ust 
 
 about 
 
 a boy 
 
 WS-Phillips 
 
 CElComancho) 
 
JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
Just About a Boy 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER S. PHILLIPS 
 (El Comancho) 
 
 HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY 
 
 CHICAGO & NEW YORK 
 
 MDCCCXCIX 
 
COPYRIGHT 1899, BY 
 HERBERT S. STONE & CO 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 THERE ARE BOYS STILL IN THIS OLD WORLD 
 OF OURS HAPPY, BRIGHT LITTLE SAVAGES 
 WHO HAVE STILL TO BECOME CIVILIZED AND 
 LEARN A LANGUAGE. UNTIL THEN THEY WILL 
 LOVE THE WOODS AND THE WILDS AND BECOME 
 FRIENDS WITH ALL THE VAST POPULATION OF 
 THE WILDERNESS AND SO LEARN ITS SECRETS. 
 SUCH A BOY IS A SAFE BOY IF HE FOLLOW THIS 
 NATURAL BENT, FOR THERE IS NOTHING VICIOUS 
 ABOUT THE WILDERNESS, AND TO THE BOY WHO 
 LOVES IT THE WORLD OVER THIS LITTLE BOOK 
 
 IS DEDICATED. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 M532988 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I Meet the Boy 1 
 
 A Day Along the River .... 13 
 Honey-Hunting with the Boy . . .25 
 
 After Ducks 41 
 
 Tell-tale Tracks .51 
 
 We Go A-fishing . 61 
 
 Just a Lazy Afternoon . . . .69 
 Floating and Fishing on the River . 79 
 What Happened in Camp . . . .89 
 A Down-Stream Journey ... 99 
 A Race with a Prairie Fire . . .109 
 Beaver Trapping . . . . . 121 
 
 Sno wed-Up in Camp 131 
 
 We Start for the Mountains . . . 141 
 Down in the Quicksand .... 151 
 Just "Hitting the Trail" ... 161 
 
 A Night Experience 171 
 
 Up Kara Mountain and Down Again . 181 
 Across the Desert Country . . . 193 
 
 Lore of the Trail 203 
 
 Our Home-Coming 225 
 
PKEFACE 
 
 These little stories are not written with 
 the idea of adding any shining light to the 
 large literature of the English language, 
 but are just simple days taken from the 
 life of a simple Western boy, who grew up 
 along the shores of a little Western river. 
 
 This boy was no better and probably no 
 worse than thousands of other boys, yet 
 there is, and always was, a certain love of 
 the wilderness and an insight into the 
 lives of the wild people of the woods and 
 valleys, that made him a gentle young 
 savage, manly, true and keen. 
 
 I liked him from the first and associated 
 more or less with him until he grew up 
 and became the father of another boy, who 
 is much like this boy that I know. 
 
 Such a boy interests other boys, and 
 grown-up boys, too, and for this reason I 
 was moved to tell of the doings of the 
 young savage there on the little Western 
 river first in the Forest and Stream." 
 
 Soon I found that others loved this boy 
 
PREFACE 
 
 for his gentle boyishness, and so I put his 
 doings into book form. 
 
 This lad is actual flesh and blood, and 
 has to-day outgrown his youthful ideas 
 yet he is just as good company as ever, 
 and loves the wilderness as well. 
 
 He lives at - ; perhaps I had better 
 not tell you just where he lives, but if you 
 happen into the prairie country sixty miles 
 or so west of the Missouri River, you may 
 recognize the island where I first met him, 
 for a railroad now crosses the river there, 
 and its bridge rests on a central pier just 
 at the foot of it and above, in plain sight 
 from the train, is the great sweep of 
 bending river with the big walnut trees, 
 still growing in the sandy soil still throw 
 ing a grateful shade for troops of other 
 boys who "goswimmin " just above there 
 as of yore. I saw all this only a short 
 time ago, and I could not help thinking 
 of the days when this boy of mine was a 
 savage, whose soft footfall pattered about 
 here and who was part of the life of those 
 days. THE AUTHOR. 
 
Just About a Boy 
 
 I MEET THE BOY 
 
 OKCE in the time that is now repre 
 sented by pictures in the mental gallery 
 only, I fished a Western stream. 
 
 It was a pleasant stream, I remember, 
 that dimpled in little waves where the 
 gentle south wind kissed the wider 
 reaches, and there were curious, wavy 
 shadows under the opposite bank where 
 the grasses hung down and the cotton- 
 woods spread their ample branches to 
 shade the water. Hidden reefs made 
 riffles in the current. Circling eddies 
 behind the boulders that occasionally 
 poked up above the water, furnished rest 
 ing places for big blue channel catfish that 
 took my minnow or frog with a savage 
 rush like a salmon. 
 
 1 
 
2 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 The water was cool and clear, and the 
 fish that lived there were full of fight, and 
 such good eating that I often wandered to 
 this Western river and cast my bait. 
 
 True, it was "not all of fishing to fish" 
 in those days, just as it is now, and I 
 mixed my time between fishing and watch 
 ing the natural beauties of the landscape. 
 
 On this particular day in June I had 
 waded down the stream until the drowse 
 of noontide was in the air. I was tired of 
 fishing and of fish, had fought great blue- 
 black fellows until, for once at least, I 
 wanted no more ; so I climbed out on the 
 shaded point of the little island in mid 
 stream and stretched at full length along 
 the grass, resting and content in watching 
 the life I saw around me. 
 
 Swallows came tacking along near the 
 surface of the river, darting up, down and 
 crosswise, as they feasted on the insect 
 inhabitants of the air. Fleecy clouds 
 floated overhead and disappeared in space 
 like phantom balloons. A saucy king 
 fisher flashed up from somewhere and 
 
I MEET THE BOY 3 
 
 came to a stop on a nearby snag, looking 
 for all the world like a part of the dead 
 wood a moment after he alighted, and I 
 forgot all about him until I heard a splash 
 and knew instinctively that another small 
 fish lacked wisdom, but had found it out 
 too late. 
 
 Bees, the only busy things in sight, 
 fumbled the yellow heads of a few rosin 
 weeds that looked toward the sun. The 
 river people sang with crooning voices an 
 underwater song in the hurrying riffles, 
 tinkle, bubble, gurgle the quiet swirl of 
 the waters. 
 
 A splash up at the head of the rapids 
 where "the big one got away" an hour 
 before, another splash in the pool below, 
 and a circle of ever -widening rings. 
 
 A big heron stalked lazily along a sandbar 
 three hundred or four hundred yards 
 down stream, and the summer air made 
 him as big as an ostrich. 
 
 A soft patter of bare feet announced the 
 arrival of the boy. He had waded across 
 to the head of the island and then came by 
 
JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 land to the lower end. He saw me and 
 stopped short, hesitatingly. 
 
 He was all boy, too, about fourteen or 
 fifteen years old, sturdy, bright-faced, 
 exceedingly homely and clad in a straw 
 hat the worse for wear, a flannel shirt 
 wide open at the throat, a leather belt 
 with a knife sheath dangling from it, and 
 well, the rest of his costume was mostly 
 an expression of gladness. He was cer 
 tainly a picture of health and youthful 
 "orneriness" as he stood there in the Juno 
 sunshine, digging one bare toe into the 
 Band and balancing himself with a long 
 cane fishpole in an uneasy way, and I 
 made a mental note that I somehow liked 
 that boy. 
 
 "Hello, young man! Fishing, are you?" 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "Catch anything yet?" 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "Where are your fish?" 
 
 "Got em picketed out up at th head 
 o th ilan . Git any?" 
 
 "Yes, I have quite a string down 
 
I MEET THE BOY 5 
 
 there," I said, pointing toward the water 
 where I had secured my fish. 
 
 The boy walked down, dropped his fish- 
 pole and examined my string with a crit 
 ical eye. "Got some good ones, ain t 
 yeh?" 
 
 "Yes, pretty fair, I think, for half a 
 day s casting." 
 
 "I got bout that many, and I ve on y 
 bin out bout two hours. Run out o 
 bait n come down here for minnies." 
 
 I saw no net or other contrivance for 
 securing minnows, so I asked: "How do 
 you catch your bait?" 
 
 "Seine em," laconically. 
 
 "Where s your net?" 
 
 "Over yonder," jerking his thumb in 
 the direction of a dense clump of willows. 
 "Got er cached sost I can git it when I 
 want it. Say, gee ! that s uh dandy pole 
 yeh got, ain t it, n uh reel too!" he 
 remarked, casting an admiring glance at 
 the old lancewood rod that leaned against 
 the bushes. 
 
 "Yes, that old rod is a good one; not 
 
6 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 very handsome, but it has stood the test, 
 and I know what it will do." 
 
 Gee, wish I had uh pole like that. Must 
 be fun to see ole Balaam go with all that 
 line ; nen uh little Rastus d make er bend, 
 too, I reckon," he added, reflectively. 
 
 I did not then understand that this boy 
 had a boyish name of his own for the 
 people of the wilderness, but I afterward 
 learned that "Balaam" meant a large fish 
 and "Rastus" was a small one, so I replied 
 that all kinds and sizes of fish "made her 
 bend." 
 
 The boy closely examined and tested the 
 balance of the rod, remarked that "she 
 switched like uh buggy whip," and 
 showed so much interest that I concluded 
 to let him "try her." 
 
 "Would you like to catch a fish with 
 my rod?" 
 
 "Would I ? Well, I guess yes." 
 
 "All right, now I ll show you a few 
 tricks about handling it, so you won t 
 smash my tip, you know; and then you 
 may try your skill." 
 
I MEET THE BOY 7 
 
 He was delighted, and paid strict atten 
 tion as I explained the wrist movement 
 in the cast. In a few trials he had 
 mastered the knack ; indeed, he took to it 
 as naturally as a duck to water, and was 
 ready. 
 
 "Reeckon I ll git uh few dandy red- 
 horse minnies, nen I ll git uh Balaam sure 
 right crost there by that ole root. Theys 
 all us uh Balaam er two over there, n I ll 
 git one all right." 
 
 He scrambled into a thick clump of wil 
 lows on the island, ducked in among the 
 branches and brought out a minnow net 
 made of a yard or so of blue mosquito bar, 
 with the ends rolled around a couple of 
 willow sticks. With this primitive outfit 
 he waded out into the current, and making 
 a quick sweep through an eddy behind a 
 rock, dipped up about a dozen fine red- 
 horse minnows, bright as a bit of rainbow, 
 and brought them ashore. Here he picked 
 out three or four, remarking: "Yeh want 
 to git these rough-nosed fellers if yeh want 
 good bait," though I saw no difference in 
 
JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 the color or size or any characteristic of 
 the minnows until the boy showed me the 
 heads of two or three of them. One was 
 smooth and slippery as any fish is, while 
 the other fish felt as if it had a skin of 
 sandpaper, it was so rough. The boy 
 declared that a catfish took the rough 
 kind "quicker n lightnin ," when it 
 would not notice the smooth kind that 
 looked just like it. 
 
 He put the few baits that he had se 
 lected into his hat, and then complacently 
 put the hat back on his head, saying: 
 "They re handy that way, an yeh can 
 git em fresh whenever yeh run out o 
 bait." 
 
 He strung one on the hook to his liking 
 and then waded out into the stream within 
 casting distance of the old root he had 
 mentioned. At the third cast he got a 
 strike, and in a moment I saw he had a 
 large one. "Got ole Balaam, sure!" he 
 shouted. I gave him directions about 
 handling for a few moments, but soon saw 
 that he instinctively understood the hand- 
 
I MEET THE BOY 
 
 ling of a rod and reel, so I stood still and 
 watched the fight, and a pretty one it was, 
 too. 
 
 In about ten minutes the boy started 
 back for shore, working the fish slowly and 
 carefully across the stream, leading him 
 always into the stiffest currents he could. 
 I waded out with the net and stood ready, 
 and when the catch came within reach I 
 landed him safe in the net. "Gee! that s 
 uh slick way to git yer fish, too," said the 
 boy, as he noted the landing-net act. We 
 walked up on the island and unhooked the 
 prize, which tipped the pocket scales at 
 nine and a quarter pounds, and then sat 
 in the shade talking. The boy was en 
 thusiastic about the working of the rod, 
 though a nine-pound fish seemed to inter 
 est him only as an adjunct to the sport of 
 reeling in and reeling out. 
 
 "Gee ! that s uh mighty nice pole. How 
 much d yeh pay for em?" I told him 
 the run of prices on rods, and explained 
 the points of a good one to him. "I m 
 go in to have one like that," he said, and 
 
10 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 I knew he meant it by the snap of his 
 square young jaw. 
 
 In our conversation that afternoon I 
 found that the boy knew every foot of the 
 river for miles up and down stream, and 
 every foot of the surrounding country 
 besides, for he had a shotgun and a rifle 
 and hunted in season. 
 
 He said he went to school * sometimes," 
 and always camped out in vacation. He 
 had his boat and cayuse, too, so he was 
 fixed for all kinds of outdoor sport. 
 When the sun began to lengthen the shad 
 ows the boy reckoned he d "vamoose," but 
 we parted firm friends, and with the under 
 standing that we would meet again on the 
 following Saturday at the dam, and fish 
 the riffles down stream together. 
 
 "So long," said the boy, as he gathered 
 up his long cane pole and his big fish, and 
 silently disappeared into the bushes of the 
 island, barefooted and barelegged, unmind 
 ful of the scratching bushes or the saw-like 
 edges of the wiry slough grass. 
 
