
| FOREST AND STREAM. 387 
We had been but a few days on our trip, andhad stopped 
by the side of a path that wound around the base of the 
mountain, and were debating whether to take the Jonger 
route by the path or with our heavy packs climb over the 
mountain, when we were startled by the sound of whist- 
ling and of horses’ feet approaching. There soon appeared 
a young Indian mounted on his mustang or Indian pony. 
He sat bolt upright, with his blanket thrown carelessly 
over one shoulder, while his rifle in his hand was thrown 
across in front of him. He seemed in a pleasant mood, and 
as he went by he nodded and gave us the usual ‘“‘Bozu,” 
which I returned. Following at a short distance came his 
squaw, loaded down (as usual) with all the traps and para- 
phernalia of a Nitchee ‘‘on a move,” wigwam poles, skins, 
pots, bundles. &c. Poor thing, she was bent nearly double; 
and she could hardly stagger along under the load that 
would have been too much fora strong man. Knowing 
the character and custom of the Indians I merely said, 
turning to Mot, “rather tough, isn’t it?” and Iwas about 
toresume the journey, when Mot replied, with flashing 
eyes, all the spirit of chivalry and honest indignation 
aroused within him, ‘tough? it is outrageous; I won't stand 
it; will you stay by me, George?” ‘What do you propose 
to do?” “Do? I mean to right that poor woman and make 
that red scoundrel treat her like a Christian.” I said, ‘‘it 
won't do, Mot; that is their way, as hard as it appears to 
us, but it is none of our business; the men never do any 
labor themselves, the squaws do it all.” But with tears in 
his eyes the boy begged me not to deny him. Considera- 
bly perplexed, somewhat curious, and not a little amazed, - 
I said, ‘‘well, go ahead.” He rushed up to the Pottawat- 
tamie, saying, “here get off that horse,” took the pack 
from the squaw and commenced dividing it into three par- 
cels, all the while expostulating in no gentle tones with the 
Indian, who seemed thunderstruck at the movements, but 
looked on in dogged silence but with glittering eyes. Once 
or twice his hand reached down for his knife, but as my 
double barrel, with both hammers up, was bearing on his 
breast, a look from my eye caused the hand each time to 
retreat. Mot says, ‘‘you scoundrel, to treat your wife so.” 
“Ugh! my squaw.” ‘Your squaw,” replied the knight er- 
rant, “she is your wife in the sight of God and man, and 
you ought to be strung up for such dastardly treatment.” 
The squaw didn’t seem to like the change either, but Mot 
was inexorable. After dividing the pack, having given 
one to the squaw, and with considerable difficulty fastened 
another on the back of the pony, which, not being accus- 
tomed to such things, danced around pretty lively, he 
placed the other on the Indian’s shoulders, and then I 
thought there would be a fight sure; twice he had his knife 
half out of his sheath, but my threat to shoot him down 
then and there each time deterred him. Mot said, “there, 
you scoundrel, go on; and if I ever know of your treating 
your wife in that way again I'll break every bone in your 
body.” With sullen silence, leading the pony, the Potta- 
wattamie disappeared around a bend in the path. “There,” 
said Mot, drawing a long breath, “I’ve done one good 
deed.” ‘Done a good deed,” I replied; ‘do you know 
what you have done? You have not oply made an enemy 
for life, and very foolishly too, but you have caused that 
poor squaw to get one of the worst whalings she ever had 
in all her servitude. That arrangement won’t last ten min- 
utes, and I will prove it to you, but you must promise not 
to interfere again, for this is too ticklish business for us 
here alone in the woods. An Injun never forgets an in- 
sult of such a kind, and it will be-his consummate cowar- 
dice that will prevent his following us and knifing us in 
our very beds.” ‘‘Poh! Ill risk that; I ain’t afraid.” 
“Well, [don’t know asIam afraid exactly, but it don’t 
pay to take such chances.” 
