from the fire, but was seen and caught and 
taken back to it. And there they found the re¬ 
mains of the chief's little son roasting over the 
coals. It was very terrible. But the chief did 
not cry. He seized the woman by the hair and 
shouted : Bring wood ! Bring a plenty of wood 
and make a big fire!’ 
"They made a big fire. The woman, seeing 
what they were doing, began to yell and struggle 
to get free, but it was no. use. When the blaze 
grew big and hot the chief picked her up and 
threw her into it. She sprang out of it, her hair 
all ablaze, and they threw her back. They say 
that there never was such awful shrieking heard 
as that she made. She would run out of the 
flame and they would toss her back, quickly at 
first, then slower and more slowly, and then the 
last time they threw her in she just wriggled a 
little like a snake and died. Then the chief did 
mourn, and those who had also lost children 
mourned with him. After that whenever there 
was a fight with the People Eaters, neither their 
women nor their children were spared; they 
were like the rattlesnakes, even the least of them 
poisonous.” 
So here you have the Cocopa opinion of the 
Seris. In the past few years there has been a 
ot written about them in the coast papers. Some 
.vriters have denied that they are cannibals. 
‘Veil, I for one am not going to take the least 
•hance of furnishing a feast for them, although 
do not know that I could do better than make 
vicarious sacrifice of myself. Having smoked 
omething like 275,000 cigarettes in the last forty 
ears I think that a feast of my nicotine-impreg- 
ated flesh would clear the California Gulf of 
ome very objectionable residents. 
The Cocopas told us that in two days we could 
trike the fresh water of the Colorado. We 
acked up and started very early the next morn- 
ig, and all day we seemed to be riding in a 
urnace. Never was there a hotter sun nor a 
lore arid, glaring desert of soft sand. When 
ight came we unpacked and ate a bite, then 
acked up again and went on, for we did not 
ish to endure another day of the dreadful 
eat. Thus it was that we struck the cool river 
lis morning. 
We have passed San Jacinto Mountain and 
the summit of the range and are rushing down 
the orange grove slopes to the sea. Already the 
air is salt and cool and not far ahead a fog 
bank lies low on the land. Ah, well, every man 
to his choice—if he can get it. No orange groves 
nor city streets for me; back I go to the un¬ 
fenced country as soon as I can find an excuse 
for going. 
A Day of Mountain Climbing. 
When we arrived in Yuma last night I sent 
telegram, and the answer to it was what I had 
ng expected. I am called back to the fenced- 
country. Regretfully I parted with Old- 
imer and Sonora—may their shadows never 
ow less—and with two little burros which I 
lve to them. At Yuma we found the long- 
oked-for Termain. He was contentedly drink- 
g beer and planning a prospecting trip into the 
'untry near Parker. We told him how we had 
ught him and his find, how we had prospected 
prospect and run bed rock scrapings through 
; patent washer. 
'Yes, she petered out,“ he said with a non- 
ilant wave of the hand; “petered plumb out 
d the washer wa’n’t no good, either.” 
Then he talked about recent discoveries up 
• river, and in a few minutes my companions 
re planning with him for another trip. I 
uld have gone, too, had my telegram read 
1 er than it did. 
Dorchester, Mass., Sept. 11 .—Editor Forest 
and Stream: On Aug. 14 I started from home 
at St. Hubert’s at 5 130 a. m., with the intention 
of climbing six mountain peaks in one day, in¬ 
cluding the ascent of Mt. Marcy, the highest 
ground in New York State. One tearing over 
the mountains at this rate may be criticised by 
lovers of mountain tramping who move at a 
slower rate and who have time to enjoy every¬ 
thing by the way—as the flowers beside the trail, 
the beauty in light and shade, the grouping of 
grand trees, the great fern-covered rocks, the 
pools and falls of the streams or the distant 
views of lakes and ponds nestled down in the 
woods. They would say it was almost sacrilege 
to rush by these in an attempt to beat someone 
else and get the sordid guerdon of a record- 
breaker. They are only partly right. We take 
our pleasures so differently, and besides the 
greyhounds of the mountains can and do fully 
appreciate the delights of slow progress with 
congenial company. 
To me there is the greatest pleasure, though 
alone, in thus dancing lightly from peak to peak. 
It is as near to aviation as I shall get and it 
certainly has its delights. Personal records or 
notes only are kept. One simply does his best 
and tells his friends and some time or other 
the friends try to “go one better.” 
