
[JuLyY 6, 1907. 

POLING THE RAPIDS. 
Copyright 
hundred yards of us, I dismounted, 
horse broadside to them, had my companion 
dismount and put his horse behind mine, anc 
then throwing my gun over the saddle, pointe 
it at the strangers who at once slowed down 
and at length stopped. The Indian with the. re 
leggings was by this time plainly to be recog- 
nized. . 
When I halted the party, one of them rode 
out in front of the others, and putting his han: 
up to his head took off his hat, which I had not 
previously been able to distinguish, and swung 
it in the air. Evidently, then, one of the party 
was a white man. 
On this, I mounted again, swung my own 
hat and the leader of the party came on to- 
ward us, followed: more slowly by the others 
driving the horses. As they came up to us I 
saw that there were four white men and a 
negro, wearing a cap and overcoat and a pair 
of red drawers. The leader was Liver-eating 
Johnson. 
We passed the time of day. He seemed 
rather hurt that he should have been held up in 
this way, but I told him that we were on horses 
that could not run and that we could not afford 
to take chances. He asked the way to our 
camp, saying that one of the men with him was 
ill and needed medicine. I gave hin 
sary directions and they passed on. Later I 
learned that Johnson and the negro had been 
on a visit to the Crow camp close to the moun- 
tains, whence, after being hospitably received, 
they had come away one night with a dozen or 
fifteen of the best Crow horses that they could 
steal. Then they had attached themselves to a 
little party of skin hunters, and were now tak- 
ing the horses away to try to sell them further 
down on the Missouri. 
Johnson was a brave man and a good scout. 
He had, however, several weaknesses. He was 
a “blowhard” to strangers, for it gratified his 
sense of humor to impose on the pilgrim; and 
he delighted in telling of his marvelous achieve- 
ments to those whom he thought would be- 
lieve him. One of these wonderful things was 
the story of the supposed act in the fight at 
the mouth of the Musselshell, from which he 
got his name. This he sometimes coupled with 
the ‘tale of a man who at the close of an Indian 
fight cut from the back of one of the dead In- 
dians a strip of hide from which he made. or 
declared that+ he intended to make, a razor 
strop. It is anite possible that this legendary 
act put into Johnson’s head the idea of his 
liver-eating story. For some years during the 
swung my 



the’ neces- 

1906, by 
William S. Thomas. 
last of the buffalo days Johnson lived along 
the Missouri from Carroll to Fort Buford. He 
was occasionally employed as scout, but for the 
most part earned his living -by skin hunting. 
Later, on account of the destruction of the 
game, he moved south to live along the Yellow- 
stone, and finally took up his abode at Billings, 
where his latter days were passed in the peace- 
ful occupation of raising garden truck for the 
market. He died, I should think, a dozen years 
ago. 
The town of Carroll—originally a trading 
post, as stated in Schultz’s ‘My Life as an In- 
dian” and later a landing place for freight from 
the Missouri River steamboats which could 
not reach Benton at a low stage ‘of water—was 
deserted soon after the final disappearance of 
the buffalo in Northern Montana and the con- 
struction somewhat later of the Great Northern 
Railroad. Gradually the great river ate out the 
bottom, and one by one the buildings in which 
so many robes had been traded and the land 
about them over which Indians and whites had 
held high revel in the days of the whiskey trade, 
dropped into the river and were swept on down 
stream to be buried fathoms deep under sand 
and silt and perhaps to be worked into new 
bottoms, which the river is constantly building 
up in its changing course. 
The wild animals, the wild red men and their 
hardly less wild white companions have, most 
of them, passed away, and he who now travels 
along the valley of the Missouri and the broken 
bluffs which border it finds, as Mr. Smith says, 
horses, cattle, sheep, deserted settlers’ cabins 
and wire fences. MONTANA. 