Now to prove my first assertion, we struck across the 
mountain and hit the path on the other side before they 
got there. We had but just arrived at the path and 
concealed ourselves, when we heard the step of the pony, 
and agit came up there was Mister Nitchee on its back, 
(but he was not whistling now,) with only his blanket and 
rifle, while behind him, bent more double than before, tot- 
tered the poor squaw with all the load, and we could see 
by the furrows down her dirty and besmeared cheeks, and 
red, swollen eyes. that she had been having a hard cry. I 
placed my hand on Mot’s shoulder, and it was all I could 
do to compel him to keep his promise and not again med- 
dle in a matter that was none of his business. He learned 
more about Injuns and their customs afterwards. 
The life of a squaw is a life of the most degrading ser- 
vitude, from the sugar season in the spring—the only time 
when they seem to enjoy themselves, and then they give 
up to wholesale gossip and hilarity— through the corn 
planting, tending, harvesting, &c., to the trapping season 
in the fall, it is one long round of hard work, with kicks 
and cuffs only as pay. 
The squaw does all the work, even builds the wigwam, 
cuts the wood, cooks the food, cures the skins, and when 
moving, carries -all the loads. They ever object to their 
husbands doing work, as they say it makes his hand trem- 
ble, and he can’t kill “heap game,” a cunning dodge, no 
doubt, of the Indian on Mrs. Nitchee. 
A group of squaws making sugar is a grotesque and 
amusing sight. As the time for the running of the sap ap- 
proaches, a party of perhaps twenty or thirty families or 
more will gather in the woods where there may be a sufli- 
cient number of the maple trees. The wigwams will be 
built around in a large circle, the kettles, all small of 
course, holding perhaps only three or four quarts, (for in 
their many movings they could not carry larger ones,) 
strung on poles in a line with a continuous fire the whole 
length. 
of birch bark, which are hung on the trees under where 
a downward gash has been made half girdling the tree. 
These buckets hold only a pint or more, and have to be gath- 
ered and emptied often. The boiling sap is kept almost con- 
tinually on the move from kettle to kettle, until, toward’ the 
thirtieth or fortieth kettle or Jess, it is sugar and ready to 
The sap is gathered in small baskets or buckets 
be clarifled or grained, 
To he sure an Indian is not very particular in his tastes 
or neat in his domestic affairs; and if he comes home hun- 
gry is pretty apt to chuck into the boiling syrup the body 
of a squirrel or muskrat, or in fact anything else in the 
eating line, but the squaws have a way peculiar to them- 
selves of clarifying it, and when they take pains itis a 
good article. They doit up in packages of birch bark, 
which are called mocucks, and when of fine quality it finds a 
ready market, though I have seen some Injun sugar that 
was simply abominably black: in appearance and execrable 
in taste. 
The Nitchee then takes the mocucks, or rather, compels 
the squaw to take them to the settlements, where he trades 
them off for whiskey, amunition, whiskey, nicknacks, and 
whiskey, and if the squaw gets a string of beads or a red 
handkerchief and no kicks or cuffs from her drunken lord, 
she is indeed lucky. 
As I said before, the happy time for the squaw is during 
the “sugar making.” Then are they gathered together, and 
all their woman nature comes out strong, and like their 
lighter sisters, gossip is the order of the day. What a per- 
fect babble of tongues; all are talking and gesticulating to- 
gether; talk, talk, chat, chat, rattlety bang; with their 
rippling laughter now and then arising aboveall the clatter. 
The immediately surrounding trees and bushes are 
adorned (?) with many a pappoose, silently swinging back 
and forth, as the little occupant, with its shining bead-like 
eyes, watches the movements going on; uttering no cry 
under any circumstances; the rain may beat down upon 
their unprotected heads, or the hot sun may strike full in 
their dusky faces, no one ever heard an Indian baby utter 
a word of complaint. Every now and then a mother would 
jump up from her stirring kettle, seize one of the boards to 
which her offspring was strapped, clasp it to her breast a 
few minutes and then hang it back in its place. The nut- 
brown child of the forest had received its dinner. During 
this season the lord of the wigwam, if not off ona hnnt, 
lies asleep all the day on his bed of skins or boughs. ‘Such 
is life,” at least of the Pottawattamie, as I knew them. 
