8 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

The queer being regarded me a moment, then 
turned on his heel and fetched me a “tinny” of 
water from an old barrel. I drank it all, though 
in truth I was not thirsty, and returned the 
“tinny” with many thanks. As for the other 
part of the payment I confess after a sight of 
that eagle visage I experienced a sort of trepida- 
tion at the idea of offering money, but the 
“tinny” being held at what appeared an expect- 
ant angle, I hastily dropped a quarter in it and 
remarked: “It was worth double the money.” 
To my relief no war-whoop sounded in my 
ears and no tomahawk was brandished. Instead 
of that I saw the eagle visage don a look of 
pleasure, and heard the grave, sepulchral voice 
pronounce these words: “I guess you ain’t one 
of them city boarders.” 
To be brief, I learned that the hermit had 
dwelt there over thirty years—that he regarded 
the outside world with aversion, or indifference, 
and that it was his full determination to end his 
days in solitude. I also learned that he was of 
pure English descent, a statement which I subse- 
quently verified by inquiries of the neighbors. 
On another occasion I was at Cape May Point, 
N. J. At the end of the little railway which 
runs from the town of Cape May the Point ex- 
tends for some miles toward Delaware Bay. It is 
thickly covered with dwarf pine and scrub and is 
utterly lonesome and wild. When I set out to 
explore it I confess I had not much desire to 
penetrate very deep into it, so I kept along shore 
for the most part. The day was hot and the 
walking heavy, and after an hour or so I sat 
down to rest. The grasshoppers “zizzed’’ and 
“7ipt’” in the long spear grass, the ocean merrily 
lapped the shore, and the’dark pines seemed to 
drowse in the sultry air. All was quiet and 
primitive as when the red man reigned. The in- 
fluence of the scene was stealing upon me and I 
believe I was on the point of dropping to sleep 
when I started up at hearing a crackling amid 
the jungle. Presently, about a hundred yards 
away, a man appeared. He was tall and angular 
and burned to a coppery tint, while a mass of 
shaggy hair hung over his shoulders. For all 
clothing he wore an old gray shirt and a pair of 
trousers tucked up to his knees. His feet were 
bare. Slung across his back was something that 
might easily have been mistaken for a bow on 
the stretch. Had one of the old tribe of Dela- 
wares taken refuge and haply survived in that 
desert place, assuredly he could hardly have 
looked more to the life than did this singular 
individual. 
No sooner did he emerge from covering than 
he saw me, but he showed no surprise and 
leisurely took his way down shore. As he passed 
me I remarked it was a hot day. He paused a 
moment and answered, “Yes, a little.’ I shall 
never forget the face that looked at me. Striking 
as was the face of the Long Island hermit, this 
one was even more so. Of perfect aquiline 
mould, the eyes were of fire and the mouth of 
iron. But a shadow hung over it—the shadow 
of the wilderness. 
I got up and saying I was returning, kept my 
“Delaware” (as I secretly dubbed him) company 
as he resumed his measured pace. I offered him 
a cigar, which he accepted with great courtesy, 
and as he smiled I thought I never saw a hand- 
somer face. By judicious questioning I got out 
of him that he and his family had always lived 
hereabouts—he supposed for 200 years. He told 
> his name, which I have now forgotten, but it 
an English one. His manner was very re- 
d but perfectly civil. Perhaps—nay, most 
ly—it was not so much reserve with him 
of silence. His present errant was to set 
for the night, and when he had found 
‘iff (which was fashioned more like a 
1 boat) he wished me good-day, and, 
from the shore, paddled away with 
id grace of a true Indian. 
as on a visit to the island of Nan- 
I was told that the last Indian died 
ago, but his photograph is still 
“pretty little curio shops in which 
‘ds. I noted his lineaments well and 
* among the modern Nantucketers. 
| of these that a sturdier, an hon- 
or a kindlier people does not 
[JAN. 6, 1906. 

exist in the United States to-day. I shall there- 
fore be suspected of no slur or disparagement 
when I proceed to say that in many of them I 
discovered reflections of that Indian’s expression. 
Yet, these people in the main are direct descend- 
ants of men of British blood. Of a verity one 
would never believe it unless history told him so. 
The British expression has been absolutely ob- 
literated—washed away. Not a trace of it left. 
Nor has the British manner fared any better. 
The high-pitched, inflectious voice has been 
superseded by one of minor and somewhat mon- 
otonous keys. And in general there is a decided 
disposition to taciturnity. 
Now, all this goes to prove the inexorable in- 
fluence which environment has on physiognomy. 
The sun, the air, the landscape and the thoughts, 
the feelings, the emotions which spring from the 
exigencies of life—all leave their stamp upon the 
features unmistakably. So subtle, indeed, is the 
influence of environment that a keen observer 
can tell a Philadelphia face from a New York 
face. People who dwell in cities, of course, are 
not so apt to undergo radical changes as those 
who dwell in contact with nature, but even in the 
cities we cannot escape the air. The sun we 
manage pretty well to avoid, but the air has a 
way of following us about willy nilly, and a 
marked characteristic of the American air is that 
it tends to dry up the skin and give it a certain 
bloodless tone. The air of the British isles, on 
the other hand, keeps the skin moist and ruddy. 
Some writers on ethnology predict that eventu- 
ally Americans will conform to the facial type of 
the aborigines. But I think this is an extreme 
view. For one thing, Americans are of a differ- 
ent race, and for another education and refine- 
ment will play their part. However, we cannot 
escape our environment, and it is certain that in 
course of time we shall all more or less resemble 
the “poor Indian.” FRANK MOooNnan. 