 "There is a boy that is a character and 
 
I MEET THE BOY 11 
 
 is a good one to study," I thought. I 
 was right, too; for I saw him grow up, 
 hunted, fished and traveled with him, was 
 at his wedding and am good friends with 
 his five-year-old, who shows signs of being 
 a "chip from the old block" already. 
 
A DAY ALONG THE RIVER 
 
 Saturday came I went to the 
 dam, equipped for fishing. The boy was 
 there ahead of me, and had already seined 
 a lot of his favorite red-horse minnows, 
 and was keeping them alive in a little pond 
 he had huilt where the waters from a 
 spring trickled down the hill. 
 
 "Hello, you re on time n I m all ready. 
 Got lots o bait for both o us. Got uh 
 new pole, too. What d ye think o her?" 
 he asked, without giving me time to get a 
 word in edgeways. 
 
 I took the rod, a stout lancewood, and 
 examined it. It was perfect in every par 
 ticular except weight, and I told him it 
 was a trifle heavy, I thought, otherwise all 
 right. "Well, yeh see; I kinder thought 
 I might bust uh little one fore I got ust 
 to it, so I got this one. Could a got uh 
 littler one, but I was uh little leery bout 
 13 
 
14 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 it. Reckon she ll do. Hain t half so 
 heavy as my ole cane, anyhow," he sagely 
 remarked, as he fondled the new rod and 
 tested the spring of its bending length. 
 
 "Here, put some o these in yer hat," 
 he continued, scooping up a double hand 
 ful of fine minnows. I pushed my bait 
 box around and he dumped them in, but 
 put his own in his hat, because they were 
 handier there according to his notion. 
 The minnow net he stuck through his 
 belt, letting it dangle without any brails. 
 He could cut the latter anywhere along the 
 stream, so he did not bother himself with 
 the extra weight. 
 
 "Ready?" he asked. "Yes," I an 
 swered, and we started into the stream, 
 shoes, trousers and all, for he had his on 
 this time perforce, as there were houses on 
 each side of the stream. 
 
 We waded out to a bar that reached 
 partly across the river below the dam, and 
 then the boy showed his knowledge. 
 "Here, yeh wade bout four steps straight 
 toward th dam, and you ll find uh big flat 
 
A D,AY ALONG THE RIVER 15 
 
 rock there, where th water is waist deep. 
 Git up on th rock, and it ll only come 
 half-way to yer knees. When yeh git 
 there, throw yer bait right where those two 
 little currents meet, n you ll git uh Ba 
 laam, for they s uh place where they stay, 
 down in amongst th rocks there. I know, 
 cause I ve dove down there n bin all 
 over th bottom. Yeh must throw right 
 ed-zackly where I tell yeh, or you ll git 
 fast, for they s uh big old cottonwood 
 stump jammed in among th rocks on this 
 side about two feet, n th rock bottom 
 goes down in uh straight step-off on th 
 other side, n they s only bout three feet 
 clear water between th two. It s bout 
 nine or ten feet deep, n they s uh current 
 at th bottom that goes up stream toward 
 th dam, cause th water falls n makes 
 sort o an undertow. Go ahead. " 
 
 I did as directed, and found the rock as 
 described, and caught some fine fish of six 
 or seven pounds weight before the boy 
 shouted to "Come on, this is petered 
 out." By questioning I found that the 
 
16 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 boy had actually been all over the bottom 
 of the river, right up to the very falls of 
 the dam, unmindful of a strong undertow 
 that had drowned several men. 
 
 He seemed to think nothing of the dan 
 ger he exposed himself to by taking 
 chances among those currents. 
 
 "It s easy to swim in there if yeh know 
 how," he said. "All yeh got to do when 
 yeh want to git out is juss come up to th 
 top quick, nen turn on yer back n float 
 out with th top current, that s going 
 down stream all time, cept right up by 
 th fall, and there th top current goes 
 up stream n th undertow goes down. 
 Yeh can feel th difference soon as yeh 
 strike it; so, if yeh are close to th fall, 
 dive n stay down till yeh meet th under 
 tow comin back, nen shoot to th top n 
 turn on yer back, n yore all right. I 
 mighty near got caught once, though, 
 fore I found out bout th currents," ho 
 added reflectively. "I got shoved down 
 n yanked back up five er six times, but 
 I juss helt my breath n reckoned I could 
 
A DAY ALONG THE RIVER 17 
 
 keep it up tnll I got into th right cur 
 rent. Had uh purty close call, though." 
 
 We were slowly wading along down 
 stream as we talked, and each picked up 
 a good fish here and there among the 
 eddies until we got near the foot of the 
 rapid, half a mile from the dam. "Now 
 come here n I ll show yeh nother place," 
 said the boy. "Throw right over there, 
 juss above that ole maple on th bank. 
 They s uh deep place just below there, n 
 th current has cut away back nunder th 
 roots. Some day th maple is goin to 
 tumble in n spoil that hole. I come 
 down through here one day n didn t git 
 a bite from th dam clear here, nen I got 
 a three-pounder out o this hole, nen I got 
 uh nother, n uh nother, tull I stood 
 here n caught twenty-nine of em, all 
 bout th same size n bout three pounds 
 weight. I didn t know they was uh hole 
 there then, but I found it out afterwards, 
 n I always ketch bout th same size fish 
 there, bout three pounds." 
 
 I had cast into the place indicated, and 
 
18 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 almost before the minnow struck I had a 
 fish which, when landed, was sure enough 
 " bout a three-pounder." We caught 
 several more there, and they ran just about 
 the same size, and I found that the hole 
 could be depended on for "three-pounders" 
 almost every time. 
 
 "Now, less git out V walk down to th 
 big walnut trees," said the boy. "They 
 ain t any use fishin in this still water 
 below here. Might git uh few, but it s 
 too slow. I like swift water, so th fish 
 ill run when yeh git uh holt of em. 
 Tain t no fun to fish n still water." 
 
 I thought the boy spoke more wisely 
 than he knew, for he had the true sports 
 man s instinct, and only needed a few 
 hints properly administered to show him 
 that he was really enjoying life just about 
 in the right way. 
 
 We climbed the bank, wet and dripping, 
 walked down stream along a path that the 
 boy seemed to know would come to the 
 river again at about the right place. 
 
 "Mighty good place for quails n rabbits 
 
A DAY ALONG THE RIVER 19 
 
 up there bout three mile," the boy re 
 marked, as we crossed a little creek. "If 
 yer here this winter I ll show yeh some 
 fun. I know right where to find em, 
 V thout uh dog, too. Don t like uh 
 dog to hunt with anyhow," continued the 
 young savage. "Makes too much noise, 
 nen they always run ahead n scare ever - 
 thing up before yeh git close enough. 
 Best way is to trail em." 
 
 "How can you trail quail?" I asked. 
 
 "Easy. They leave lots o signs, even 
 if they hain t any snow on th ground. 
 They kind o flutter in th dust like uh 
 chicken does in th middle o th day, n 
 they always come to bout th same place 
 at th same time every day, if they hain t 
 hunted too much so s to scare em away, 
 nen they go to some other place n begin 
 all over again." 
 
 This was news to me, but I found out 
 that the boy was a regular Indian in his 
 ways of hunting, and whatever he said 
 about game or fish of that section I 
 learned to depend on as accurate, for he 
 
20 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 knew the habits of wild creatures as few 
 people do. lie loved them, and only 
 killed what he could use, and later I have 
 seen him pass a covey of quail after he had 
 all he wanted and never pay any more 
 attention to them than he would to a tame 
 chicken, except to remark, "I ll see you 
 later, my beauties," and he generally did 
 it, too. 
 
 When we reached the lower riffles we 
 waded in again and fished to the island 
 before lunch time ; then I suggested that 
 we climb out and have a little lunch, a 
 proposition that suited him exactly. 
 
 "We ll go to my camp here n have as 
 good uh feed as though we was home," he 
 said, as we tied our fish in a shady spot 
 and climbed upon the island. "Yeh see 
 I fish here uh good deal, and I ve fixed up 
 uh kind o uh camp, sost I m at home like. 
 Tain t much, but we can git uh bite to 
 eat all right," he said, as he led the way 
 toward the center of the island, where the 
 bushes seemed so thick that one could 
 scarcely get through them. To my sur- 
 
A DAY ALONG THE RIVER 21 
 
 prise, the boy twisted and turned about, 
 always with a clear path under our feet 
 and easy traveling, until we reached a little 
 open space where three giant cottonwood 
 trees grew close together. "Yeh see, I 
 cut uh trail in here sost I could git in 
 thout much trouble. Had to wind around 
 to make it blind. If I d cut it straight 
 ever body would come right into camp, 
 but it winds around sost yeh can t see any 
 trail tall less yeh know where to go." 
 
 That, I thought, was certainly an Indian 
 way of hiding camp and leaving the front 
 door open, trusting to the blindness so 
 common among civilized people for pro 
 tection. 
 
 "Now, we ll have uh feed right," said 
 the boy, as we reached his "camp," which 
 appeared to be only a snug little opening 
 in the middle of the thicket; but as he 
 began to brush aside innocent looking 
 little bunches of leaves and twigs, I saw the 
 same Indian methods displayed again, for 
 under each pile reposed some essential 
 camp article, and no two in a place. A 
 
22 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 coffee pot appeared, then a frying-pan, tin 
 plate, spoons, knives, forks, and last, but 
 not least, he scattered a few bits of bark 
 and revealed a hollow space dug under the 
 base of one of the cottonwoods, and in 
 this hole a wooden box. Opening the box, 
 he brought forth a bag of oiled canvas, 
 and this in turn produced coffee, sugar, 
 salt and a generous slab of bacon, each 
 tied up in a separate oiled bag. 
 
 4 Hain t got ny bread juss now," he 
 remarked; "got to bring some down, too. 
 Eat the last up uh few days ago." 
 
 I had plenty of lunch in my basket, and 
 with fresh fish fried with the bacon and 
 hot black coffee we made a meal that was 
 fit for kings. 
 
 "I got uh little tent over yonder, too, 
 so I m pretty much at home down here 
 rain er shine. Got nother outfit cached up 
 th river, too. Got uh stove up they n 
 uh shovel, besides uh little tent n plenty 
 o grub. Yeh see I don t like to pack 
 stuff with me, so I pack it out n hide it, 
 n nen I m fixed." Truly, the boy was a 
 
A DAY ALONG THE RIVER 23 
 
 half -wild person in those days, and his 
 soft step wandered through all the byways 
 of his domain and he was king. 
 
 After our lunch he stowed things away, 
 and deftly hid them by making the sur 
 roundings appear perfectly natural, and I 
 would never have suspected the existence 
 of a camp there when he got through. 
 
 "Now, less go home. I ve got all th 
 fishin I want if you have," he said, after 
 we had rested and talked an hour after 
 dinner. "Yeh go ahead n I ll kind o 
 kick th leaves over yer trail," he said, as 
 we were ready to leave. I went down the 
 windings of the trail and then discovered 
 that he had cut the bushes about half off 
 on one side and bent them down over the 
 cut to hide it and show only an ordinary 
 broken bush, perfectly natural in the 
 woods, and thus had cut his trail into 
 camp. 
 
 When we got back to town I invited 
 him up to the house, to come in just 
 whenever he felt like it or wanted com 
 pany on a trip, and that is how we came 
 
24 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 to be close friends and travel "pardners" 
 in all these after years, for the hoy came 
 in often and was always ready for a trip 
 somewhere. 
 
HONEY HUNTING WITH THE 
 BOY 
 
 "SAY, want to go n git some wile 
 honey?" said the boy one day in the fall, 
 as he rode up to the barn door. "Know 
 where they s uh dandy tree juss full o 
 honey. Found it up th river yesterday 
 when I was tinkerin round there with th 
 boat. Lots o squirrels up there, too, n 
 we can have uh reg lar picnic if we start 
 early. I ll go home n hitch up, n yeh 
 git ready, will yeh?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess I can fix it," I answered. 
 "You get your things together and be 
 back in an hour, and I will be ready." 
 
 "Aw right," he said, and was away like 
 the wind on his black pony, a little beast 
 that seemed to enjoy the boy s company as 
 well as I did, by the way. 
 
 In an hour he drove up to the gate, and 
 a drive of eight miles brought us to the 
 creek a half-mile west of the river and 
 25 
 
26 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 opposite the point we wished to reach on 
 the main road. 
 
 Here we stopped, and began to get ready 
 for our walk. I was busy putting together 
 what we wanted, and did not notice the 
 boy for a few minutes, during which time 
 he had unhitched the pony and dragged 
 the buggy up by the fence, out of the way 
 of passing teams. Then the pony was 
 stripped and a halter with a picket line 
 attached put on him and the other end 
 anchored to the fence, so he could feed 
 without reaching the road. 
 
 Then I saw a queer proceeding. The 
 boy took the buggy cushion, whip, harness 
 and everything movable out of the buggy, 
 and piled them in a heap. Next he took 
 his big belt knife and went to a thick 
 patch of sumac bushes that grew about 
 waist high on the other side of the road. 
 Carefully he cut away these bushes in 
 spots, cutting the stems close to the ground 
 and piling the bushes carefully at one side. 
 When he had several little clearings made 
 in the thicket, he brought the harness and 
 
HONEY HUNTING 27 
 
 other things over and deposited them, a 
 few in each place that he had cleared. 
 
 I stood silently watching him, and he 
 turned and saw me. 
 
 "Got to hide this truck," he remarked. 
 "If I didn t, somebody d steal it while we 
 wuz gone; so I juss fix it-sost they never 
 know it s here." 
 