“We had crossed the Black’ river, made our examination 
of the land, and turned back, but alas, the river froma 
width of a few hundred feet now reached over half a mile, 
the water from the recent freshet had overflowed its usual 
bed and extended far into the woods. Our canoes 
were gone, our s‘ock of provisions were only sufficient to 
reach the settlement on an ordinary occasion. Now we 
must take a weary tramp up the river, we knew not how 
far, until we found a crossing. A long and weary tramp 
we had. Often went we to our bed of boughs with empty 
stomachs. The game seemel to have left for parts un- 
known. Now and then we heard the woodpecker’s gentle 
tap on the resounding tree, but when we looked for him, 
he was ‘“‘non est;” or we would hear the hoarse croak of a 
solitary raven, as he stopped for a moment on the top of a 
tall tree, adding only a greater depth to our sombre feel- 
ings. No deer, no grouse, no other living creature could 
we see. 
We had been two days with only eight small crackers 
apicce, with our coffee; we were getting very weak. Poor 
Mot, a young Hercules witha full stomach, wilted like a 
child; his pluck was magnificent; although with difficulty 
he could lift his weary limbs over a two foot log, not a 
murmur escaped him. Being more hardened to such 
things I felt the matter much less, but oh, how I pitied 
him. 
We were crawling through a poplar barren, when some- 
thing flopped up and was gliding off through the bushes. 
My gun was at my shoulder in a moment, and as the smoke 
cleared away I had the satisfaction of seeing something 
pitch down through the leaves some forty yards distant. 
Mot’s eyes glistened, and a fervent “thank God” broke 
from him. I, though somewhat pleased, did not feel quite 
so exhilarated, as I had rather a faint idea of what I had 
killed. Upon approaching the place, we picked up a large 
gray bird, a bird of feathered horns and monstrous eyes. 
I could not restrain my laugh, bad as I felt, at the expres- 
sion on Mot’s face, as he said, “‘is itan owl?” Butwe 
were hungry enough even foran owl. We carried him 
along over the barren until we struck down into a hollow 
and found a brook. I picked the bird while Mot made the 
fire. Icutup the fowl, and with pepper and salt put it 
into our pail over the fire; to be sure there were more 
bones than meat, and originally more feathers than both 
together, but we were very hungry. Now, I am aware 
that there isa very settled impression abroad in regard to 
owl as an edible delicacy, but I assure Judge M— and Tom 
J— that that owl soup was not to be laughed at or treated 
in a trifling way. I tell you it was a serious business to us- 
The soup was good, though I fully believe myself that an 
onlon, with a carrot, a few sliced potatoes, a little celery, 
a taste of Worcester, or a dash of Cayenne, might have im- 
proved it some. We had rather a severe muscular tug, too, 
at the bones, and Mot remarked that, like the man and the 
cow, under the peculiar circumstances he could eat owl 
but that “‘he did not hanker arter it.” If it did not exactly 
save our lives, we at least arose from that attack strengh- 
ened and rejuvenated, How good our pipes did taste, (per- 
haps your dainty city sport would think so after sucha 

delicacy,) as we laid back ona bed of moss, and took an 
hour’s rest. I think that even Tom under such circum- 
stances could have enjoyed a cigar, with no fear of a dele- 
terious effect on his nervous system, (couidn’t he, Lew?) 
We found a place at last where by falling a tree we cross- 
ed the river; we were then by our reckoning twenty-seven 
miles to a settlement, asaw mill on one of the eastern 
branches. That morning we had ten crackers apiece left, 
including the crumbs. We calculated after eating four for 
breakfast we could reach a deserted shanty we knew of 
eighteen miles distant, that night, then four more crackers 
for supper, leaving two again for breakfast, with coffee 
for one cup apiece each time. The next day we thought 
we could easily reach the saw mill. 
We fortunately found an old lumber road, and by follow- 
ing that we had easier travelling, and arrived at the shanty 
about two P. M. While getting ready for our supper and 
bed Mat looking up (and so hollow eyed and woe begone 
in all his appearance my heart smote me) said, ‘‘I think 
if I had those six crackers and those two cups of coffee in 
one, I could reach that mill to-night and get a square 
meal.” Well, if you think so we'll try it. It was a hard 
way, but just before dark we reached the place; we found 
a jolly lot of lumbermen, and were made heartily welcome. 
