Jan. 6, 1900. ] 
rapidly, but still the riders kept on, doggedly, per- 
sistently, in a long, straggling line. I passed the 
glass to Weasel Tail and told what I had seen. 
Everyone sprang to his feet. 
“It- must be,” said my friend, “that they have 
found the white one, else they would give up the 
chase. They are far behind and their horses are 
tired; they “lope very weakly. Yes, it is the white 
one they follow. I see it! I see it!” 
We were mounted in a moment and riding out 
to intercept the herd; riding at a trot, occasion- 
ally broken by a short ‘lope, for the horses must 
be kept fresh for the final run. In less than half 
an hour we arrived at a low, long, mound-like 
elevation, near which it seemed the herd must 
pass. We could see them coming straight toward 
it. So we got behind it and waited, my compan- 
ions, as usual, removing their saddles and piling 
them in a heap. It was realized, of course, that 
the buffalo might get wind of us and turn long 
before they were near enough for us to make a 
dash at them, but we had to take that chance. 
After what-seemed to me a very long time, our 
leader, peering over the top of the mound, told 
us to be ready; we all mounted. Then he called 
out’ fot us to come on, and we dashed over the 
rise; the herd was still over 500 yards distant, 
had winded us, and turned south. How the 
whips were plied;-short handled quirts of raw- 
hide which stung and maddened the horses. At 
first we gained rapidly on the herd, then for a 
time kept at about their speed, and finally began 
to lose distance. Still we kept on, for we could 
all see’ the coveted prize, the albino, running at 
the head of the herd. 1 felt sure that none of us 
were able to overtake it, but because the others 
did, I kept my horse going, too, shamefully quirt- 
ing him when he was doing his very best. 
It is a trite but true saying that “it is the un- 
expected that always happens.” Out from a 
coulée right in front of the flying herd dashed a 
lone horseman, right in among them, scattering 
the animals in all directions. In much less time 
than it takes to tell it, he rode up right beside 
the albino, we could see him lean over and sink 
arrow after arrow into its ribs, and presently it 
stopped, wobbled, and fell over on its side. When 
we rode up to the place the hunter was standing 
over it, hands raised, fervently praying, promis- 
ing the sun the robe and the tongue of the ani- 
mal. It was a_ three-year-old cow, yellowish- 
white in color, but with normal colored eyes. I 
had believed that the eyes of all albinos were of 
pinkish hue. The successful hunter was a Pie- 
gan, Medicine Weasel by name. He was so ex- 
cited he trembled so, that he could not use his 
knife, and some of our party took off the hide for 
him, and cut out the tongue, he standing over 
them all the time and begging them to be careful, 
to make no gashes, for they were doing the work 
for the sun. None of the meat was taken. It 
was considered a sacrilege to eat it; the tongue 
was to be dried and given to the sun with the 
robe. While the animal was being skinned the 
party we had seen chasing the herd came up; 
they were Blackfeet of the north, and did not 
seem to be very well pleased that the Piegans had 
captured the prize; they soon rode away to their 
camp, and we went to ours, accompanied by 
Medicine Weasel, who had left his camp to the 
eastward in the morning to hunt up some stray 
horses, and had wound up the day‘in a most un- 
expected manner. So ended that particular hunt. 
Before the buffalo finally disappeared I saw one 
FOREST AND’ STREAM. 
more—not a pure albino. In fact, Berry and I 
purchased the tanned robe, which, for want of a 
better term, we named the “spotted robe.’ Singu- 
larly enough, this animal was killed in 1881, when 
the last of the great herds were in the country 
lying between the Yellowstone and Missouri 
rivers, and where in two more years they were 
practically exterminated. This animal was also 
a cow, a large five-year-old. The hair on its 
head, belly, legs and tail was snow white, and 
there was a white spot on each flank about eight 
inches in diameter. When the hide was taken off, 
by ripping it in the usual manner, there was an 
eight or ten-inch border all around it of pure 
white, contrasting vividly with the beautiful 
glossy dark brown of the body of the robe. The 
animal was killed by a young north Blackfoot 
between Big Crooked Creek and: Flat Willow 
Creek, both emptying into the lower Musselshell. 
We had at the time a large post on the Missouri, 
a couple of hundred miles below Fort Benton, 
and a branch post over on Flat Willow. Berry 
was on his way to visit the latter place when he 
came upon a party of Blackfeet just as they had 
concluded a run, and saw the spotted animal be- 
fore it was skinned. He went no farther that 
day, but accompanied the young hunter to his 
father’s lodge where the old man made him wel- 
come. If there was ever a man on earth who 
could coax an Indian to do whatever he wished 
that man was Berry. He pleaded hard for that 
hide all the afternoon and far into the night. It 
was against all precedent and tradition to barter 
such a skin, belonging as it did to the sun. It 
would be a sacrilege to sell it. The young hunter 
got out of the deal by giving it to his father, and, 
finally, as the old man knocked the ashes out of 
the last pipe before retiring, he sighed, and said 
wearily to Berry: “Well, my son, you shall have 
your way; my wife will tan the robe, and some 
day I will give it to you.” 