 While he said this he was dropping the 
 bushes back where they had stood before, 
 each one upright as it had grown, and 
 looking as though it had never been dis 
 turbed. Where they showed an inclination 
 to lop over, he stuck one or two into the 
 ground and let them support the others. 
 
 "Come on," he said, when he had fin 
 ished. "Less git some squirrels." I 
 glanced back at the little thicket now 
 growing as it had been before, apparently, 
 and I could not but admire the young 
 mind that had figured out so easily that 
 no one would ever think of looking under 
 a growing thicket for plunder. 
 
 His protection and reliance were in 
 nature, and he knew nature s features so 
 
28 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 well that he counterfeited naturalness, and 
 knew the human animals who might pass 
 that way would never know the difference, 
 that his cut-off bushes would not wilt 
 before we got back, and that he would 
 find his property just as safe as though 
 under lock and key. 
 
 We climbed the fence and wandered 
 among a growth of oak and "pig nut" 
 trees until a squirrel scurried up a big oak, 
 and then something else happened. 
 
 I had always circled a tree when two 
 were hunting squirrels in company, but 
 the boy said: "Hoi on, I ll show yeh how 
 I git em when I m alone." 
 
 He picked up a piece of a broken limb 
 and walked to within thirty or forty feet 
 of the tree, then cocked his shotgun and 
 held it in his left hand. With the other 
 he hurled the stick as far as he could on 
 the opposite side of the tree, and before it 
 struck the ground he had his gun at his 
 shoulder waiting for the squirrel. 
 
 When the limb struck the dead leaves 
 it made a great deal of noise on the 
 
HONEY HUNTING 29 
 
 ground, and the squirrel swung around 
 the trunk on our side. Instantly there 
 was a flash, and down he came, dead as a 
 mackerel. 
 
 "Yeh see, th squirrel gits scart at th 
 noise n pops round th tree, watchin 
 back, n never stops to think about th 
 man at he saw comin when he run up 
 there," said the boy as he gathered up his 
 kill and put up its head through a loop of 
 string on his belt. They hain t got uh 
 lick o sense, anyhow," he continued. 
 "Now yeh see that bunch o leaves over 11 
 that little oak with th grapevine in? 
 Well, that s a summer s nest, n most 
 likely we ll find uh squirrel there. He 
 ain t got sense enough to run when he 
 hears th gun. Less go n git him." 
 
 We went to the tree indicated, and the 
 boy said: "Now, yeh git ready n I ll git 
 him up." 
 
 I stood back, and the boy walked to the 
 vine, jerked it sharply two or three times, 
 and, sure enough, out popped a squirrel, 
 which fell to my gun. 
 
30 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 We wandered through the woods until 
 late in the afternoon, killing several 
 squirrels and some quail, but I saw no 
 sign of bees or a bee tree, so I finally asked 
 him where his bees were. 
 
 "Oh, crost th river. We won t bother 
 em till dark, cause we don t want to kill 
 em, and they d sting us plenty in day 
 light," he answered. "I ll show yeh how 
 I work th trick when it gits dark, so less 
 go back to the wagon V git th things V 
 uh bite to eat. Won t take long to git th 
 honey when th time comes, n we got to 
 take th axe V pails when we go, V 
 we ll leave our game at th wagon." 
 
 The sun had already painted the west 
 ern sky in crimson and gold, against which 
 the gnarled cotton woods and oaks appeared 
 in silhouette, and the elms wove a delicate 
 tracery of drooping limbs. The frosted 
 leaves had nearly all fallen to the ground, 
 leaving only the more hardy or sheltered 
 ones still on the trees to wait the chill 
 touch that would wither and send them 
 
HONEY HUNTING 31 
 
 fluttering down in zigzag flight as the 
 morning sun rose. 
 
 The waiting silence of a fall evening had 
 settled over the land while we were eating 
 our lunch, and as the light faded the boy 
 glanced comprehensively up and around 
 as he said: "Well, I reckon we better 
 hustle if we want to git that honey. I ll 
 juss hide the guns, cause we won t need 
 em to-night. Hain t no painters nor 
 bears nor things in these woods, so all we 
 need is the axe n pails n lanterns n 
 ropes. I ll git things n shape while you 
 fix th basket, nen we ll go." 
 
 When he had "fixed things," we 
 shouldered the axe and other plunder 
 and struck out through the woods for the 
 bee tree. Reaching the river, the boy 
 sat down and began unlacing his shoes, 
 remarking: "Got to cross th river 
 here." 
 
 I did not fancy a plunge in the icy cur 
 rent of the stream so late in the season, 
 and made some few remarks about a boat 
 and coming up during the next few days. 
 
32 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Pshaw!" said the boy, " tain t more n 
 knee deep all th way over. They a uh 
 sandbar here at runs kind o anglin down 
 stream an it won t take yeh more n to yer 
 knees anywhere. I been across here lots o 
 times an I know. Yer feet 11 git uh 
 little cold, but you ll feel better after yeh 
 get out n yeh did fore yeh went in. 
 C m on, less git over." 
 
 I had seen his intimate knowledge of 
 things natural and local so well displayed 
 before that I too began to strip for the 
 wade, trusting to his guidance, and in a 
 few minutes we were in the stream. 
 
 The water was awfully cold for the first 
 few steps, and then our feet became so 
 benumbed that we finished without any 
 inconvenience, and felt as warm as toast a 
 few minutes after we had put our clothing 
 on again. 
 
 It was quite dark, and the stars were 
 twinkling like fireflies among the branches 
 when the boy halted, dropped the axe and 
 pails and remarked, "Here she is." 
 
 A great elm tree rose into the darkness 
 
HONEY HUNTING 33 
 
 and its spreading branches ran forty or fifty 
 feet from the trunk. 
 
 "Now, I ll tell yeh," said the boy, 
 1 you stay here an I ll climb up an cut 
 off th limb that big one there," he said, 
 pointing upward. 
 
 "We got to chop th end off first, nen 
 put th rope on her V cut it again closer 
 to th tree. Yeh see th bees are pretty 
 well out in uh holler place n th limb n 
 hain t in th holler trunk tall. I found 
 that out when I was up here before." 
 
 While he was talking he had taken a 
 coil of rope out of one of the pails and 
 thrown it up over the limb. Throwing 
 off his coat and shoes, he climbed the 
 double strand like a monkey and swung 
 himself up over the limb. Then I fas 
 tened the axe on the line and he hauled 
 it up. 
 
 Standing on the fork with one foot and 
 the main trunk of the limb with the other, 
 he began chopping the end off. 
 
 * They re wakin up," he said, laugh 
 ingly, as the angered bees began to buzz 
 
34 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 in the hollow under his feet. "It won t 
 hurt em V they ll only git mad for 
 nuthin , cause they don t sting at night; 
 they juss crawl out an fall off. Reckon 
 I better keep em in, tho , tull I git th 
 limb off," he continued, stooping down 
 and stuffing his handkerchief into the 
 small hole where the bees entered the 
 hollow. 
 
 Soon the limb fell with a tearing crash 
 down among the bushes on the ground. 
 Then the boy drew the rope up and fast 
 ened it to the stump of the limb, throwing 
 the end over another above him and letting 
 it hang down to the ground. 
 
 "Now you take holt o th rope and git 
 uh half hitch around something, sost yeh 
 can hold her when I cut her off. We 
 don t want to let her fall n mash th 
 honey all up, so keep her stiddy till I c n 
 help yeh lower her when I git her cut off." 
 
 I did as directed, and the blows soon 
 sounded again, echoless in the gloom of 
 the night woods, as the boy swung the axe 
 with a will. 
 
HONEY HUNTING 35 
 
 "She s a-goin ; hoi on now!" he said, 
 as an ominous cracking was heard, and 
 then a few more cuts left the limb dang 
 ling at the end of the rope. 
 
 The boy dropped his axe and scrambled 
 down the tree trunk, and together we 
 lowered the big section of wood to the 
 ground. 
 
 4 Bring th lantern n pails now," said 
 the boy, as he got his axe, and then lis 
 tened with his ear against the limb to 
 locate the length of the hollow by the 
 noise of the bees inside. "Guess this 11 
 bout git em," he said, and he began cut 
 ting a chip out. 
 
 Soon he made an opening in the log, 
 and disclosed great combs of beautiful 
 wild honey, over which the swarm of 
 angry bees were writhing in a dark mass. 
 As soon as the hole was open they began 
 to crawl out, and the boy, with the aid of 
 a splinter, flipped them out of the hollow 
 by the handful. 
 
 "Look out now n don t git excited," 
 he said. "They won t sting at night 
 
36 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 nless yeh hurt em, V if one crawls on 
 yeh juss flip him off, sost lie won t have 
 uh chance. Yeh see Gee! I got it that 
 time!" he said, as he pinched a place on 
 one finger, squeezing it up from under 
 neath until it was white and a tiny globe 
 of amber stood out on the skin. 
 
 l Tain t nothin , though, V won t 
 even swell up f yeh squeeze th poison 
 out juss as quick as yeh git stung, that 
 way. Gee! it always make uh col chill 
 run up n down my back, anyway, ever 
 time I git it. 
 
 "Hoi still, theys one crawlin up 
 towords yer neck. There, now yer all 
 right. Yeh see, if yeh move right quick, 
 er slap at em er hurt em er anything, 
 they ll sock uh stinger into yeh even at 
 night, but if you member n juss go easy 
 yer all right. Guess I got most of em 
 out now, n I ll cut uh bigger hole sost 
 we can git that comb out whole. 
 
 "Gee! that s nice-lookin , ain t it? 
 Lots of it too! This tree is all right." 
 
 The axe rang again, and the hole in the 
 
HONEY HUNTING 37 
 
 limb grew larger, while the myriads of bees 
 buzzed angrily among the leaves on the 
 ground, helpless in the darkness. 
 
 "Guess that s all right now," said 
 the boy, as he took the lantern and 
 peered into the opening. "Gimme th 
 pails." 
 
 I handed him the pails and he carefully 
 lifted the great new combs out one by one 
 and deposited them on end in the pails. 
 He had four large ones full of the finest 
 light-colored honey when he had finished, 
 and then called for the fifth. 
 
 "They s uh lot o old honey here, too," 
 he said, "an 1 we ll take th clearest of it. 
 Tain t as good flavor as th new, but it s 
 good honey all th same. Th rest of it 
 I m goin to leave till to-morrow night, 
 nen I ll come up n git it n th bees too, 
 cause this is uh dandy swarm, n they ll 
 stay here till they find uh new hive, n 
 lug ever bit o this honey to it. 
 
 "I ll leave plenty, sost they can t take it 
 all away to-morrow, nen to-morrow night 
 I ll come up with th boat n some sacks 
 
38 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 n a saw, n I ll juss fasten em in again 
 while they re asleep, nen I ll saw off the 
 limb, both ends, n take her home n fix 
 em up n one o my hives." 
 
 Here was more wisdom of the wild woods 
 that was new to me, though I saw the 
 simple reasoning in it and told the boy 
 that I was glad the swarm would be cared 
 for and not left to die of cold and lack of 
 food after we had taken the fruits of their 
 summer s labor. 
 
 In another hour we had forded the 
 river again, and were on our way back to 
 the buggy with our plunder, the boy hav 
 ing made two trips across the river in 
 the darkness to land everything safely. 
 " Cause I know th bar better n you do, 
 nen I don t mind th cold water, anyhow," 
 he explained. 
 
 The horse gave a little whinny as we 
 reached the buggy, and he was soon spin 
 ning toward home, where we had to get 
 the folks out of bed at 11 o clock to 
 sleepily view those beautiful combs and 
 comment on the fruits of our trip. 
 
HONEY HUNTING 39 
 
 Two or three days later the boy burst in 
 on me with the information that he had 
 "got that swarm o bees over at th 
 house, n it s uh dandy too." 
 
AFTER DUCKS ALONG THE 
 RIVER 
 
 "DucKS re flyin ," said the boy, as he 
 met me at the corner. "Less go up river 
 n git some. I know where they s uh 
 dandy place, string o pon s out n the 
 edge o th timber n some more up n uh 
 big pasture, with corn fields right clost by. 
 
 4 Always git lots up there when they re 
 a-flyin , n somoKmes uh goose, too. Will 
 yeh go?" 
 
 "I guess we d better. Any show for 
 snipe up there?" I asked. 
 
 1 Gee, yes! Always jacksnipe round 
 th pond in th pasture. Yeh see, one 
 end of it is kind o springy n has lots o 
 little watery places in it where th cattle 
 have tromped round, n th jacks re 
 always at that end. Ain t very many of 
 em, but they s gen ly some. 
 
 "I ll tell yeh what less do. I got uh 
 good tent n outfit. Less take it n th 
 41 
 
42 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 boat n go to-night n camp, sost to be 
 up there early n th morning. That s 
 th best time, yeh know." 
 
 "All right, I guess I can fix it," I 
 answered. "You go ahead and get ready, 
 and I ll be over to the house in half an 
 hour. What will we need to take in the 
 way of grub?" 
 
 4 Oh, I got nough grub cached up at 
 th maples to last us, n I ll throw what 
 else we want into my packsack n pick up 
 th rest up there as we go along." 
 
 We separated and got our traps to 
 gether, meeting at his house half an hour 
 later, ready for the trip. It did not take 
 long to get to the river and load the boat, 
 and by the middle of the afternoon we had 
 reached the boy s camp at the maples, 
 about four miles up stream. Here he 
 "dug up" a complete camp outfit, except 
 ing blankets, from his snugly hidden 
 cache, and we proceeded, equipped for 
 staying two or three days if we chose. 
 