ThewOldr Guard! 
Lyso, near Bergen, Norway.—Editor Forest 
and Stream: I cannot: answer to the call to the 
first quarter of a century “Old Guard of 
Forest AND StrEAM,” but, like Von W., I 
answer, “Here!” to more than twenty-five suc- 
cessive years to date, that I have contributed 
to its columns; also, that I have every number 
of the paper since Jan. 1, 1881, and they are 
insured for full value. Although I am writing 
this 4,000 miles from my home (Lockport, N. 
Y.), I am receiving our old friend regular every 
week, and would hardly know how I could get 
along without it; as there is only one other 
here (my hostess) that can speak good, “old 
English” like Forest AND-STREAM, and it was 
only last evening that I read to her “Jake 
Henshaw’s Midshipmites,” which she enjoyed 
much. } 
I am a guest at “the home” of the late Ole 
Bull. Lyso is on an island just off the coast 
ot Norway, containing six hundred acres of 
rocks well covered with pine and birch trees. 
I inclose a picture of Lyso (pronounced 
Lesou), showing Ole Bull, the great Norwegian 
violinist, standing at the foot of the stairs. I 
have been here since the 25th of April and 
expect to leave the 25th of July. 
Incidentally I might say that, on Friday even- 
ing last, I had an hour (between 7 and 8 oclock) 
with the brook trout, which was my second 
experience with this beauty—my first was in 
Maine a year ago. I took ten during the hour, 
but, of course, I did not save the largest one. 
I was invited to come as often as I pleased. It 
is a private stream, and I am the first American 
that was ever invited to fish it. 
J. L. Davison. 

New Publications. 
“HuntinGc Bic GAME” opens, it seems, very ap- 
propriately, with a chapter on bighorn hunting in 
British Columbia, and its author’s (William S. 
Thomas) style at once leads one to follow, him, 
as it were, through the railway journey to Ash- 
croft, the night drive to Lillooet, and the jour- 
ney with pack train into the rough country where 
game was found and trophies secured. Then 
follows a grizzly bear hunt along the hills of 
the Columbia River's feeders, with carfoe and 
camp equipage; hunting caribou in New Bruns- 
wick; stalking deer on the Sonora-Chihuahua 
line in Old Mexico; deer hunting in Virginia; 
canoeing with a tenderfoot in the Kippewa coun- 
try in Canada; and moose hunting with a camera. 
A large number of excellent photographic Ties 
productions show that Mr. Thomas’ skill with 
the camera is of a very high order. Taken alto- 
gether, the volume is one the sportsman will 
read often and with satisfaction. Published by 
G, P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London, 

“THE SPORTSMAN’S PRIMER” is a collection of 
Norman H. Crowell’s best yarns. No one would, 
at first glance, ever suspect Crowell of being a 
humorist, so serious is his mien; but he may 
have acquired this in his efforts to collect and 
memorize strange and picturesque words and 
phrases with which to embellish the Primer. 
Here is a sample: “Some men have walked up 
to a grizzly bear and yanked out his eyebrows. 
These heroes will be found leaning up against 
the bar down at the saloon.’ Again: “Secure 
a firm grip on the bear’s tail, wrap your legs 
around a stump and hold him till he starves to 
death.” Published by the Outing Publishing 
Company, New York. ; 
“THE HAUNTERS OF THE SILENCES” is the latest 
one of Charles G. D. Roberts’ books, and like 
many of his earlier ones, this relates to “animal 
life,” with this difference: That in it he writes 
of polar bears and walruses; of seals ‘and arctic 
owls; of salmon and their enemies; of swordfish 
and sharks, etc., varying these by returning to 
his old hunting grounds in the forests. The 
illustrations are by Charles Livingston Bull and 
are even better than those to be found in Mr. 
Roberts’ other books: Published by L. C. Page 
& Co., Boston, Mass. 
“THe LONESOME TRAIL,” by John G. Neihardt, 
is a collection of twenty stories of western life: 
The exploits of the Indians in their hunting, on 
the warpath and in their camps; the adventures 
of the trappers in the frozen north and of cow- 
boys on the plains—all are told in a fashion that 
is pleasing to the reader who perfers short 
stories. Published by the John Lane Company, 
New York. 

Recent Death. 
Mrs. MarGaret AGAssiz, widow of the late 
Louis Agassiz, the naturalist and his assistant in 
much of his work, passed away last week in her 
eight-first year. She was an American girl, 


















































































