Dec. 4, 1909 ] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
891 
but still they must quarrel. How like some peo¬ 
ple! They circled round and round each other, 
gnashing their teeth as much like two mad boars 
as anything I ever saw. Suddenly one saw what 
seemed an advantage and rushed in and cut a 
great gash in his opponent’s side. Then the 
circling was resumed. When they became 
frenzied they clashed together and slashed with 
their powerful jaws, armed with teeth like a 
circular saw, until one or the other was ren¬ 
dered hors de combat. This one fled, closely 
pursued by the victor, who accelerated his speed 
by nabbing him whenever the opportunity pre¬ 
sented. A wound from the teeth of a salmon 
is no trivial matter. Often the fishermen were 
bitten when the salmon were numerous, and the 
wounds were ugly and difficult to heal. The 
Indians realized the danger of these wounds and 
in former times sought to overcome the infec¬ 
tion by burning the wound out with a live wil¬ 
low coal.' 
In many things the Indian is like his civilized 
brother. He is brave with the familiar things 
and an arrant coward with things he does not 
understand. That is true of ourselves; it is the 
unknown that frightens us. I have seen whole 
congregations of Indians become panic stricken 
and flee from some simple natural phenomenon 
that I, in my superior wisdom, smiled at. Again, 
I have seen them do things that I, with my 
superior wisdom, would not attempt to do. 
There was a large bottle of spirits of ammonia 
in my office. It was standing where the sun 
could shine directly upon it. The heat generated 
a gas and the gas escaping forced the glass stop¬ 
per half out of the neck of the bottle. Then it 
fell back with a sharp click. The house was 
full of Indians. I picked the bottle up and 
placed it where the sun would not strike it, 
which happened to be right where the savages 
could see it. The agitation of the bottle caused 
the gas to force the stopper up quite vigorously. 
I saw the Indians backing away. One asked me 
what was in that bottle. Bearing in mind the 
joke they had once played on me I told them 
that it was a spirit and he was trying to escape. 
In less than an instant the house was clear and 
there was not an Indian to be seen. That is 
one side. 
Some years after we came among them the 
Indians decided to construct a ferry across the 
Kooskia. This resolution was brought about by 
the capture of an old ferry boat that came float¬ 
ing down the stream one high water. This they 
tied up by the shore and forgot for two or 
three years. One low water they towed a cable 
across the river and anchored it on either shore, 
then forgot that for awhile. Matters dragged 
along thus until one June, of all times, they had 
another spasm of industry. A trapper had come 
down the river in a large batteau and the In¬ 
dians had bought it from him. This boat was 
made of split cedar and was very light. They 
used it to cross the river and it was the only 
craft at that point. The river was bank full, a 
brown tide running like a mill race, and filled 
with floating logs and trees. Now and then some 
immense cedar from far up river would come 
down, its giant roots nodding and swaying in 
the current like the antlers of some monster elk. 
On that morning the little fellow and I had 
come up from below to watch the proceedings. 
The Indians were erecting a tower on the oppo¬ 
site side of the river for the cable. When they 
were ready to cross one of the Indians lifted 
the boy and set him in the boat. I made no 
objections to this, as they often took him with 
them. I wandered off on the hillside to examine 
some old caches that had been unearthed by 
some placer miners the winter before, and spent 
probably two hours there. Upon my return I 
noticed one of these great cedars coming down 
the river quite near the shore upon which the 
Indians were employed. The batteau was moored 
beneath the shelving bank and the Indians could 
not see either it or the coming tree. I soon saw 
that the tree was going to strike the boat. I 
called to them, but they could not hear above 
the roar of the water. The tree struck and car¬ 
ried the boat away. I was concerned only for 
the Indians. I knew that it would be necessary 
for them to go down three miles before they 
could get a canoe to cross; back, so I called to 
them what had happened. 
All this time the batteau was whirling fur¬ 
ther out in the stream and I could see that it 
had a hole in it where the roots of the tree had 
struck. About this time, too, I saw the head of 
my little chap over the gunwale. He had grown 
tired and one of the Indians had taken him to 
the boat and stowed him away on a pile of their 
blankets. Scared! Well, I guess I was scared. 
There was three hundred feet of tossing angry 
water between us and no boat nearer than the 
Koos-koos-kia, and I unable to swim. The hole 
in the boat was above the waterline, but the 
waves were washing in, and it was only a ques¬ 
tion of time when the boat would sink. I sup¬ 
pose I must have done some frantic yelling, for 
they at last heard me. It took only an instant 
for them to realize what was amiss. I saw 
Charley Allen start down the shore. Charley 
could make the Marathon messenger seem to be 
standing still when it came to a sprint. He 
threw away his scanty garments as he ran. In 
a half mile he had nothing on but his moccasins. 
A cottonwood stood upon the bank which the 
water had partially undermined until it leaned 
out over the water. I saw him run out on the 
prostrate trunk and leap into the boiling flood. 
It was a daring thing to do. I could not see 
how a man could live in that water. 
When an Indian swims in haste he uses the 
overhand stroke. He sped through that water, 
his torso half above the surface, his bronze arms 
swinging like the sails of a windmill. I have 
seen college swimming races where the honor 
of the old alma mater depended upon the re¬ 
sult, but I never saw one where my interest was 
so much concentrated upon the outcome as this 
one. The batteau had something like half a mile 
start, but before it rounded the bend I had the 
satisfaction of seeing him overhaul it and climb 
aboard. Then I suddenly remembered that I 
had not been breathing for something like fifteen 
minutes. I heaved a sigh and resumed respira¬ 
tion ; my heart also began to beat along about 
this time. That is the other side. 
The Wild Turkey. 
Habits—Conclusion. 
No bird is more gentle and unsuspicious than 
ie turkey until it has learned that man is an 
nemy, and after that no bird is more wary and 
lert. Mr. Henshaw speaks of the lack of sus- 
icion on the part of these birds and Capt. 
arpenter tells how—when his command was 
'eparing to establish Ft. Niobrara—a wild tur- 
‘y came to the camp and ventured out of the 
aderbrush to feed on the grain spilled by the 
flmals. 
■ When Florida first began to be a resort for 
arthern tourists, turkeys were very abundant 
and not at all shy or suspicious. They often 
associated with the domestic turkeys, and one 
wild gobbler became so tame that he would 
feed unconcernedly within a few feet of a man. 
On this point Dr. Ralph, writing about 1890, 
said to Captain Bendire: 
“One can hardly believe that the wild turkeys 
of to-day are of the same species as those of 
fifteen or twenty years ago [that is 1872 to 1875]. 
Then they were rather stupid birds which it 
did not require much skill to shoot, but now 
I do not know of a game bird or mammal more 
alert or more difficult to approach. Formerly 
I have often, as they were sitting in trees on the 
banks of some stream, passed very near them, 
both in our boats and in steamers, without caus¬ 
ing them to fly, and I once, with a party of 
friends, ran a small steamer within twenty yards 
of a flock which did not take wing until several 
shots had been fired at them.” 
The turkey, while usually resident in a cer¬ 
tain section, is yet said to be prone to wander, 
and to be by no means as local in its habits as 
bobwhite or the ruffed grouse. Sometimes they 
will remain in a desirable location for a long 
time and then will leave it—for no apparent 
reason. On the plains the birds used to spend 
the night roosting in the trees of the bottoms, 
and. after drinking in the morning would wan¬ 
der up on the prairie about the heads of streams 
and there feed on grasshoppers and other in¬ 
sects and on sand cherries and tunas, returning 