 When we reached a point opposite the 
 ponds we pulled in and soon had camp 
 
AFTER DUCKS 43 
 
 made among some jack oaks that grew 
 well above the river, and when darkness 
 came we were comfortably housed. 
 
 Ducks had been passed on the way up, 
 flying in many directions, but none came 
 near enough for a shot, as we were in mid 
 stream and only traveling, not taking any 
 measures to conceal either ourselves or our 
 boat. 
 
 Darkness settled down with a muddy 
 sky and a promise of dirty weather, a 
 prospect that set the boy to whistling con 
 tentedly as he put the finishing touches on 
 the camp. 
 
 "Goin to git uh nor Vest wind in th 
 mornin , I reckon, " he said, with a yawn; 
 " V if we do, we ll git ducks, too, cause 
 they ll come a-hummin from th north if 
 it comes uh little cold. 
 
 "Less go to bed, sost we can git up 
 early." 
 
 We curled up in our blankets, and the 
 last thing I remember was watching the 
 flare of red spring out of the bed of coals 
 where our fire had been, every time a little 
 
44 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 whirl of wind eddied down through the 
 oaks and bulged the tent flaps open. 
 
 "Hay! Coin t sleep all day?" 
 
 The boy was up and dressed and reach 
 ing for the strings that held the flaps of 
 the tent together when I opened my eyes. 
 It was still dark as pitch, and the boy had 
 the lantern lit inside the tent. 
 
 A cold, raw wind was hurrying down 
 the river, tossing the branches and making 
 the trees moan in a desolate way, and the 
 low -hanging clouds hurried by with it. 
 
 "Come on, less git uh hustle on us, or 
 it ll be daylight fore we git started," 
 said the boy, as he skurried around mak 
 ing preparations for our morning meal. 
 
 I got the guns and shells out, and pre 
 pared the camp for leaving, while he 
 was busy with the frying pan and coffee 
 pot. 
 
 "They re a-flyin ," he said, as a flock 
 of ducks hurtled by on whistling wings, 
 following the course of the river. 
 
 After breakfast we hurried to the pond 
 in the timber edge, and were soon con- 
 
AFTEE DUCKS 45 
 
 cealed in the high slough grass on the lee 
 side of the water, a position the boy 
 selected. 
 
 "Yeh see, th ducks 11 come in with th 
 wind n shoot down this way, n en circle 
 back gainst th wind. They come like 
 uh streak, n en when they pass th pond 
 they come back slow gainst th wind, sost 
 to light; n en, when they pass us, is th 
 time to plunk it into em. They are 
 goin too fast with th wind, but they re 
 easy comin back." 
 
 We had -only got comfortably settled 
 when a whistle of wings passed over us, 
 going with the speed of an express train, 
 with the wind. 
 
 "Teal," said the boy, though it was 
 still too dark to see more than a bit of 
 swiftly moving black cloud against the 
 sky as they passed. 
 
 "They ll be back n uh minute, n en 
 whale away at em as they pass. Shoot at 
 th bunch if yeh can t see uh single bird," 
 said the boy. 
 
 Sure enough, a few minutes after the 
 
46 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 sharp whistle of wings swiftly beating the 
 air sounded again almost over us. 
 
 "Give it to em," said the boy, as he 
 turned both barrels loose at the moving 
 mass. I did the same, though neither 
 could tell whether we had killed a bird or 
 scored a miss after the flash of the guns. 
 
 "Reckon we must a got one er two, 
 anyhow," the boy remarked. "They 
 can t get away, n we can find em when 
 it gits light, if they did," he continued. 
 
 When the next flock came the morning 
 was gray enough to pick out our birds, 
 and three teal fell as the guns barked. 
 These the boy quickly brought in, and 
 again we crouched, waiting in the grass. 
 
 A bunch of five mallards came next, and 
 we stopped every one, a proceeding that 
 so elated the boy that he characterized it 
 as "a whole lot lucky." 
 
 Ducks in job lots kept coming, some 
 passing without giving us a shot, others 
 circling back only to fall as the guns 
 cracked, and the pile grew beside us until 
 we had twenty-nine between us for the 
 
AFTER DUCKS 47 
 
 morning s shooting when the flight ceased 
 and we had gathered in all the cripples. 
 
 "Less take these to camp, n en go over 
 to th other pond," said the boy. 
 "Reckon we can git uh few more over 
 there if we sneak up on em, n en we ll 
 sure get uh few jacks, too, round th 
 springy end." 
 
 We packed our game to the tent and 
 then went over to the pasture pond, walk 
 ing up to it through a little draw that put 
 into the valley. 
 
 "Oh, gee!" said the boy, in a stage 
 whisper, as he peeped over a little bank of 
 earth that hid us from the water. 
 
 "They s about fifty geese out there, set- 
 tin all tucked up like uh lot o mummies. 
 Got any big shot?" 
 
 "No, nothing but fours," I answered. 
 
 "Well, here; pull yours out," he said, 
 swiftly throwing out his duck loads and 
 replacing them with BB shells. 
 
 "I got lots of em, n you can change 
 yer shot. Wish we both had th same 
 size guns." 
 
48 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 He was digging out the wads from a 
 couple of his 12-gauge shells with his 
 hunting knife as he spoke, and I was 
 working nervously with a couple of my 
 No. 10s. 
 
 When we had reloaded my shells with 
 the heavy shot, the boy said: "Now, all 
 ready; we ll count three n raise up n 
 shoot. You take th left side o th flock 
 and I ll take th right. Git in two shots 
 n en load juss as quick as ever you can, 
 cause they may circle back." 
 
 The suspense was ended when the boy 
 said three, and we turned four loads loose 
 among the unsuspecting geese at a distance 
 of thirty or forty yards. A crackling 
 flap of beating wings, mixed with fright 
 ened honkings and a gabble of sounds, 
 smote our ears as the flock took to the air, 
 leaving six of their number unable to rise. 
 The boy threw in another shell and 
 pitched the load after the retreating birds, 
 and another one spread his wings and 
 sailed out of the bunch at a flat angle, 
 striking the ground a quarter of a mile 
 
AFTER DUCKS 49 
 
 away in the open pasture. It took three 
 more shots to stop the cripples before we 
 could gather up the dead. 
 
 "Gee ! ain t this luck for yeh?" said the 
 boy, fairly beside himself, as he ran after 
 the cripples, working like a ten horse 
 power engine. 
 
 When we had our six piled up the boy 
 said: "Now I ll go V git that cripple 
 out n th pasture, n you better circle 
 around th other end of th pond by th 
 springs, cause maybe you ll git a jack er 
 two in there yet." 
 
 I did as directed, and got a pair of fine 
 fat snipes out of five that pitched up from 
 the marsh. Looking toward the boy, I 
 saw him foot-racing the wounded goose, 
 which could half run, half fly, and keep 
 ahead of him. 
 
 After chasing it for a couple of hundred 
 yards, he stopped, threw up his gun, and 
 as the white puff of smoke pitched out of 
 the gun, the goose doubled up. Coming 
 back, we gathered up our game and struck 
 for camp, the boy keeping up a running 
 
50 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 fire of talk on geese in general and these 
 geese in particular, as proud of potting the 
 seven as though it had been the making of 
 a million dollars and probably more satis 
 fied with it. 
 
 When we reached camp he was willing 
 to go home, and we soon had the boat 
 under way. At the maples we re-cached 
 his camp outfit and continued down 
 stream, reaching home before dark, and 
 every one that saw us on the way home 
 from the boat had to stop and ask a thou 
 sand questions about those blessed geese. 
 
TELL-TALE TRACKS 
 
 THE sky was gray and dull, hanging like 
 a sheet of lead over the world, and there 
 was a "snowy feel" to the air that seemed 
 the forerunner of a storm. Sounds were 
 muffled and subdued, and there was a 
 waiting air over everything. 
 
 The hoy came swinging around the cor 
 ner, his coat wide open and hands deep in 
 the inner recesses of his cavernous pock 
 ets, as he strode along whistling merrily 
 and glancing upward occasionally. 
 
 "Say," he said, as he saw me, "goin to 
 have uh trackin snow to-night. Less go 
 huntin to-morrow, will yeh? I know 
 where they s uh lot o quails n cottontails 
 n jacks n maybe uh few chickens. 
 Can t tell fer sure bout th chickens, 
 cause they don t stay much in one place 
 in th winter, n en they re pretty cute 
 too n hard to get up to. But th quails 
 51 
 
52 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 V the rest are all right, V we can get all 
 we want. Will yeh go?" 
 
 "Yes, if it snows I m with you," I 
 answered, for I felt like taking a trip with 
 the gun, and was glad of any excuse that 
 offered. 
 
 "Where ll we get a dog?" 
 
 "Huh! don t want no dog," the boy 
 said, disdainfully. 
 
 "Dogs is uh nuisance. They run 
 around sost yeh can t git uh thing less 
 yeh juss happen to. I ll show yeh more 
 game n yeh can shoot, all right, an I 
 don t want uh dog neither. Take lots o 
 shells n be ready for all day n we ll go 
 over among th breaks by Stoll s place. 
 Some good ground over there n we can 
 have uh bushel o fun. I ll be ready 
 bout half past seven n come this way." 
 
 "All right, I ll be ready," I answered, 
 and the boy said, "So long," as he dis 
 appeared in the fast-gathering darkness. 
 
 When morning came there was a fine 
 tracking snow on the ground, and the boy 
 and sunrise came together. 
 
TELL-TALE TRACKS 53 
 
 We shouldered our guns and plunder and 
 hurried through the half -awake town, 
 across the river and into the corn-clad 
 hills, where the breaks ran back to the 
 divide. 
 
 "We ll go over along that hedge first," 
 said the boy. "You take one side n I ll 
 take th other, n we ought to git uh cot 
 tontail er two. Yeh see, they ain t went 
 to th brush, n they re kind o hangin 
 round their summer stompin grounds 
 yet. When th snow gets uh little deeper 
 they go to th brush n weed patches n 
 corn-fields, n en you got to hunt different. 
 Look out now which way yeh shoot, n 
 don t shoot a tall unless yeh know where I 
 am, n I ll doth same." 
 
 We walked along for a few hundred 
 yards before the boy said, "Woap, I see 
 one!" I stopped, and his gun boomed, 
 tearing up the snow at the foot of the 
 hedge where a lot of "tumble weed" had 
 blown up and lodged against it. 
 
 The rabbit was killed sitting in his form, 
 and as the boy went to pick him up a 
 
54 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 bunch of quail whirred up a little further 
 ahead and went on down the hedge, 
 pitching to the ground again within a 
 couple of hundred yards. 
 
 1 Gee!" said the boy. "Now we re 
 goin to have uh picnic, sure! They lit 
 in th hedge V they ll git up scattering 
 sost we can have wing shots at em one at 
 uh time. That s th way I like em. 
 Now you take th ones that git up on your 
 side an I ll take care o th ones on this 
 side, n we ll have some fun. Look out 
 fer tracks too, cause some of em may run 
 out in th grass. Ready?" 
 
 4 Yes, go ahead," I answered, "I m with 
 you." 
 
 Slowly we went to the place where the 
 birds had pitched down, and suddenly 
 "Whir-r" went one of them on my side, 
 and so startled me that I forgot to shoot. 
 "Why didn t yeh git him?" asked the 
 boy, laughingly. 
 
 "Whir-r-r bang!" on the boy s side. 
 "Got him," he said, laconically, as he 
 broke his gun and threw in a fresh shell. 
 
TELL-TALE TRACKS 55 
 
 "Now look out V when yeh see one, 
 shoot whether yeh get im er not, n 
 watch im down," he added, musingly. 
 In a few moments I rather enjoyed the 
 unexpected rattle of wings and swift flight 
 of the birds, and was blazing away as 
 though I had shot that way all my 
 life. 
 
 The boy s gun was busy too, and when 
 we counted heads at the end of the fence 
 we had nine fine quail between us. I had 
 missed as many as I had shot, and the boy 
 gave me advice in this, manner: "Yeh 
 got t shoot snapshot; this way, see? Now 
 th way I do is to go long with my gun 
 down in both hands, my thumb on th 
 hammer n my finger on th trigger, n 
 when th bird gits up I juss watch th 
 bird n jerk up th ole gun n blaze 
 away. As I pull up, I cock it n touch 
 th trigger as she touches my shoulder. 
 That way yeh can t hardly miss n it s 
 easy when yeh git th hang of it. Yer 
 gun jumps t yer shoulder juss right on 
 uh level with yer eye. So all yeh got t 
 
56 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 do is t shoot n down goes Mr. Quail. 
 Juss as easy as eatin pie." 
 
 1 All right, I ll try and remember what 
 you ve told me," I answered, "though I 
 expect to score a whole lot of misses before 
 I get the hang of it." 
 
 We wandered along tlirough several 
 cornfields, and at last came to the edge of 
 a piece of wild hay land. 
 
 A jack rabbit track struck out of the 
 corn into the grass just where we came to 
 the edge of it. 
 
 "Now we ll trail this feller up n git 
 J im, " said the boy. "Reckon he s strikin 
 fer home when he made these tracks." 
 The boy took the trail, telling me to be 
 ready " cause he might git up a-runnin 
 any time." 
 
 Winding about through the knee-deep 
 tangle of wild grass, we followed the trail, 
 sometimes so broken by the snow that had 
 fallen in it as to be nearly lost to any one 
 but the boy, who followed it swiftly and 
 walked with a long, easy stride. 
 
