May 6, 1911.] 
689 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
a few questions and produced the children. Five 
girls straggled out from their various hiding 
places and were induced to tell their names. 
Here they are as I got them from behind their 
hands or between their fingers. The eldest, 
Rosetta, then Gereta; a third, Serena, and the 
next, Le May; a fifth Lucilia, and if she thrived, 
the sixth, only a few weeks old (Heaven help 
her) would some day lisp “Florence Valerie.” 
1 hat was enough. We thanked them and asked 
no more. It really was not funny. I rode on 
with Kitty and found she was biting her lips 
and blinking very hard, and I never think of 
those happy, fantastic names that there does not 
arise the picture of as many hungry faces and 
the mother of them all. 
Daily we traced old timber roads or the rocky 
beds of dried-up mountain streams, and occas¬ 
ionally in some dark and lonely spot or almost 
hidden by rocks, came upon the deserted stills 
of moonshiners, driven out by fear, or at the 
muzzle of a shotgun. Those mountaineers, in¬ 
dolent and shiftless, slow at work and slow to 
speak, are quick and ready enough to pull a gun 
to settle the slightest argument. Almost every 
man we encountered carried a gun ; in fact, they 
are, I believe, more primitive than in any other 
section of this country. All they know of law 
is to “bring suit” and “institute damages.” 
However, all my time was not taken up mere’y 
in the observation of Virginia mountaineers and 
their unprogressive mode of living. They wiil 
never be different and never could be made dif¬ 
ferent, and they all seemed satisfied with their 
lots, so why should it concern me too much be¬ 
cause their homes were not clean and in order 
when our days were flying by and that provok- 
ing bachelor had himself so well in hand? 
my mind that unless something came of such an 
opportunity as this it was my last attempt at 
match making. Indeed, anyone but themselves 
could know they were admirably suited to each 
other. I'or a while I heard nothing but the 
crackling of the embers and a yawn from one 
or the other. Then, away in the distance, came 
the plaintive hoot of an owl, and I covered mv 
head that I might not hear what I was so sure 
would not be meant for anyone’s ears but the 
girl s, when, will you believe me, the bachelor was 
calling back to that owl and dfawing it nearer 
to camp, until it perched on a lofty pine above 
us and there made the night hideous. 
1 he last few days passed pleasantly, dreamily 
by. It had been a little change and a happy one 
for us all. I regained my reason and thereby 
discovered that I was the only foolish member 
of the party, for the girl evidently intends to 
choose her own life partner and the bachelor 
his. And, indeed, they must, because I tried so 
hard to help them and utterly, utterly failed. 
A Rocky Mountain Goat Experience 
By L. 0. VAUGHT 
One night toward the end of our stay I was 
tired from the long day on horseback and really 
tired making pleasing situations through which 
they both placidly moved and suggested that part 
of us turn in. So we left them at the fire that 
had long roared itself down to a beautiful glow 
and lighted up the girl’s hair and softened her 
pretty eyes, until she made just the right picture 
for any man to fall in love with. I made up 
I T was the latter part of August. We had 
left the home camp on the shore of Lake 
McDonald in Northwest Montana in the 
region recently made into Glacier National 
Park, and had gone up McDonald Creek to 
Granite Park, a name given to an open, parky 
country just over on the west side of the Con¬ 
tinental Divide. It was an ideal place for a 
temporary camp, plenty of feed for the horses 
and wood and water for camp purposes. A 
little lower in the valley were huckleberries by 
the bushel and so large that we called them 
green gage plums. A short climb to the east 
and we looked out over the Blackfoot country 
and the hazy plains on beyond. One day we 
crossed over the divide and took in Grinnell 
Glacier, a baby glacier in size when compared 
with the great Alaska ice fields, but a glacier 
none the less, typical in every respect, the blue 
ice showing over almost its entire surface and 
with yawning crevasses in which one could eas¬ 
ily find an icy grave. Snow-clad peaks, such 
as can be found only in the Northern Rockies, 
rose all around us, sharp and rugged. 
One morning I decided to take a tramp to 
the north. I made up a substantial lunch, took 
my rifle and told them I would not be back 
until night. I followed the main divide, some¬ 
times on one side and again on the other. I 
was simply exploring, with no definite end in 
view. When I got tired I sat down and rested. 
I kept my eyes open for game, for at any 
moment I was liable to run on a goat, sheep, 
bear or deer. However, it was nearly noon and, 
except for two or three distant goats, I had 
A WATERMELON FEAST. 
Photographs by Stephen P. M. Tasker. 
