Hunting with Waupoose. 
Last fall an Indian who knows of my desire 
to kill a bear sent me word to come out and 
kill one; but it was ten days before I found it 
possible to go. On Oct. 6, the barber and I 
drove to the Menominee Reservation; that was 
a trip through fairyland. The frost-painted 
trees ran the whole gamut of color, from the 
deep red of the oak—through all shades of yel¬ 
low on the maple—to light straw on the poplar. 
In addition to my .30-30 rifle, I carried a 
twelge-gauge gun, so, when a ruffed grouse was 
seen sitting by the roadside, we drove uncon¬ 
cernedly by; then, with the gun, I went back, 
flushed and killed it. That occurred three 
times. Always the birds sat within six or eight 
feet of the road, never moving a muscle, but 
closely regarding our every movement. Once, 
by way of experiment, we stopped before we 
passed the bird and it promptly flushed. 
We reached David Waupoose’s cabin before 
noon. While we were regaling ourselves with 
perch and potatoes, Dave said, “One week ago, 
many b’ar; now b’ar scared. Injun shoot two- 
t’ree b’ar las’ week. Shoot one beeg one down 
by leetle lak’. B’ar come down to water to 
drink, Injun seen him and shoot. One shot 
kill big b’ar. Injun good shot. But we watch 
to-night. Maybe a beeg b’ar come out swamp 
to heat acorns, maybe you shoot. We watch 
to-night a’right.” With Dave it was “heads I 
win, tails you lose”; whether we got a bear or 
not, he could collect for board. After dinner 
the barber suggested that we, shoot at a mark, 
but Dave was loth to try conclusions with us. 
Knowing that an Indian dislikes to be beaten 
by a white man, I fixed my sights so that it 
would be an impossibility to hit the bullseye; 
as Dave used his owp gun, he beat me. The 
barber said the sights were “’way off”; but I 
did not confess even to him. 
Dave has hunted and fished all over the State 
and is a veritable outdoor cyclopedia; he knows 
how to spin a yarn, too. “My father big chief,” 
he said. Perhaps he thought our smiles born 
of incredulity. “Come, I show you.” He led 
the way into the “other room,” for his cabin 
boasted another room, in which was an ex¬ 
pensive sideboard, our host’s most prized pos¬ 
session. After we had admired it, he unlocked 
one of the drawers and displayed a fine collec¬ 
tion of bead work. “I told you my father big 
chief,” he repeated triumphantly. 
“What do you do with them?” 
“Wear ’em when Injuns have war dance. Not 
real war dance,” he added, “but war dance just 
for fun.” Evidently he did not wish to frighten 
us. I persuaded him to don his gorgeous habili¬ 
ments and have his picture taken; then I must 
needs photograph his house and family, his 
horses and boys. I hope he enjoyed the post¬ 
cards I sent him later on. 
At three o’clock we set out. For two or 
three miles we traveled over plains or oak 
openings, flushing an occasional covey of 
prairie chickens from the wire grass. “Injun 
farmer good for something,” said Dave; "his 
farms make good feeding grounds for wild 
chickens, but he’s too lazy to raise grain enough 
to feed tame hens. Wild hens suit Injun 
better’n tame hens, anyway.” 
I will not admit that the Indians I know are 
lazy as some white men are lazy. For genera¬ 
tions the red man has been a free hunter; and 
we may not change the work of centuries in a 
decade or two. The Indian is not lazy; he 
lacks the power of application. He is a great 
dreamer. To hear him talk, you would think 
that he was going to make his farm blossom as 
the rose. It is not the toil but the daily grind, 
A SNAKE SKIN. 
Cast skin of a white-throated racer on the rafters of a 
barn. 21ft. from the floor. The snake climbed to the 
peak of the barn and was swallowing one of the young 
swallows when he was shot by Reddington Dayton, the 
owner of the place. The picture was taken from the top 
of the hay mow by Wilbur F. Smith. 
the monotony, that saps his strength. It is im¬ 
possible for him to hoe corn when every drop 
of his wild blood demands that he go fishing. 