 Presently he stopped short and said: 
 
TELL-TALE TRACKS 57 
 
 "Now this feller was a-huntin uh place t 5 
 sleep when he come out here, n he s 
 fooled around this way cause th snow 
 hangs on th grass too much n he knows 
 it d come dribblin down all over him if 
 he holed up minder uh bunch in here. 
 Now I reckon he ll git disgusted purty 
 soon n light out right crost too-ward 
 that pasture over there n set down n 
 under uh wad o bunch grass in there. 
 Yeh see, th bunch grass don t hold th 
 snow like this blue stem does, n Mr. 
 Rabbit knows it, n he ll be mighty apt 
 to be in that pasture, n not far in either. 
 C m on, less go git im." 
 
 Again we followed the winding of the 
 trail, and soon ifc struck a straight line, 
 with long distances between the tracks, 
 showing that the jack had fulfilled the 
 boy s predictions, based on his intimate 
 knowledge of jack rabbits and what he 
 read in the trail of this one s doings. 
 
 We had just crawled through the barbed- 
 wire fence that surrounded the pasture 
 when a flurry of snow made a halo around 
 
58 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 a bunch of grass, and out of it came the 
 rabbit under full sail. 
 
 "Shoot!" said the boy, and my gun 
 sounded a "hurry-up" call that had the 
 effect of lengthening the distance the flee 
 ing game made between his footprints. 
 Like an echo the boy s gun cracked, and 
 the jack did a combination handspring 
 running fall, mixed indiscriminately with 
 a dozen or so first-class somersaults, bring 
 ing up on his back with a thump, quite 
 dead. That snap shot of his did it quickly 
 and effectively. 
 
 We were now on top of the divide, and 
 our tramp had so roused the inner man 
 that lunch was decidedly the thing, and 
 it was forthwith produced. We could see 
 miles of country spread out in gentle roll 
 ing hills, white with the mantle of new 
 snow, against which the dark lines of 
 timber along the creeks and river wound in 
 contrast. The winter sun shone with the 
 prairie brilliancy and the ah* was just cold 
 enough to be bracing. It was a day to 
 tramp abroad and enjoy shooting one of 
 
TELL-TALE TRACKS 59 
 
 those rare winter days that arfc as bracing 
 as good wine. 
 
 Lunch disposed of, we struck out again 
 through the withered fields of corn, across 
 the tangle of wild grasses and through the 
 weed patches that filled the bottoms of the 
 breaks or draws. Cottontails scurried out 
 and turned handsprings as the guns 
 cracked, quail whirred up into the air and 
 came down dead as the smoke curled from 
 the muzzles, until the sun hung low and 
 our hunting coats were stuffed with game. 
 
 4 * Less go home," said the boy at last, 
 and then we pulled the shells out and 
 slung our guns with straps over our 
 shoulders so we could "hit the trail" 
 without hindrance. 
 
 "Gee, I m tired!" said the boy. 
 "Never seem t git tired tull I strike for 
 home, n en ever step seems like it s 
 harder n th last one, n when I git home 
 I m plumb done up." 
 
 "Same here," I answered. 
 
 The sun hung like a ball of gold and 
 reflected pink tints on the snow as we 
 
60 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 crossed the river, sleeping under its icy 
 coat, and climbed the hill into town, 
 where the hlue smoke spirals wound up 
 from chimneys and savory odors came down 
 the gentle evening air, as the busy house 
 wives prepared the supper for tired men. 
 
 "Hello, been hnntin ?" "Git any 
 thing?" inquired our acquaintances as we 
 passed. 
 
 "Yep," answered the boy, and they all 
 knew him well enough to know that he 
 meant a good bag. 
 
 "Well, so long," said the boy, "lemme 
 know when yeh run out o meat. I know 
 where wo c n git more." 
 
 "So long," I answered, turning in at 
 the gate and walking up the broad path of 
 light that made a ruddy glow on the 
 creaking sidewalk. 
 
WE GO A-FISHING 
 
 WHEK the snow banks had disappeared 
 and the pussy willows were covered with 
 little balls of bloom that looked strangely 
 like white caterpillars, I met the boy on 
 the way down town one morning. 
 
 "Hello! Say, gee! th spickerls (wall 
 eyed pike) V runnin , n we c n have uh 
 picnic. Less go n git th fishin tackle, 
 n have some fun, will yeh?" 
 
 He was all excitement, and eager to wet 
 a line, after being kept away from fish by 
 the ice of the winter. 
 
 "Are you sure they will bite this early?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Sure! I was juss down by the dam, 
 n th water is all cleared up again, n I 
 saw uh whole lot of em right at th east 
 end. They wasn t suckers er redhorse er 
 buffalo, either; they was juss spickerls, n 
 lots of em. Say, we c n have more fun 
 n uh box o monkeys some ole Balaams 
 61 
 
62 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 mongst em, too. C m on n git yer line, 
 n I ll hustle th minnies, n we ll sure 
 git em!" 
 
 "All right, we ll go," I answered, for I 
 was just as ready for a go at the pike- 
 perch as he was, and if they bit at all I 
 knew we would have good sport and get a 
 mess of fine fresh fish a welcome addition 
 to the larder when you catch and dress 
 them yourself, too. 
 
 "I ll meet yeh at th dam," said the 
 boy, as he started for his outfit in a regu 
 lar boy hurry ; and you know the busy man 
 can never "get such a hustle" into his 
 gait as an enthusiastic youth can com 
 municate to his. 
 
 Shortly afterward I found him wading 
 in the swirls that threatened to engulf his 
 long rubber boots, working like a beaver 
 to seine the needed bait. Minnows were 
 scarce, but he soon had a couple of dozen 
 in the bucket, and we clambered over the 
 flume, white with the flour dust that 
 sifted down from the rumbling mill on the 
 bank. 
 
WE GO A-FISHING 63 
 
 "Now take yer line n put juss uh little 
 bit o sinker on bout three feet from th 
 hook, n en hook yer minnie sost he 
 hangs straight n nice, like he was 
 alive," said the boy. 
 
 u Yeh see," he continued, "th swirls 
 n eddies down there 11 keep him a-wig- 
 glin round like he was a-swimmin , n 
 when oP Mr. Spickerl sees him he juss 
 opens that mouth o his, n down goes 
 yer bait, hook n all. This time o year 
 they ain t quite so lively as they are long 
 bout June, n they kind o swim away 
 slow n don t get hooked right at first, so 
 yeh don t want to be too quick n pull it 
 away from em. When yeh see yer line 
 begin to move crost th current kind o 
 stiddy, juss let him go n give him 
 plenty o time, n en jerk kind o er don t 
 jerk a tall; juss give him kind o uh pull, 
 sost to sock th hook into his mouth 
 solid. If yeh jerk quick yer liable to jerk 
 it away n not git him, see?" 
 
 We had baited and cast into the boiling 
 eddies under the fall of the dam, and sat 
 
64 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 down on the stone pier waiting. A strong, 
 fresh wind came up out of the south, 
 bringing the perfume of the willow cat 
 kins, the bursting cottonwood buds, and 
 that earthy smell of spring when the old 
 world wakes up again. 
 
 The day was bright and warm ; robins 
 and bluebirds crossed the sky at intervals, 
 bound north, or just house hunting there 
 by the peaceful stream. The dull roar of 
 the falling flood filled the air and sung a 
 monotonous chant that somehow goes 
 well with fishing. 
 
 "Yeh got one!" said the boy. 
 
 My line was moving out steadily across 
 the foam-flecked current, and I let it go 
 forty or fifty feet, then struck as I would 
 for bass. Instantly the line tightened 
 and began to sing through the swift water 
 as the reel screamed and the rod bowed to 
 the strain. 
 
 "I got one, too!" was the boy s next 
 remark, as he scrambled down on top of 
 the dam, so we would not foul each other. 
 I was too busy to watch the boy, and he 
 
WE GO A-FISHING 65 
 
 had landed his with a long-handled net 
 before I got mine where he couldn t fight. 
 When I brought him to the top, the boy 
 landed him for me, and we had a pair, each 
 of about four and a half pounds. 
 
 4 Gee! this is tli right kind," said the 
 boy, as he baited again and cast for 
 another chance in the river lottery. One 
 by one they struck and fought a vain fight, 
 until our string grew long and heavy, 
 while the boy s eyes shone and a healthy 
 outdoor flush tinted his beardless face 
 enjoyment personified, if I ever saw it. 
 
 Several five and six pounders had been 
 vanquished, and we were thinking of 
 going home, when the boy struck again and 
 then yelled : * Gee ! I ve got uh whale ! 
 
 Sure enough, his rod was see-sawing 
 furiously, and the reel screamed above the 
 roar of the flood as his fish rushed into the 
 current and far out into the river, in 
 spite of the drag. 
 
 The boy fought him coolly enough until 
 the great fish leaped out of the water a 
 hundred feet away, giving us a momentary 
 
66 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 glimpse of what the boy called the "daddy 
 of all the spickerls," and then became so 
 excited that he stepped to near the edge 
 of the dam and went over the plank 
 "apron" that pitched, moss covered and 
 slimy, to the river below. 
 
 Luckily the water only trickled over the 
 top just here, and was only about waist 
 deep below. Almost before the water 
 that flew up as he dropped in had reached 
 its level the boy bobbed up, scrambled to 
 his feet and began reeling in his line as he 
 stood there, waist deep in the cold water, 
 dripping, shivering, but full of fight and 
 anxious to get his fish. 
 
 When he found he still had his fish 
 hooked he let out a yell and scrambled up 
 on a little rocky shelf that jutted out from 
 the pier foundation, and then got down to 
 the business of fighting that big pike. 
 
 Time and again he got him up only to 
 have him rush away at a speed that 
 threatened wreck for the rod, reel and 
 line. The boy said nothing, but fought 
 like a general, eyes and hands working 
 
WE GO A-FISHING 67 
 
 together in cool precision that was a joy to 
 the onlooker. 
 
 I had climbed down the niches in the 
 stone pier, and stood ready with the net as 
 soon as the fish should come within reach. 
 Several times I saw him rush through the 
 water under me, and each time his dark 
 length seemed longer, and I began to 
 think he would surely get away, just 
 because he was the "big one." 
 
 At last he came within reach, broke 
 water and lashed out with his broad tail in 
 two or three exhausted, weak splashes; 
 the net shot under and raised him, a 
 gasping captive, still snapping his fanged 
 jaws, and flashing fight from his big eyes. 
 
 Then the boy went wild. "Yip, yip, 
 hooray! Gee! yip! yip!" he said, danc 
 ing around in the deeper water, where he 
 had slipped in his excitement, and gone 
 under again with a gurgle as he disap 
 peared. 
 
 He forgot about the cold, about being 
 soaked, about everything except his fish, 
 and I had to talk to him five minutes 
 
68 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 before he understood that he would have 
 to wade around the flume and carry the 
 fish that way while I brought the rest over 
 the top. 
 
 When we got together on the bank we 
 voted unanimously that this fish was a 
 sure whale, and that we had enough. 
 Rods were quickly unjointed and packed, 
 and then we went up town to hunt a pair 
 of scales. 
 
 Sixteen pounds strong was the verdict, 
 and the fish looked half as much more. 
 No one in town had ever heard of one as 
 large being caught in the stream, and I 
 believe it is the record fish yet in this 
 Western river, for times are changing and 
 fish growing smaller there each year. 
 
 This stream waters one continuous farm 
 now from source to mouth, and the black 
 soil has made a slimy, muddy bottom and 
 a murky flood where only suckers and 
 bullheads dwell, instead of the clear, 
 swift-flowing river that was there babbling 
 along over its rocky bed when the boy 
 caught the "daddy of all the spickerls." 
 
JUST A LAZY AFTEENOON 
 
 Saturday in June the boy walked 
 into the shed where I was painting a new 
 canoe, sauntered around the boat and 
 inspected it with critical eye, squinting 
 aft from the bow and "lining up" the 
 bends. 
 
 "Good job that. Got er s even as one 
 n one. Ought to be uh gickaloodin 
 traveler." 
 
 "Ought to be what?" I asked. 
 
 "A gickaloodin traveler. Don t yeh 
 know what that means?" he answered with 
 a grin. 
 
 "No, I never heard that before." 
 
 "Well, that s th same as good, only it s 
 better," he replied. "Learnt that from a 
 nold feller that ust to live down on th 
 Missoury River, name o Poo Gee. He ust 
 to always say Poo Gee! ever time at 
 he felt like swearin , n that s how he got 
 69 
 
70 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 his name. Dnnno what his reel name 
 was, er nobody else, I guess. Ever body 
 juss called him Poo Gee. He had uh lot 
 o names fer things, like gickaloodin 
 stead o good, n joistaboomerang for uh 
 fioatin log. N one o these logs at 
 seesaws up n down in uh current he 
 called uh joisticutis, n en uh pine timber 
 he called uh pine joistus. 
 
 4 He s uh queer ole feller, n bout 
 half crazy, I guess; but he knowed how 
 to fish n hunt aw right, n lived in uh 
 kind o shanty down there , fishin fer 
 market." 
 
 "Well, he must be a character." 
 
 "Oh, he s dead now," answered the boy. 
 
 "Say," he said, changing the subject, 
 "less go out n th woods s afternoon, 
 will yeh? I m feelin kind o lazy n no 
 account like, n want to go somers. 
 Don t want to go fishin n hain t 
 nothin to shoot, but I juss got nh ressless 
 notion I want to go out n th timber. If 
 I hook up n come over after dinner, will 
 yeh go long?" 
 
JUST A LAZY AFTERNOON 71 
 
 "Yes, I guess so. We might take the 
 rods along and fish some too," I suggested. 
 
