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ADVENTURES IN 
COMRADESHIP 
(Continued from page 537) 
was a day or so after this that I came 
upon him, standing very close to the 
old White Pine, caressing the poor 
wound, as his eyes wandered upward, 
into those dark green boughs which 
had witnessed the coming and the 
going of generations. Forever after¬ 
ward, he would think differently of 
trees. And this was good! 
* * * 
The week’s close came all too quickly, 
what with long walks, and meals to 
cook, and nature-study, and chats with 
Chip, on matters which had always to 
do with the woods and waters and 
fowls of the air. Of trout fishing, we 
had aplenty, trying it of mornings 
when the air seemed colored like the 
heart of a shell, and during the heavy, 
drowsy hours of those magic after¬ 
noons. 
Sonnyboy became more adept by the 
minute, and we whipped the streams 
side by side, or tried it on separate 
tacks, Fortune nearly always favoring 
us. German Browns were in the 
majority, but they were fighters and 
the great beauty of Sluice Creek as it 
rambled on, deeper and deeper into 
strange silences, atoned for much. Un¬ 
interrupted, sometimes for a day at a 
time, I sat with the lad up under the 
recuperating White Pine, and taught 
him to create usable flies, from such 
feathers and odds and ends as were 
lurking in the old barn. 
Mother’s letters were unfailing. Some 
I could read to Sonnyboy, while others 
brought reflections and ghosts of 
thoughts which it were better he did 
not hear, since they were but prayers 
of one who had come almost to the 
gates of an earthly paradise, through 
the comradeship of a neglectful father 
—and his son. HER boys were chums 
at last! 
Mister Chip, a human ledger of vital 
facts, bound in modesty and unosten¬ 
tation, read aloud to us, under those 
same high stars from the indellible 
pages of his memory. Now it was the 
day, not long since, when a fine deer, 
routed from its lair by forest fires, 
entered the village streets, trotted past 
stores and startled citizens, gained the 
river and swam across to the Jersey 
shore. Now it was the pitiful story of 
how woodsmen, during the winter just 
gone, had come upon 15 young deer, 
dead from starvation, in the bed of the 
creek which courses through a ravine 
at the base of Indian Head promontory. 
Had not Daniel Meinweiser, care¬ 
taker for the Bright Creek Hunting 
and Fishing Club in Pike County, near 
Canadensis found 10 dead bucks within 
a radius of a mile of the place, their 
gaunt bodies telling the mute tragedy 
In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. It will 
of snow and sleet and high winds and 
—no food! And in both cases, the 
pretty brown bodies were horribly 
mangled and torn by the savage teeth 
of wild beasts! Oh, this was no child’s 
playground! It held a hidden side, 
snarling and snapping with the strug¬ 
gle for existence! Theories for the k 
cause of this wholesale slaying of the 
deer by the elements appeared to vary. 
Said Chip: “Jest plain star-vation. 
They get hungry and wade down the 
creek, from their homes, fer th’ moss 
along th’ base uv th’ rocks. But it 
was too rough fer ’em. No chant t’ 
git th’ buds uv th’ mountain laurel, 
which same is their chief winter grub, 
because uv th’ powerful bad drifts uv 
snow. But Jeem Oldercraft was atellin’ 
me that it’s wild cats—always chasing 
’em. One uv them deer—a buck—wuz 
froze solid, an’ standin’ life-like near | 
th’ bank, agin a tree. Pore things! I 
ain’t never had th’ heart t’ shoot a deer, 
an’ me livin’ where I c’n pop ’em off 
frum my own doorstep—almost. Fire 
too, is terrible! Fire!” And he paused 
a moment—“Young Mister Trout-Fish¬ 
erman—mebbe I won’t see you never no 
more. Won’t you jes’ keep always in 
yer mind when you are out in th’ 
woods, t’ be as keerful uv matches an’ 
camp fires er enything like that, as if 
you was in yer own home—on a 
thousand dollar im-ported rug! 
“This here forest fire business is 
goin’ t’ play hell with them as lives 
termorrer an’ a thousand termorrers. 
It’s not only killing birds an’ animals, 
but it’s powderin’ down ter ashes one 
uv man’s best friends—th’ tree. Lord! 
When I seen whut them Forestry Camp 
boys did, I felt like partin’ my beard 
in th’ middle and kissin’ ’em, one after 
’tother. 
“There’s just ONE way ter salvation 
uv forests—you youngsters, you comers. 
Ef somethin’ c’n be done t’ make you 
careful an’ cautious an’ tree-lovin’, 
when you grow up and shoulder yer 
gun er grab yer fishin’ outfit, we’ll 
save th’ woods despite whuts been done 
by th’ dunderheads already. Every¬ 
thing rests with YOU — you little 
fellers.” 
Sonnyboy walked over to Mister 
Chip and thrust out his hand. The 
old man took it in a firm grasp. 
“Mister Chip,” said Sonnyboy, “you 
have my promise; I’ll be THAT sort 
of hunter and fisherman.” And I knew 
that he would keep his word. 
* * * 
The early morning we started for 
home—jogging down the tree-lined 
road, in the shadowy, chill dawn, Chip’s 
talk came back to us in ragged pillars 
of red flame! 
Miles and miles away, across the 
mist-wrapped valley we saw what we 
at first took to be an uneven flare of 
morning sun upon a fringe of cloud. 
identify you. Page 542 