The only way for the Government is to help 
him to help himself. Dave has absolute trust 
in the Government. There had been some 
trouble on his reservation; the Indians had be¬ 
come dissatisfied with the agent, and a com¬ 
mittee from Washington had investigated. 
Dave said, “I think the President will be sur¬ 
prised when B reports. Course he didn’t 
know how things were here. Course he thinks 
agent good man. Now we' get new agent. 
May take time, for President pretty busy man; 
but things going to be fixed all right.” I ad¬ 
mitted that the President was too busy to do 
much fishing; but I did not believe with Dave 
that he would “fix things.” I asked Dave if he 
did not want to become a citizen and vote. 
“No,” he replied, “Injun don't know enough 
to vote. Two-three men may know enough, but 
ten-twelve don’t. Where good for t.wo-three 
to vote, when ' ten-twelve more than three? 
Better let things alone. Maybe by ’n by young 
Injuns vote, but better let old fellows like me 
alone.” 
Back of it all I could hear the politician. 
The younger generation of Indians are dissatis¬ 
fied; they have reason to be dissatisfied. Until 
we eliminate graft and politics from Indian 
affairs, the race will not advance as it other¬ 
wise would. When dealing with the Indian 
there is no Golden Rule other than. “Do him, 
for he does not know enough to do you.” 
There are exceptions. I saw a fur-buyer trad¬ 
ing with an Indian, who held up a mink skin. 
“How much?” asked the dealer. “Three dol¬ 
lar,” the Indian replied. “I’ll do better, I’ll 
give you three and a half.” “Three dollar,” re¬ 
peated the Indian. “But I’ll give you fifty cents 
more; fifty cents more than three dollars; more 
than you ask. Three dollars and a half.” “I 
want three dollar,” stubbornly insisted the In¬ 
dian; and. he went away with three dollars. 
“That is the way with those fellows,” the dealer 
said to me; “when they get an idea into their 
heads you can’t knock it out with a club.” 
The same fur buyer said to me at another 
time, “We used to make money buying fur from 
the Indians, but nowadays they all get price¬ 
lists from outside; and as they are good judges 
of fur, it’s difficult to fool them. Not much 
money in the business any more.” Not over 
fifty per cent. 
“Little lak’ back there,” said Dave, waving 
his hand toward the setting sun; “we tie our 
horse down there; horse awful ’fraid of b’ar.” 
We drove back among the white oaks and tied 
the horse, then Dave led the way to the lake. 
I have never seen a more beautiful body of 
water. It was so completely hidden by tall 
spruces that one doubted if even the winds 
ever found it. I dreamed of owning such a 
wilderness lake with a cabin on the shore. Dave 
examined the shores for bears. In the mud 
close to the water's edge he found bear tracks, 
and they were not very old either. “Came down 
an’ took a drink,” said he, “then went back 
into the swamp; big b’ar!" Every bear was 
“big.” Just as I was setting the camera for a 
picture, six mallards rose out of the grass and 
circled over the lake. I fired both barrels and 
plainly heard the shot rattle against their 
armored breasts. Only feathers fell. Evidently 
No. "14 shot were not heavy enough. The 
smile and shake of the head which Dave gave 
the barber were gall and wormwood. I never 
missed when it hurt me more. 
Our stand was beneath white oak trees at the 
edge of a swamp. Dave said the bears came 
out at dusk to feed upon the sweet acorns. 
“Many partridges come at night, too. Better 
leave your guns or you will shoot partridges, 
then no b’ar come to feed.” Laughingly, we 
carried our guns to a tree ten rods beyond 
where we were to take our positions, and Dave 
nodded approval. “A’right, now I go half 
mile down swamp and watch ’nother place. 
Keep still. Make no noise ’tall and watch close. 
You fellers shoot plenty partridges.” Leading 