 "Nope," he answered, "don t want to 
 fish, juss want to lazy round in th shade 
 somers where they ain t nobody to bother. " 
 
 "All right," I answered, laughing. 
 "If that s the way you feel I ll just go and 
 loaf away a half day too." 
 
 "Aw right, then, I ll be over bout one 
 with th buggy. So long." 
 
 Then he sauntered up the walk, one 
 hand thrust deep in his trousers pocket 
 and his broad hat tilted at a dangerous 
 angle over his right eye ; under the fleck 
 ing shadows of the grape arbor and out of 
 sight, strolling lazily, but with the easy 
 grace that is as natural as breathing to the 
 outdoor man. 
 
 It is health and unconscious strength 
 that makes the springing step and the 
 easy, supple roll in the gait a mark that 
 nature puts on her gentlemen. 
 
 In the early afternoon we drove out into 
 the country, past the growing crops, past 
 the shady hedges, past the farmhouses 
 
72 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 where busy housewives hastened through 
 their many occupations, ofttimes accom 
 panying their movements with simple 
 song, not very musical, it is true, but 
 from satisfied minds that helped lighten 
 labor. 
 
 The farmhouse dogs ran out as we 
 passed, and fretted themselves unneces 
 sarily, barking until we were well away 
 from the house. We drove contentedly 
 and unmindful of these things, chatting 
 in a lazy way befitting the day and the 
 trip, the boy pointing out places along the 
 route where he had had sport with the 
 shotgun in other days. 
 
 A butcher bird flitted out of the hedge 
 and across the road, alighting on a barbed 
 wire fence. The boy s quick eye noted 
 that the bird carried a burden, so he 
 pulled up the horse and we sat watch 
 ing. 
 
 The bird eyed us suspiciously for a few 
 moments, and then, satisfied that we 
 meant no evil, deliberately impaled his 
 burden on a barb, flicked his beak with a 
 
JUST A LAZY AFTERNOON 73 
 
 sidewise motion on the wire, and winged 
 his way across the field. 
 
 "Know what he was doin ?" asked the 
 boy. 
 
 "No, I m not up in that fellow s 
 ways," I answered. 
 
 "He s hangin np his supply o grub. 
 See, he s got uh lot o truck strung along 
 th wire. Whoa, Bill! Less go over n 
 see what he s got." 
 
 We jumped out and inspected the wire, 
 finding two mice, some big brown crickets 
 and nearly a dozen big grasshoppers, 
 besides some other insects of the beetle 
 variety. 
 
 "See, he s layin in uh stock o grub," 
 said the boy. "Now yeh d think he d eat 
 all o them things after he went to th 
 trouble o ketchin em n hangin em 
 up, wouldn t yeh?" 
 
 "Yes, I would think so," I answered. 
 
 "Well, he don t," said the boy. "At 
 least he don t always, cause I ve found 
 this kind o uh layout right n winter, n 
 everything on th wire d be as dry as 
 
74 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 powder, n uh mouse d starve tryin* to 
 live off of em. These butcher birds, 
 shreeks er shrikes er somep n like that, I 
 b leeve is th right name of em, seems 
 juss to have uh leanin too-words killin 
 things n leavin em stuck round this 
 way. They are cur ous kind o birds, 
 anyways." 
 
 The boy went on enlightening me on 
 the ways of butcher birds as we circled 
 toward the river. We soon went into the 
 gate and through the blue grass pasture, 
 where the big walnut trees grew in the 
 sandy flood-washed soil of the river bank. 
 
 " Here s uh good place. Less stop," 
 said the boy, and out he leaped, unhooked 
 the horse, slipped his bridle and turned 
 him loose. We stretched at length on 
 the dry sand that the last rise in the river 
 had left there in the shade of the huge 
 walnut trees, and I filled my pipe for a 
 smoke, while the boy folded his hands 
 behind his head, elevated one knee over 
 the other as ho lay flat on his back, slowly 
 chewing a grass stem and looking up 
 
JUST A LAZY AFTERNOON 75 
 
 through the meshed tangle of leaves at the 
 white clouds floating lazily across the blue 
 dome. 
 
 "Gee, it s uh long ways up to them 
 clouds, ain t it?" he said. "I d like to 
 go up n uh balloon er somp n n look 
 down at the ground. Bet it d look funny 
 fr m way up there, n en uh feller could 
 see uh nawful long ways too. Eeckon he 
 could see most to the Missoury Eiver, 
 couldn t he?" 
 
 "Perhaps," I answered. "But I rather 
 think he couldn t see much even if he 
 could see that far. It is about sixty miles 
 to the river in an air line, and in this 
 atmosphere everything would be lost in a 
 haze. In the mountain country you can 
 see that far easily, for you are up in the air 
 and everything else is too, so the haze 
 don t bother much." 
 
 "Say, gee! I d like to go to th moun 
 tains. It must bo uh nawful purty place, 
 n en, gee! couldn t uh feller have fun 
 ketchin trout n shootin deer n things! 
 But it s uh nawful long ways, n I don t 
 
76 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 reckon I ll over git there," he continued, 
 as the smile faded and a dreamy, far-away 
 look came into his bright eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I don t know, it wouldn t be such 
 a long journey even with a team and 
 wagon," I answered. "Three or four 
 weeks would take you from here to Den 
 ver, and another week would take you 
 right into the hills." 
 
 "Gee! less go!" said the boy. 
 
 "Well, we can think of that later, and 
 arrange for a hunt that way this fall, per 
 haps," I answered. 
 
 "I ll jussgoyeh." 
 
 The boy was no longer indifferent and 
 "feelin lazy," but was alert and talking 
 like an old woman s tea party about the 
 mountains and the great stretch of sun 
 burned plains that met the sky to the 
 westward of the little river. The sun 
 swung across the blue dome and the 
 shadows reached from bank to bank across 
 the stream before his excitement cooled 
 down enough to think of going home. 
 
 When I suggested that we move, he 
 
JUST A LAZY AFTERNOON 77 
 
 tilted his hat down over his eyes, squinted 
 at the low-hanging sun and slowly rose to 
 his feet. Gathering up the bridle, he 
 whistled to the black pony and stood wait 
 ing for him to come up. The pony 
 understood him, too, and came slowly 
 along, nibbling at a tender bunch of grass 
 here and there, reluctant, but knowing 
 that the boy s will was law, and soon he 
 stood hitched to the buggy and ready for 
 the homeward drive. 
 
 Back along the country roads we went, 
 the pony suiting himself as to gait, while 
 we chatted and enjoyed the ride, noting 
 the passing landscape and the wild things 
 that were the life of that perfect evening 
 truly one of those "rare June days." 
 
FLOATING AND FISHING ON 
 THE RIVER 
 
 WHEN I came home the boy was waiting 
 for me, curled up in a jack-knife attitude, 
 his back against the fence and his broad 
 hat pulled down to shade his eyes while he 
 industriously whittled a stick and chewed 
 one of the pungent pine shavings. 
 
 "Gee! Thought yeh wasn t comin t 
 all," he said, as he arose and snapped his 
 knife shut against his trousers leg. 
 
 "I m goin up river in th mornin . 
 Goin to nose round where some beaver 
 bin a-workin up there. Want to kinder 
 figger on how many pelts I c n corral 
 when fur gits good this fall, yeh know. 
 Want to go long?" 
 
 "Sure," I answered. "I feel just like 
 taking a trip anyhow." 
 
 44 Aw right. Goin to start early sost 
 to git away fr m the sun all we can. 
 Bout daylight I reckon d be uh good 
 time. Be ready then, will yeh?" 
 79 
 
80 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "I ll meet you at 
 the boat at dawn. Will we take any guns 
 or fishing tackle?" 
 
 "Dunno; nuthin to shoot, but we c n 
 do some fishin , I reckon. Oh, say, I 
 know gee ! course we can ! I got bout 
 fifteen er twenty jug lines down at th 
 landin , V we ll jug back!" 
 
 "All right; I don t know anything 
 about jugging, but if you do we ll try it. 
 I ll bring lunch for both of us, then, and 
 meet you in the morning." 
 
 "Aw right; so long!" said the boy, as 
 he started home. 
 
 "Say," he called back, "be sure V be 
 down t th river by daylight?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 When the gray dawn came we were 
 afloat on the silent river. The little canoe 
 scarcely made a ripple on the glassy sur 
 face as we slipped along swiftly as may be, 
 two good, stout paddles urging the little 
 craft forward against the sluggish back 
 water above the dam. 
 
 Little curls of vapor seemed to hang like 
 
FISHING ON THE EIVEE 81 
 
 smoke against the water, and curious 
 little, oily, wavy places showed where a 
 sunken snag neared the surface. A home- 
 hurrying muskrat marked a wrinkly path 
 across the current and dived as we neared 
 him. 
 
 Blackbirds chattered among the willows 
 or flew with swift beating wings and trail 
 ing tail rudders across the tinted sky. 
 
 "Say," said the boy, without turning 
 his head, "this here s uh heap th nicest 
 part of uh day, ain t it? If it d juss stay 
 this way forever I don t reckon Paradise d 
 beat it uh heap, d you? Look at them 
 fool blackbirds, fightin like uh couple o 
 kids over somp n r other! Smell th 
 trees, huh? Can t smell em on y on still 
 summer mornin s, early, this way, jever 
 nodiss it? Seems like when th sun comes 
 up it sort o soaks up th smell like, n en 
 it s all gone. I like th early mornin 
 better n any part o th day, don t you?" 
 
 "I agree with you exactly," I said, and 
 mentally noted that this young savage had 
 a good deal that was poetic about him, in 
 
82 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 a rough way, and enjoyed and appreciated 
 the beauties those untellable beauties of 
 old Dame Nature in her varying moods. 
 It struck mo that this likening of the 
 tranquil summer morning to Paradise was 
 a homely expression of enjoyment to the 
 fullest extent, innocent, healthy and satis 
 fied enjoyment that lacked any thought of 
 animal viciousness, and to this day I have 
 never found a more fitting description 
 than his. 
 
 In time the sun came up, painting the 
 few clouds with all the tints in Nature s 
 color box, and then settled down to the 
 business of warming the world and paint 
 ing the colors all out again. 
 
 The canoe never slacked its even 
 progress, forging ahead under the shadow 
 of the trees until the mist left the water 
 and a cooling breeze rippled the quiet sur 
 face into tiny wavelets. 
 
 When noon came the boy said we had 
 reached the beaver grounds, and we went 
 ashore. 
 
 The boy carefully inspected the cut-off 
 
FISHING ON THE RIVER 83 
 
 stumps of the willows, looked long and 
 carefully at the flat, webbed tracks in the 
 mud, and hunted "sign" for an hour, 
 while I sat in the shade and smoked, wait 
 ing until he should return. 
 
 "I reckon they s about nine or ten 
 beaver here that s good fer fur this fall," 
 he said, as he sprawled beside me on the 
 grass. 
 
 "They s uh pair o old ones n two er 
 three litters o kittens o different sizes, I 
 figger. I m goin to have them pelts 
 when frost comes, too, you bet. 
 
 "Gee! Less eat. I m hungrier n uh 
 bear. Funny how uh feller gits so 
 onreasonable hungry knockin round this 
 way, ain t it?" he said, with a smile, as 
 we opened the lunch. 
 
 "I got th jugs n uh few frogs down 
 there n th canoe, n I reckon we c n 
 float down with th current n let th jugs 
 do th fishin safternoon, n have some 
 fun too. Got to ketch s more hoptoads, 
 though, first," he added, as he stowed 
 away the remnant of a sandwich and went 
 
84 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 for the little tin bucket to get water from 
 the spring near by. 
 
 "Say, that s th best drink t ever was 
 invented, ain t it?" he remarked, as he 
 came back with the bucket brimful of cold 
 and good water from the spring that 
 welled up among the rocks of "Stony 
 Point." 
 
 "Seems like white folks want to kill 
 erselves drinkin all kinds o whisky n 
 beer n stuff like that when they s 
 s much good water juss runnin to waste. 
 I can t juss figger such things out my 
 self." 
 
 We loafed about in the shade talking 
 and resting for an hour, while the young 
 philosopher tried to "figger out" the 
 problem of humanity just as philosophers 
 have thought and wondered and "fig- 
 gered" since time began, and like them 
 the boy finally "give it up," and turned 
 to the immediate business of catching 
 frogs for fish bait. 
 
 I stretched at length along the grass, 
 lazily watching the swallows flit in and out 
 
FISHING ON THE RIVER 85 
 
 of the burrows in the bluffs across the 
 river, wondering why these little creatures 
 had been so constructed that they could 
 annihilate distance so easily, while man 
 must plod slowly along up hill and down 
 over the surface of this old world. 
 
 The soft lullaby of the wind-tuned trees 
 lulled one to the quietude of mind neces 
 sary for building air castles, and soon I 
 was dreaming there by the quiet river. I 
 saw without seeing. I was there, and yet 
 knew nothing of the surroundings just 
 thinking. 
 
 A big black ant crawfished across a bit 
 of sand, exerting every energy to drag a 
 dead grasshopper to his storehouse. A 
 black wasp nervously opened and closed its 
 steely wings, and after inspecting its sur 
 roundings vanished. 
 
 The midday sun necked the ground 
 with a network of ever-moving shadows, 
 weaving in and out, blending with the 
 flowers and grasses of the bank. 
 
 "Say, yeh goin to snooze all day? Git 
 uh hike on yeh n* c mon. Got to move 
 
86 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 if we ketch any catties safternoon. I got 
 lots o bait, so less go." 
 