I was once roundly cursed by a man, not in 
robust health, who was himself unable to climb, 
and being a great lover of nature, was bitter in 
his denunciation of men who cared for nothing 
but to be first on top and first down. We saw 
his point, had nothing to say, but being young 
and active, how we had enjoyed conquering the 
Giant (4,600 feet) and reaching the Widow 
Beede House in exactly four hours from start 
to finish. And this had included a long halt 
with a lunch of eggs and coffee boiled on the 
top. Not till after leaving the top did we think 
of rushing, and then we tore. Logs and wind¬ 
falls were cleared at a vault and we sped on¬ 
ward like an avalanche. In vain the doctor (to 
be) implored us to stop, as this awful jolting 
had caused the hard-boiled eggs to give him 
acute pain, and the trails at that time (1884) 
being poor and hard to follow in places, he was 
afraid to let us get out of sight. But nothing 
could stop our artist leader. 
Below I give the time I made on my last tramp 
Aug. 14. One deer only was jumped on this 
tramp as it happened, but I knew them to be 
everywhere about me. She was coming down 
the trail and nearly met me, and coughing out 
a great note of alarm, made a series of high 
jumps to cover. 
Time—Trail at Pond road, 6:20; top of Col¬ 
vin, 7:47; lower Au Sable Lake at carry, 9:35; 
Bartlett trail, 10:05; Haystack trail, 10:58; Marcy 
Brook, 11:22; Skylight Camp, 11:37 notch, 
Lake Tear of the Clouds, 11:55; summit of 
Marcy, 12130 p. m. ; notch again, 12:53'; Marcy 
Brook again, 1:21; lunch and ten minutes’ rest; 
top of ITaystack, 2:50; old bough camp on brook. 
3:24; Basin Mountain, 4:07; bough camp Saddle- 
back, 5:10; Gothic Mountain, 5:46; lunch and 
ten minutes’ rest. Reached the base of Gothic 
at Beaver Meadow Falls 6:58 and the road at 
7 'to, having passed the same spot at 6:10 a. m. 
or just thirteen hours. Reached Felsenheim 
again 7 -55 or fourteen hours twenty-five minutes 
round trip. By giving the heights of the peaks 
and the drop off between, a better idea can be 
had of the hard work in this day of pleasure. 
Beginning at St. Hubert’s, elevation 1,320, the 
raise on to Colvin (4,074) is 2,754 feet. The 
drop down the back side or south slope to the 
carry is 2,000 feet and the raise to Marcy (5,344) 
is 3 > 344 - The next drop is 2,100 and the lift to 
Haystack 1,700. The next valley is 1,600 feet 
down and the lift to Basin 1,500. The next 
notch is 800 feet down and the lift to the Saddle 
500. The descent to the last notch is 800, the 
climb to Gothic 1,000 (4,744). The aggregate 
climb was 11,000 feet and the descent 11,000. 
The whole party slept under one roof, all in 
a row on the balsam bed, the guides sleeping 
at one end and the men of the party next to 
them. Then came the men’s sisters and lastly 
the other ladies of the party. Nowadays the 
guides have their own quarters, the men camp¬ 
ers their own camp and-the ladies having cur¬ 
tains and sundry comforts. Heathcote. 
Appreciation. 
Milhurst, N. J., Sept. 11. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: I was very much interested in the 
article “Marching with the Soldiers” by Captain 
Flynn, more so since we both are natives of 
the same town, Woodstock, Conn., our birth¬ 
places being less than a mile apart, and the 
“Bresh Hut,” the cabin where I spend my sum¬ 
mer vacations, is but a trifle further from the 
Flynn homestead. 
Many years ago I frequently saw the captain 
in his boyhood days and was well acquainted 
with his parents. His mother and myself were 
students at the same time at the Woodstock 
Academy. I also well knew his grandfather, 
Major Flynn, who was nearly a hundred years 
of age at the time of his death. 
By the way, awhile ago in the magazine 
Country Life in America, which I have taken 
for a number of years, I saw a splendid illus¬ 
tration, also a good description of the old Flynn 
homestead. I hope that Captain Flynn will 
favor the readers of Forest and Stream with 
many more interesting articles. A. L. L. 
Autumnal Joys. 
When autumn comes, and on the frosty air 
The quail’s low pipe is borne unto the ear 
Of him who waits impatiently to hear, 
That he may to the Stubblefield repair— 
What pleasure then, close quartering- all the ground, 
To watch the well-trained dog—now here, now there 
He moves in nervous haste, and yet with care, 
Until his point betrays the bevy found. 
The sportsman then proceeds without delay 
To flush the wily birds; and when they spring 
Tumultuously aloft and plain to view, 
Ne’er lets them go unchallenged on their way, 
But takes a rapid aim, as well as true, 
And to his bag some luckless brace doth bring. 
H. D. Atwood. 