It was a beautifully tanned robe, and on the 
clean, white leather side the old man painted the 
record of his life; the enemies he had killed, the 
horses he had taken, the combats he had waged 
against the grizzly tribe, and the animals and 
stars of his medicine. There were other traders 
in the same bottom with us on the Missouri. One 
day, with his ancient wife, the old man rode in 
and duly exhibited to them all the wonderful 
robe, and, of course, they all wanted it. “I am 
not ready to sell it,’ the crafty old man said to 
each one. “After a while—well, we'll see; we'll 
see.” 
Then the traders vied with each other in being 
good to the old man. During the balance of the 
winter they kept him supplied with all the whis- 
key, and tobacco, and tea, and sugar and various 
other things that he could use. Two or three 
times a week he and the old wife would come 
down to our place loaded with bottles of whiskey 
and sit before the fire-place in our living room 
and get comfortably full. I loved to watch and 
listen to them, they were so happy, so loving, so 
given to recalling the pleasant days of their 
youth and vigor. And so it went on for several 
months, and finally one spring day, when by 
chance our rivals happened to be lounging in our 
trade room, the old couple sauntered in and 
tossed the robe over the counter, the old man 
saying to Berry: ‘There it is, my son. I fulfill 
my promise. But put it away clear out of sight, 
lest I be tempted to take it back.” 
Maybe we didn’t enjoy the chagrin of our 
7 
rivals! Each one of them had been so sure that 
he was going to get the odd robe. But then they 
were pilgrims; they didn’t “savvy” the Indians. 
We got our 4,000 robes that winter, more than 
all the rest of them together. We finally sold 
the robe. The fame of it spread up and down the 
river, and finally a Montreal, Canada, gentleman, 
making a tour of the country, heard of it; and 
when the steamboat he was on stopped at our 
place he came in and bought it before we knew 
where we were at. We did not wish to sell it, 
and named a price that we deemed prohibitive. 
To our amazement he laid down two large bills, 
threw the robe over his shoulder and hurried 
back to the boat. Berry and I looked at each 
other and said things. WALTER B. ANDERSON, 
[TO BE CONTINUED. | 

Environment and Faces. 
I HAveE before me the photograph of a man [| 
knew in the South who is now dead. There is 
nothing so striking about his appearance as this 
extraordinary resemblance to that of an 
Indian. And yet the man I have reason to 
believe had no Indian blood in his veins. The 
skin is wrinkled and leathery, the pro- 
nounced, the eyes deep sunken and sombre, the 
mouth severe—all being shaded with sadness or 
melancholy. Without intending any 
to the departed, I say that he only required the 
regulation crown of feathers to make a. perfect 
iS 
nose 

disrespect 
Indian of him—in appearance, at least. 
I recall a few more interesting cases of this 
kind. Years ago I happened to be in southern 
Long Island spending a vacation, Strolling one 
day I came upon a little shack at the edge of the 
woods. I supposed at first it was unoccupied— 
some relic of the past—but upon nearer approach 
Can it be possible, I asked my- 
For a 
I smelled smoke. 
self, that I have come upon a hermit? 
moment I paused to observe the structure. It 
may be briefly described as a crude log cabin, 
with here and there patches of tin. It had the 
look of being very old. At any rate, it was de- 
cidedly neglected. When I had satisfied my 
curiosity thus far I approached the door, which 
was ajar. I knocked gently, whereupon a cat 
jumped out and began to rub up against my leg; 
but there was no other response. I then ven- 
tured to peep in. In the gloom (for the hut 
seemed to be unlighted save by the doorway) I 
saw two eyes staring out at me rather savagely. 
At this I confess my first impulse was to turn 
and flee, but, plucking up my courage, I deter- 
mined to see the end of the adventure, for I 
realized that it was going to be something out of 
the common. 
Knocking again I cried out in a somewhat dole- 
ful manner: “Does anyone live here? [I am 
dying of thirst and will give a quarter for a glass 
of water.’ Immediately there was a movemer 
inside and the door was thrown open. 
It was with difficulty I restrained an excl- 
tion at the apparition (I can hardly cal 
which presented itself before me. I 
gaunt figure, slightly stooped and clad 
the face seamed and weather-beaten, | 
certain pride and dignity about it ai 
cidedly suggestive of an Indian chie¢ 
“Did you say you wanted a dri 
asked in a grave, sepulchral sort of 
“If you please,” I said, with the 
ence. 