 The boy had broken the spell, and soon 
 we were drifting lazily, contentedly along 
 behind a row of corked-up beer bottles 
 and small jugs that floated in company 
 front" with the current of the prairie river. 
 
 Birds flitted in and out among the trees ; 
 an occasional squirrel could be seen 
 stretched at length along a gnarled oak 
 limb, just soaking himself full of sunshine 
 or perhaps he would be nosing about 
 among the fallen leaves on the ground, his 
 tail curled up over his back and waving 
 like a great brown plume. 
 
 Turtles basked on the dead snags and 
 plunked off into the water as we floated 
 by. Everything was living and enjoying 
 life in its own peculiar way, and over all 
 was the brilliant blue of the prairie sky, 
 the flood of light from the summer sun, 
 and just enough warmth to make us too 
 lazy to even talk as we drifted on the slow 
 current, following the line of jugs and 
 bottles down the western river. 
 
FISHING ON THE RIVER 87 
 
 Suddenly the boy gathered himself 
 together, dipped deep with his paddle, 
 and the canoe began to move swiftly 
 toward one of the jugs that was bobbing, 
 spinning and plowing through the water in 
 circles, as a heavy fish tried vainly to rid 
 himself of the hook. 
 
 "Say, gee! that s uh Balaam, sure!" 
 said the boy quietly, as we watched the 
 antics of the bobbing jug. 
 
 As we neared it the jug sank, and a few 
 moments later reappeared forty feet away, 
 swirling through the water as the fish 
 towed it along. 
 
 "You work her, V I ll git that 
 Balaam," said the boy, as he laid his 
 paddle inboard and got ready for action 
 when we should get within reach of the 
 
 I handled the canoe, and in a few 
 moments got alongside, where the boy got 
 hold of the line and began to fight the fish 
 on his own ground. 
 
 Several times the broad tail curved up 
 and threw a shower of water over the boy, 
 
JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 and several times the boy caught his 
 breath and said, "Ugh!" but he hung on, 
 and in the end pulled the big blue-black 
 catfish over the gunwale of the canoe. 
 
 "Good un, ain t he?" said the boy, 
 contentedly, as he slipped a string through 
 the fish s gills and hung him overboard. 
 
 Soon the jug was rebaited and drifting 
 along with its fellows, and behind the 
 line was the black canoe with its counter 
 feit reflected upside down in the quiet 
 stream, drifting, drifting with the slow 
 current, while the boy and I reclined along 
 the bottom and up against the "lazy- 
 back" seat, waiting and drifting there in 
 the quiet of the summer afternoon. 
 
WHAT HAPPENED IN CAMP 
 
 THREE days had passed since the boats 
 had crawled up against the current of the 
 little western river until they grounded 
 against the hot edge of a great sandbar. 
 
 Just here the river swept around in a 
 broad curve, washing and cutting away 
 the bluff on one side and forming the bar 
 on the other as the aggressive current 
 advanced. 
 
 A fine open growth of timber back of 
 the bar made a good camp ground, and a 
 clear spring boiled up through the gravel 
 to supply the best of water. 
 
 The white canvas, more or less stained 
 by camp usage, had gleamed among the 
 trees these three days, and furnished a 
 home for the boy and me when we came 
 in from our rambles through the enchanted 
 woods or floated back in the black canoe 
 with the water that forever passed by, 
 steadily, resistlessly moving on, on, on. 
 89 
 
90 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 Where it came from, where it went, 
 were two things to which we gave no 
 thought. It was always there, and it was 
 the home of the fish, the ducks and the 
 many other things that made life a day of 
 joy for us. 
 
 Strange things came down on the ever- 
 moving current; some went by, some 
 stranded on our sandbar and furnished a 
 moment of wonderment and vague con 
 jecture as we saw them and left them 
 there. 
 
 There were fragments of stone on the 
 bar, too, rocks that were strangers in the 
 prairie country, and a constant source of 
 wonder to the boy, who continually 
 brought them into the tent to ask their 
 history. Sometimes I had to wonder with 
 him, and could give no information, 
 because the rock was a stranger to me, too, 
 a stray pebble that had started where? 
 
 At times the youngster would toss a bit 
 of water-smoothed stone down beside me, 
 drop to the ground himself and stretch on 
 his stomach, hia chin resting on his 
 
WHAT HAPPENED IN CAMP 91 
 
 crossed arms, and broad hat tilted back 
 while he waited and listened to the prob 
 able history of the fire-born, ice-milled, 
 water-moved bit of rock that had traveled 
 hundreds of miles and stranded on "agate 
 bar" for the boy to find. 
 
 This rock lore was full of mountain 
 voices, tales of the great, lonely country 
 that basked in the sun to the westward ; 
 stories of the ruins of that part of the 
 world called "bad lands"; of crystal 
 streams that hid flakes of gold in their 
 sands and trout in their waters ; of pine 
 woods where wild animals roamed ; and of 
 other talk of the wilderness. 
 
 It was just the beginning of Indian 
 summer when we camped by the sandbar, 
 that delightful time in the year when one 
 may dream all day and every day ; and it 
 had its effect on the boy. 
 
 He was preoccupied, thinking, dream 
 ing, looking into the haze that dimmed 
 the western horizon. 
 
 "Say, less take uh trip to the moun 
 tains, will yeh?" 
 
92 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 He had decided on a plan of action, 
 and wanted my indorsement and company. 
 
 I smiled, lighted my pipe, and sat down 
 for a talk. I had already seen the back 
 bone of the continent and the withering, 
 soul-killing country where the gray sage 
 grows, where the loafer wolves howl like 
 lost souls, where the ghoulish buzzard 
 floats in the clear air, where death lurks in 
 the water and the blistered, alkali-strewn 
 ground. 
 
 All afternoon I sat there and told the 
 boy of this lost country and of the great 
 hills that pierced the sky to the west of it, 
 while he listened and dreamed. 
 
 "Less go, will yeh?" he said, when I 
 had finished. 
 
 4 Less git th outfit together n light 
 out this fall. I m tired o this old level 
 country where they ain t nothin on y th 
 river n th woods, n juss catfish. I 
 want to git up amongst th rocks n snow 
 n pine woods n I m goin , too." 
 
 "Well, if you re set on going, we had 
 better wait till spring, so the grass will 
 
WHAT HAPPENED IN CAMP 93 
 
 furnish feed for the horses, anyhow. You 
 can t travel far out there in the fall when 
 the grass is dead and the water holes all 
 dried up. Then again, you would no 
 more than get to the hills before you would 
 have to hurry back to get home ahead of 
 the snow." 
 
 "Guess yer right," he answered, with a 
 sigh. "Haff to wait, I reckon. Will yeh 
 go in th spring, shore?" 
 
 " Unless something turns up this winter 
 to prevent it, I will go in the spring and 
 stay all summer if you like. We can take 
 along a prospecting outfit and maybe 
 locate some color worth working, too; 
 there is plenty of it in the hills, if you 
 can find it, and it will give us an excuse 
 for going, anyhow." 
 
 So it was settled there by the little west 
 ern river, settled and all winter left for 
 anticipation, which I have begun to think 
 is more real pleasure than the trip, 
 whether it be around the world or only an 
 afternoon off for fishing. 
 
 The boy could always find some new 
 
94 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 interest hovering over the country we were 
 to visit, and the questions lie asked were 
 as many and varied as the cottonwood 
 leaves that sang in the breeze over our 
 heads. 
 
 First it was to be a wagon and team, 
 then this would be abandoned as the 
 superior advantages of a pack-horse outfit 
 were discussed; then the limited capacity 
 of such an outfit would throw his opinion 
 back to the wagon idea again. 
 
 So the discussion went, back and forth 
 and back again, until I said: " Let s go 
 fishing and let the trip rest while we are 
 in camp. We ve got all winter to think it 
 over, and when the time comes we ll be 
 ready all right, and with the right kind of 
 an outfit, too." 
 
 "Yep, reckon we sure will," he 
 answered, as he gathered up the rods and 
 canoe paddles and got ready for a short 
 hour of enjoyment before night should put 
 out the light of the sun. 
 
 "They must be some mighty nice places 
 out there n th mountains," said the boy, 
 
WHAT HAPPENED IN CAMP 95 
 
 as we drifted and cast our minnows toward 
 the rocks along the bank where we knew 
 the big pike-perch balanced and waited. 
 
 "I ve always wanted to see th moun 
 tains ever since I first heard about em, 
 n I got a idee I could juss live round 
 mongst them rocks n trees n things 
 all th ress o my life thout botherin uh 
 heap bout anything much. 
 
 "Gee! they muss be high. Less see 
 12,000 feet how much is uh mile? Five 
 thousand two hunnerd n eighty that s 
 right into 12,000 that s twice and bout 
 uh quarter over, ain t it? Gee! Juss 
 think ! Two mile n uh quarter straight 
 up n th air! Whew! Say, that s as 
 far s fr m town clean to th stone quarries 
 down th river. I bet them red clouds 
 ain t that high right now. Must make 
 uh feller feel kinder queer like to git up 
 that high n look down, don t it?" 
 
 "Well, it would perhaps if you could 
 look straight down, but you must remem 
 ber that the hills begin to rise a long way 
 from the peaks, and the country up there 
 
96 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 isn t so much different from any other 
 rough country until you get to the pin 
 nacles. Then it is mostly rocks piled up 
 into needles and gashed and split into 
 canyons that make it pretty hard to get 
 through; the rest of it is only one hill 
 piled on top of another for miles." 
 
 "Huh! Pictures o mountains don t 
 look that way. They look like they run 
 right up from uh flat country like this 
 that is, gene lly they do." 
 
 "Well," I replied, "when you are 
 twenty or twenty-five miles away the hills 
 look that way too ; but they are different 
 when you get there." 
 
 "Kin you ride gee! I got uh whale, I 
 
 A big "spickerl" had coupled on to the 
 boy s hook and cut further discussion 
 about the mountains short for the evening, 
 for the sun was gone and there was only a 
 red glow in the western sky when the big 
 fish came in over the side and quivered in 
 his last gasp on the bottom of the canoe. 
 
 "Less have him fer supper, will yeh?" 
 
WHAT HAPPENED IN CAMP 97 
 
 asked the youngster as he surveyed the 
 catch. 
 
 "All right, I m fish hungry myself, and 
 he will make a good supper for both," I 
 answered. 
 
 "Yep, less go to camp n git him 
 a-sizzlin ." 
 
 Eods were tucked away in the canoe and 
 the whispering paddles crooned a lullaby 
 as the black canoe cut the surface of the 
 river, wrinkling the red and gold reflec 
 tions of the sunset into a thousand scin 
 tillating prisms of color that flickered from 
 the brown sands of Agate Bar to the blue 
 shadows reaching out from the foot of the 
 bluff across the stream. 
 
 As the glow faded from the sky and the 
 blue -black shades of night came on, our 
 little fire burned merrily and grew hot and 
 red against the night, half illuminating 
 the white tent and penciling the overhang 
 ing cottonwood limbs in lines of light. 
 
 The big pike sputtered and grew brown, 
 the coffee complained and bubbled against 
 the hot sides of the pot, and other things 
 
98 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 gave odors to whet the ontdoor man s 
 appetite, until we sat down to a hungry, 
 healthy man s fare there by the silent 
 river, at the end of another day that we 
 had lived one day in a life that has 
 passed to the shades of recollection now, 
 for that was long ago, and in a country 
 that has now become only a part of the 
 traditions of what was once the great, 
 limitless West. 
 
A DOWN-STREAM JOURNEY 
 
 THE old black canoes had served their 
 time and were not worth keeping over 
 winter. 
 
 Then* canvas sides had fallen into that 
 " touchy" condition which ends the use 
 fulness of canvas as a boat material, and 
 the tough elm ribs had become water- 
 soaked and lame from hard usage. 
 
 The boy and I drydocked these two 
 little cruisers, overhauled them from stem 
 to stern, added a few touches of paint, a 
 brace here and there, and then concluded 
 they would last until the "glass" ice 
 should form on the river. 
 
 "Say, I ll tell yeh what less do," said 
 the youngster, "less git our outfit n float 
 down th river far as we can fore it 
 freezes ; n en let th canoes go n come 
 back on th train, will yeh?" 
 
 I smoked over this idea a little while, 
 99 
 
100 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 and thought about the ducks, snipe, 
 squirrels and fish that lived along the little 
 river. 
 
 Then there were the glorious mornings, 
 the hazy days of Indian summer, when 
 one wants to do nothing but float, float, 
 float all day long float until the painted 
 sky blazes across the west and it is time 
 for a blue wisp of smoke to twist upward 
 through the red and yellow leaves. 
 
 A-a-a-nah! my tillicums, those are days 
 of joy, and I saw many such days as I 
 mentally reviewed the winding length of 
 river that twisted among the hills to the 
 southeast until it came to the yellow flood of 
 the old Missouri, two hundred miles away. 
 
 "Yes, I will float on the river with you 
 until the ice stops us or until there is no 
 more river to float on," I answered. 
 
 It did not take more than a couple of 
 days to prepare for the voyage, and it was 
 with a satisfied feeling of enjoyment that 
 we pushed out into the current that 
 hurries away from the dam where the boy 
 caught his "spickerl." 
 
A DOWN-STREAM JOURNEY 101 
 
 "We d ought to make twenty er twenty- 
 five mile fore sundown, hadn t we?" asked 
 the boy. 
 