After a good wash anda rest, we were called to supper. I 
had explained matters to the good woman and a large sup- 
ply was placed before us. First I remember there was a 
large platter of fried venison, not less than ten pounds, to 
all appearances; roast potatoes, a good sized dish; broiled 
ditto; a large plate of hot biscuit, and an eight quart pan of 
fried doughnuts, with some kind of pie, I don’t remember 
what, and a pot of tea. 
I ate three or four slices of venison, with some potatoes, 
two biscuits and a couple of doughnuts, and drank two 
cups of tea. Mot had not said a word since we sat down, 
but I saw that he was going in heavy; in fact, was doing 
a' good business. ; 
I went out to the mill, smoked a pipe, aud enjoyed a 
good talk with the proprietor. Nearly a half hour elapsed, 
when the woman came out, and consternation dire was de- 
picted in her countenance as she exclaimcd— 
“For the Lord’s sake, what kind of a man is that in 
there ?” 
‘“ Why,” said I, ‘‘ what is the matter 2” 
“You told me you were very hungry, and I know what 
appetites.men of the woods have, and I cooked for eight, 
but as sure as you live he has eaten everything on the table 
and is asking for more venison.” Well, I replied, give him 
all he wants and charge accordingly in the bill, ‘‘Oh,” she 
exclaimed, ‘‘it is not that. We have got plenty of it and 
he shall have all he wants, but where in the world does he 
put it? Are his legs hellow all the way down’? And 
Mot got it. Shortly after he came out pricking his teeth, 
saying he felt considerably better and could beat me clean 
out of my boots on a tramp the next day. 
JACOBSTAFF. 
SS 1 
MOUNTING DEER FEET. 
—_+___. 
Eprror Forrest AND SrrREAM:— 
No doubt, during the past shooting season, many of your 
readers have succeeded in bringing down the magnificently 
antlered deer, caribou, or moose. Most sportsmen like to 
preserve a fine pair of antlers, and frequently ’a hoof is 
made into some useful or ornamental article. The mount- 
ing of the hoofs in some form or other is generally expen- 
sive, and frequently it is very inconvenient to get either 
hoofs or antlers mounted by a skilled person. It is to 
those whose distance from skilled labor, or the trouble and 
expense connected with mounting horns or hoofs, often 
causes them to cast away many a pair of antlers or set of 
feet which they would gladly have kept, that I would ad- 
dress myself. 
The feet of the deer, so generally thrown away, may be 
made to serve a variety of useful and ornamental purposes 
with a very little trouble. They make a pretty and appro- 
priate gun or fishing rod rack; also, suitable pegs for hats 
or sporting accoutrements, and in conjunction with a pair 
of antlers form a very éffective hat and coat rack fora 
hall. To make a gun rack takea piece of black walnut, 
ash, chestnut, or maple, about three inches wide, and one 
and a half inches thick. Plane it smooth, and if possible 
plane the edges with a molding plane; bore two holes, one 
near each end (say six inches distant), and at the sameslant 
you wish your pegs to have; make the holes to fit the legs, 
which should have been cut off the length required. Im- 
mediately above the holes made to receive the legs, two 
small holes should be bored for the screws which fasten the 
board to the wall. Fasten it up, and you have a neat and 
handsome support for your gun or rod. A row of hat 
pegs may be nade in this manner, and single ones may be 
made by using small squares of wood. 
A coat and hat rack for a hall may be made by crossing 
two strips of wood diagonally, or arranging as taste may 
dictate, and inserting a deer leg at each extremity and one 
at the crossing. A mounted head or pair of antlers should 
surmount the whole, the antlers being simply mounted by 
being screwed cr nailed toa piece of wood, either square 
or oval. 
In conclusion, I would say that where black walnut o- 
other ornamental wood is not procurable, a most excellent 
imitation may be made by using common pine. Buya 
few cents worth of permanganate of potash; dissolve it in 
water, and stain your wood to any shade desired. When 
dry, varnish, and you will have an imitation of walnut that 
almost surpasses the original. Hoping the above may 
prove of use to some of your many readers, I remain, 
Yours truly, TRANSIT, 