An Elk Hunt in Wyoming. 
WHEN I wrote to my old guide, Edward Shef- 
field, I was somewhat apprehensive about the out- 
look for sport because I had heard that the best 
part of the “Jackson Hole Country” had been 
included in the reserve set apart by the State of 
Wyoming, where sport with big game had been 
entirely interdicted. 
I was advised, however, that this was not the 
fact, so, yielding to my faith in the judgment 
of the guide and a desire to gratify my love for 
sport, | made arrangements for a fall hunt. Be- 
fore reaching the terminal of the trip by railroad 
I chanced to meet some sportsmen who talked 
of sport and commented on the conditions ex- 
isting in Jackson’s Hole. The criticisms were by 
no means favorable, and various instances were 
cited of parties who had been disappointed in 
their expectations. My subsequent experience 
only served to convince me how dependent a 
sportsman has become upon the services of a 
good guide. 
The trip from St. Anthony to Jackson was 
without incident worth relating, except at the 
start. The pack horses, which, during their stay 
in town, had fared handsomely on oats and hay 
and been well sheltered, did not look forward 
to a trip back into the bleak and sterile moun- 
tains with the same pleasure that I did; their 
refractory souls yearned for the comfortable 
quarters they were just leaving with the same 
tenacity that the children of Israel in the wilder- 
ness “longed for the flesh pots of Egypt,” but 
here the comparison ends, for they had not a 
guide who was meek and gentle like Moses. 
About a mile from St. Anthony the whole 
bunch turned off on a side road and went back 
to their former quarters. After some delay they 
were finally got in line again, and with the aid of 
a couple of Mormons, who, for a consideration, 
agreed to help guide them for several miles, we 
got the pack train properly started, and after 
that had no further trouble with them. 
The journey was a fairly long one, but it be- 
came more interesting as we drew away from 
civilization and got closer to the place where we 
intended to make permanent camp. After the 
first day we passed the wide monotonous stretch 
of sage brush flats which lies between St. An- 
thony and Victor; after that the landscape grew 
more mountainous and wooded. The country 
became very picturesque as we proceeded; every 
mountain presented a view which was a pano- 
rama; every opening in the timber seemed a nat- 
ural frame for an entrancing picture; the atmos- 
phere so clear and bracing gave fine definition to 
objects in view; the winding river rushed fret- 
ting and foaming between the rocks in the valley 
below; large clumps of spruces clustered upon 
the mountain sides, and the rough crags were 
powdered with snow and sometimes glistening 
with rills which coursed down their rugged sur- 
faces. After traveling along the Gros Ventre 
River for a considerable distance we at last came 
in view of Mt. Leidy, superbly situated between 
two rows of mountains on either side of a pleas- 
ant valley, at the head of which stands Mt. Leidy. 
The ground was covered with a few inches of 
snow—enough to make good hunting. We made 
an early camp and had plenty of time to get 
everything arranged before it became dark. The 
- location was an ideal spot for a camp; plenty of 
timber nearby; a fine stream of clear, cold water, 
and good grazing for the horses. It was quite 
important to have a good range for the stock, 
because there were eleven pack horses and three 
riding horses—fourteen in all. To take care of 
these required the services of a horse wrangler. 
I had three men, my regular guide, Edward Shef- 
field, Charles Herdick, a Wyoming guide, and 
Marcus Imo, who cooked and turned his hand 
to help at anything else that had to be at- 
tended to. 
The day being young when we arrived, I em- 
ployed it in making a short hunt from camp. 
Charles Herdick went with me, and I soon dis- 
covered how much my wind had deteriorated 
since I had last been out, for in the meantime 
I had lived a life of comparative ease. The 
general elevation in this section ranges 
from 8,000 to 10,c00 feet, and it takes a 
few days to accustom your lungs to the rarified 
atmosphere. When one is not taking any vigor- 
ous exercise the climate feels exhilarating and 
inspires one with the feeling that he is able to 
perform any kind of stunt; a few minutes of real 
strenuous exercise and this delusion is destroyed. 
I soon discovered that Herdick was a good hand 
at mountain climbing, being wonderfully supple 
and possessed of the best pair of lungs of anyone 
I ever knew. 
We finally caught sight of a small bunch of elk 
at a considerable distance. As they were moy- 
ing over a crest of a hill, it became necessary to 
travel with speed to get near enough for a shot, 
if by chance there should be a good head in the 
bunch. The elk had not seen us, but were moy- 
ing and might get out of range. Completely ex- 
hausted I finally gained the summit of a hill 
which overlooked the herd, which had halted. 
An old bull stood in the quaking aspens, not over 
sixty yards away. A glance at the head, and I saw 
that I had had my pains for nothing. I watched 
the animals for a few moments, and they seemed 
to me like old acquaintances, for it had been 
three years since I last hunted this kind of game. 
I do not believe they were as pleased to see me 
as I was to see them. They soon startd to run 
directly from us in the direction of camp, which 
was quite near. My guide, Edward Sheffield, told 
me afterward that they came very near, and he 
was afraid they would run through camp. He 
gravely warned me against the danger of driving 
a large bunch of “Uncle Sam’s cattle” in that di- 
rection. 
It was a pleasure after this little excitement to 
drop into a comfortable camp and find everything 
nicely arranged and a good meal provided. My 
quarters were supplied with every convenience 
that could be expected traveling with a pack out- 
fit. It may, perhaps, interest those who have had 
no practical experience in western hunting to 
know what can be furnished. We had folding 
chairs, a folding table, two tents and in each a 
portable sheet-iron stove with a couple of lengths 
of pipe to take off the smoke; I had a pneumatic 
mattress to save my tired flesh from the hard 
ground, and whatever else was required which 
horses could pack in. When I was tired of, hunt- 
ing I could rest a day or so and read novels in 
