Nov. 26, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
861 
Week-End Rambles. 
V.—"Newt.” 
We reached Bradley’s Pond late the last 
Fr'day in July. Right across the water from 
where ’we came ont on the shore was an ideal 
campsite in a clearing of hard woods; in fact, 
it was the only location in sight that could be 
made tenantable without great labor. It was 
fully two miles away, but it looked so inviting 
that we shouldered our packs and forced our 
way through the underbrush. It was a hard 
walk, but after all the most sensible way of 
settling the campsite problem. As we stepped 
into the clearing we stumbled upon the pros¬ 
trate figure of “Newt.’’ Newt was very drunk. 
He lay with his face exposed to the full glare 
of the setting sun. Dry twigs crackled under¬ 
foot and he stared at me from half-closed eyes, 
effectively cleared the tent and we crawled in¬ 
side away from our enemies. 
It was a sultry night and dawn brought no 
material change in the atmosphere. The sky 
cleared and the sun added its burning rays to 
the oppressive humidity. However, we com¬ 
menced fishing and caught three bass before 
the heat forced us to retire into the woods. 
Hour after hour dragged by with no diminu¬ 
tion of the atmospherical discomforts. We 
were too lackadaisical to care how our time 
was spent, and until hunger and the mosquitoes 
combined to drive 11s back to camp, were con¬ 
tent to converse in low monosyllables or doze 
under a clump of beeches, There was scant en¬ 
joyment with a smudge fire burning, so we 
plunged into the pond for a swim and retired, 
expecting to turn out with the first morning 
call of the birds to try for bass. 
We were awakened in the night by the roar- 
patiently, “you must come with me to my 
shack.” 
“Shall we?” demanded My Lady, tugging at 
my arm. 
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation, and we 
climbed in the boat. 
Newt shoved the boat out among the choppy 
waves, took his place, bent to the oars and 
sent the diminutive craft through the water. 
Rounding a narrow point, Newt turned into a 
creek’s mouth, nearly obscured by bushes. 
“My home,” he announced simply, lead¬ 
ing the way along a narrow path, dimly 
outlined by a lamp in a window. Inside 
the cabin was immaculate. A fire crackled in 
the stone fireplace. A tea-kettle hissed and 
sputtered on a crane and a big gray cat dozed 
in front of the fire. A broad window, piled 
with books and magazines, raised the puzzling- 
question as to why Newt should elect to lead 
STOCKING ROCKY FORK CREEK WITH TROUT FRY, 
ONE OF THE RAPIDS OF THE FRYING PAN, 
caring little for his plight as long as the in¬ 
truder was one of his own sex. But when he 
saw My Lady, his lips moved without making 
a sound and a guilty look swept over his 
bronzed face, reflecting the abject shame of his 
inner consciousness at being found in a maudlin 
condition by a woman. Staggering to his feet, 
he bowed low in self-abasement and disap¬ 
peared in the forest with surprising stillness 
for one of his Herculean proportions. 
The work of pitching camp was rushed, so 
that we could devote the last hour of daylight 
to fishing, and Newt was forgotten until we 
were seated before the campfire eating dinner. 
Then My Lady expressed some apprehension 
lest he return during the night and annoy us, 
but I laughed at her fears. 
Meanwhile the sun had disappeared and we 
settled down to enjoy the evening, much as we 
had before in other places, but our pleasure was 
of short duration. Attracted by the fire the 
mosquitoes forced us to anoint our faces and 
hands with a decoction that smelled of oil, tar 
and sassafrass and to build a smudge. This 
ing of the wind. It had sprung up suddenly 
and was sweeping the pond. The air was 
cooler and we wrapped our, blankets about 11s, 
thankful for the change. Then came a low 
rumble of thunder. The wind rose and our 
tent was leveled to the ground. Dead limbs 
were falling. Lightning leaped across the sky, 
illuminating the hills and clouds. We huddled 
close together, our tent and blankets wrapped 
about us for such scant protection as they 
might afford. It began with a downpour of 
hail. Rain followed, quickly drenching us to 
the skin, but we hoped the storm would soon 
break, so that we might rekindle our fire. 
Suddenly a flash of lightning revealed the 
figure of a man in a boat, battling with wind 
and waves. Peering out, we waited for the 
next flash to light up the scene. Several came, 
revealing nothing. What manner of vision had 
we looked upon? To the best of my knowledge 
there was no habitation or camp within several 
miles and we had seen no boat during our fish¬ 
ing. Finally we saw Newt in the water, drag¬ 
ing his boat ashore. “Strangers,” he cried irn- 
the life of a recluse. If he noticed our sur¬ 
prised glances he did not show it, nor did he 
offer a word of explanation. He tramped about 
the room, the water running from his wet 
garments, preparing hot tea and a couch for 
our occupancy. His task completed, he tersely 
expressed regrets for his inability to supply 
both of us with dry garments, picked up his 
cat and bidding us a curt good-night, strode 
into a leanto at the back and slammed the door. 
Outside the storm continued, and hanging our 
drenched garments before the fire, we retired 
for the second time that night with a sense of 
peace and security. 
The sun was shining when we stepped from 
the cabin. The camp outfit we had abandoned 
was spread out to dry and our host was prepar¬ 
ing breakfast in the leanto. 
“Good morning,” he cried, “breakfast is wait¬ 
ing and the fish are biting. Now, none of that,” 
be objected, as I attempted to thank him for 
his kindness; “we’ll forget about the storm and 
talk of the good fishing we’ll have after break¬ 
fast. You must know this pond to catch the 