 "See here, son, you must want to cut 
 this voyage short, or else go clear to the 
 Gulf. Why not take it easy? We ve only 
 got a matter of two hundred miles to go to 
 get to the Missouri, and that old river is 
 good for nothing but sturgeon and shovel- 
 nosed catfish, which we as sportsmen and 
 voyagers on discovery bent want nothing 
 to do with." 
 
 The boy smiled a queer little smile, and 
 said : * Huh ! guess yer right . 
 
 We put a little bit of good, outdoor 
 muscle on the paddles as we shot through 
 the shallow riffles below the dam, and left 
 a rippling wake through the "still hole" 
 that ran past the big walnut trees and 
 ended at the island where I first met the 
 boy. 
 
 "That s where I snagged that old 
 Balaam first time I tried yer rod. Gee ! I 
 had uh picnic that day! Wonder I didn t 
 bu st yer tip, wasn t it?" the boy said, as 
 
102 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 we slid down tho boiling riffle and passed 
 the bridge pier in midstream. 
 
 We were still in town and had two more 
 bridges to pass before we should run out 
 of the settlements, and we were anxious to 
 get into the wilds. 
 
 "Pisht! pisht!" said the double blades, 
 as we glided on down the shadow -flecked 
 current, and the gurgle under the bow 
 sang the travel song that is dear to every 
 canoeist. 
 
 The bridges were a mile behind when we 
 shot around a sharp curve at the foot of a 
 riffle, and brought consternation to a troop 
 of girls who, clad in old, discarded dresses, 
 were splashing about in the shallow stream, 
 trying to make themselves believe they 
 were swimming. 
 
 Immediately there was a skurrying into 
 the bushes, as these soaked mermaids 
 went up the bank helter-skelter, frightened 
 out of a year s growth by the appearance 
 of these two silent black shapes on the 
 swift current. 
 
 We caught a fleeting glance of a bit of 
 
A DOWN-STREAM JOURNEY 103 
 
 4 local color" too, as one of the girls went 
 into the bushes like a scared rabbit. 
 
 Her bathing costume was a suit of 
 bright red underwear. No wonder she 
 ran! 
 
 After the excitement died out, and the 
 titters and little screams had lost them 
 selves astern, the boy looked back over his 
 shoulder and grinned as only a homely boy 
 can. 
 
 "Funny, wasn t it, huh?" he asked. 
 
 As we turned the bend a mile below we 
 noted that same scarlet note of color just 
 at the river edge, and the boy grinned 
 again. 
 
 Riffles and long reaches of still water 
 slid under the keels as we journeyed on, 
 until a bunch of cedar trees loomed blue 
 through the other timber. 
 
 "Did I ever tell yeh how Deacon Lowe 
 got scart out o camp down here at th 
 cedars?" asked the boy. 
 
 "No, I don t think so," I replied. 
 
 The boy laughed in his throaty, 
 chuckling way, and began the yarn. 
 
104 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "I was campin down here lone one 
 summer, V Deacon he wanted to come 
 long. I says, Aw right, n so Deacon 
 come down with me one day when I went 
 to town fer supplies. 
 
 "We was here two er three days, n one 
 night bout sundown Deacon heard uh 
 Bob White whistlin up on th bluff above 
 camp, where they s uh grove o little jack 
 oaks. 
 
 " Go n git him, Deacon, I says, n 
 Deacon took my ole Sary n went. 
 
 "Purty soon, boom! she went, way 
 off mong th trees, n I figgered 
 Deacon d sure got that quail. 
 
 44 After a while he comes into camp with 
 th quail, n looking kind o funny n 
 pale. 
 
 " What s up, Deacon? I says, n he 
 says: They s uh graveyard up there right 
 above camp, on th bluff, d yeh know 
 that? 
 
 " I laffed n says: Yes, what o that? 
 
 "Deacon says: *Yeh goin to stay here 
 when yeh know that? 
 
A DOWN-STREAM JOURNEY 105 
 
 " Sure, I says; graveyards can t hurt 
 yeli none, n sides that, ain t I been here 
 for two er three weeks, n no ghost ain t 
 come into camp yet? 
 
 "That kinder stuck Deacon, n he 
 didn t say nothin more bout it while we 
 eat supper, but he kep lookin toowords 
 that graveyard kind o uneasy when it 
 begin to git dark. 
 
 "Fin ly he says: I m sick. 
 
 " What s th matter? I says, n he 
 couldn t tell, on y at he was sick. 
 
 " Well, I says, you stay n camp here 
 n I ll go n tend to the boats, n en if 
 yeh feel worse I ll git uh horse n buggy 
 n take yeh to town. 
 
 "So I went down to where th boat was 
 tied, n by gee! there was bout uh dozen 
 folks come down with uh horse n wagon 
 to fish all night. 
 
 "I told em I had uh sick pardner, n 
 one feller says: Where is he? I m uh 
 doctor, he says, n my medsun case is 
 in th wagon. 
 
 "So he got his medsun, n en we went 
 
106 , JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 up to camp, n gee! they wasn t no 
 Deacon there! 
 
 "I thought that was funny, n I com 
 menced to git scart, cos I thought mebby 
 Deacon d got out o his head n went 
 a-trailin int th woods right at night. 
 
 " N en I happened to think bout that 
 graveyard, n I says : Wait uh minnit ; n 
 I run up on t th railroad n looked 
 toowords town, n there was Deacon 
 hittin th trail like he was in a nawful 
 hurry. 
 
 " N en I kindo saviedlike n knowed 
 th Deacon was juss scart bout th grave 
 yard tull he thought he was sick, n so I 
 told th doctor bout th graveyard, n he 
 laffed n said: Prob ly that was all t 
 ailded Deacon. 
 
 " 4 N sure nuff, it was, too, cause 
 Deacon wouldn t come back to camp with 
 me when I went to town next day. Huh, 
 uh, he says; no graveyard camps n 
 mine, he says; n en I told th ress o th 
 fellers n town bout it, n Deacon gits it 
 bout bein ghost sick yet sometimes. 
 
A DOWN-STREAM JOURNEY 107 
 
 "Say," with a squint at the low-hang 
 ing sun, "less camp there to-night; they s 
 a good place, n lots o fish V th bess 
 spring in th country bout uh hunderd 
 yards fr m camp. What d yeh say?" 
 
 "All right." 
 
 And strange to say, no ghosts molested 
 us, though we could have tossed a stone 
 into the burial ground with its old graves, 
 long since fallen in and choked with dank 
 weeds that hid the little weather-beaten 
 crosses placed to mark a loved one s last 
 camp, long ago. 
 
 There was a melancholy air over that 
 little spot of sacred ground there on the 
 slope of hillside where the jack oaks grew, 
 and I wondered what scenes of sorrow had 
 been ended there in days that were older 
 than I, as I read the weather-worn chisel 
 marks that told of youth and old age at 
 rest under the few modest slabs of plain 
 marble that gleamed white among the 
 crosses. 
 
 "Purty place up here, ain t it?" said 
 the boy, looking across the landscape, as 
 
108 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 we wound our way down the bluff and into 
 camp, and left the cedars to sigh over the 
 deserted, unnoticed graves. 
 
A RACE WITH A PRAIRIE 
 FIRE 
 
 THE second morning of our river trip 
 found a lazy pair of voyagers, I am afraid, 
 for the sun was up and sending long, level 
 beams of light in among the restless 
 maple leaves overhead before we opened 
 our eyes and looked out of the tent. 
 
 A great maple had been bent down by 
 the ice or snow when it was a sapling, and 
 had grown into a great hump-backed tree 
 that described half a circle in front of 
 camp. 
 
 Two squirrels were playing on this freak 
 of timber that bright morning, racing up 
 and down, bounding from limb to limb, 
 chasing each other round and round the 
 trunk with a reckless disregard for the laws 
 of gravitation and the safety of their own 
 necks, such as squirrels only are capable 
 of exhibiting. 
 
 I watched them with keen interest as 
 they went through their antics, and I must 
 109 
 
110 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 say that I saw more of the animal instinct 
 for fun that morning than I ever saw 
 before. 
 
 4 Hain t they cute little fellers?" whis 
 pered the boy, who had also been aroused 
 by the clatter of the squirrels, and was 
 peering over my shoulder. 
 
 4 Seems like it s wicked to shoot such 
 things, don t it?" he continued. "Gee! 
 I thought that n d sure fall that time! 
 Funny how they c n ketch onto uh little 
 twig ith one foot that way n not fall 
 clean down t th ground, ain t it?" 
 
 Something frightened our performers, 
 and with a final skurry and wave of 
 plumes they vanished into the upper limbs 
 of a near-by cottonwood, and the woods 
 resumed their wonted quiet, with only the 
 bird voices to mingle with the rustling 
 whisper of the leaves. 
 
 "Less git up an git uh hike on us," 
 said the youthful savage by my side, as he 
 kicked the blankets flying and came to 
 his feet with a bound the spontaneous 
 elasticity of youth coupled with a perfect 
 
RACE WITH A PRAIRIE FIRE 111 
 
 condition of mental and bodily health 
 you know that is as much a part of a 
 growing boy as his hands or his freckles. 
 
 "Why should one grow old?" I mused. 
 1 Why not always remain as healthy, 
 happy, vigorous and youthful as that 
 boy?" Yet I knew that the time would 
 come when that supple frame, now so 
 buoyant, would be stiff and bent, and then 
 this day that we were living would be only 
 the ghost of a mind, something to dream 
 about in the warm sun, and that the old 
 man with the bent body and weak eyes 
 would look back look at himself as he 
 appeared to me to-day and perhaps sigh 
 and wish the old days back again. 
 
 "Say, what s the matter ith you a 
 mornin ? Gettin lazy er homesick 
 a ready?" asked the boy, with a merry 
 laugh, as he saw me still reclining on the 
 blankets and looking intently into a spot 
 of sunshine on the ground. 
 
 He was busy with a fish just out of 
 water, while I dressed and began packing 
 the blankets out to a sunny place. 
 
JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Say, here, you watch this fish n these 
 taters, sost they won t burn. I m goin 
 t th spring n get some water fer coffee. 
 Don t yeh burn that fish n spoil it now, 
 tinkerin round a-lookin t squirrels n 
 things won t git no breakfust if yeh do!" 
 And away he went, swinging the black 
 coffeepot and whistling merrily. 
 
 When he came back his face wore a look 
 of seriousness and apprehension. 
 
 "Say! smell th grass smoke in th air? 
 I b leeve they s uh big fire somers downth 
 river. Been purty dry, n grass s mostly 
 dead now, sost it d burn gickaloodin if it 
 got started. 
 
 "Wind s n th south, n comin up 
 ith th sun, n I bet sompin s a-burnin 
 down ahead of us." 
 
 "Well, what if it is? We are on the 
 river, and the fire couldn t do us any 
 harm even if there is one," I answered. 
 
 "Dunno bout that," he replied. "I 
 seen fires round here at ud jump clean 
 crost th river. 
 
 "Give em uh good haff uh gale o wind, 
 
RACE WITH A PRAIRIE FIRE 113 
 
 n tli river don t mount t much 
 toowords stoppin em. 
 
 " N it gits s hot at yeh can t stay 
 nowheres, n smoke s s thick yeh can t 
 breathe hardly. 
 
 "I seen s many o these big fires at I 
 don t like em, n they allus make me 
 nervous some." 
 
 "Oh, I guess we re all safe enough, even 
 if a big one comes along," I answered. 
 
 "Well, now, I tell yeh," said the 
 youngster, with a sniff in the air. "It s 
 on y bout three mile fr m here t Iron 
 Mountain, n that s a mighty good place to 
 git away fr m fire, if one comes long. Less 
 pack up n go down there, n en climb up 
 n look round ith th glass. 
 
 "If they s uh fire ithin twenty er thirty 
 mile o here we c n see it fr m th ole 
 mountain all right. 
 
 "They s uh lot of limestone gulches 
 down there where little creeks come 
 tumblin int th river, n I reckon uh 
 feller c d git away fr m fire there if he 
 could anywhere." 
 
114 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Very well," I answered, "we can stop 
 there as well as not, and see how things 
 look, anyway." 
 
 "Less move, then, cause you nodiss this 
 smoke s gittin thicker every minit. I 
 don t like it uh heap, I tell you that." 
 
 The boy had lived in this country all his 
 life, and I thought he might know more 
 about prairie fires than I did, and besides 
 the smoke was thickening rapidly, and the 
 wind was rising, so that the whole situa 
 tion did not look encouraging, to say the 
 least. 
 
 We hurriedly stowed our camp outfit 
 into the canoes, ate breakfast, and started 
 down the river right toward the fire, and 
 put our muscle on the paddles with such 
 good effect that we were soon at the foot 
 of the "mountain." 
 
 Here we ran ashore and climbed up the 
 three or four hundred feet of nearly per 
 pendicular bluff to the top. 
 
 We did not need the glass, for all too 
 clearly we could see the red line of flame 
 leaping in the air to the south of us. 
 
RACE WITH A PRAIRIE FIRE 115 
 
 The smoke seemed to be going away 
 above our heads, and what we had to con 
 tend with seemed more to be that drawn 
 back toward the fire by the eddy in the 
 wind current, which now had apparently 
 changed and was blowing toward the fire. 
 
 Five minutes watching convinced us 
 that we had no time to lose in hunting 
 shelter. 
 
 "Say, now, we d better git to th 
 gulches on th north side o th moun 
 tain, cause th fire won t burn haff as 
 strong down th hill as it will comin up 
 on th south side, n sides that, they 
 won t be sech a strong wind to push it. I 
 know uh good place where we c n pull th 
 canoes over uh little bar n git into uh 
 purty big, long stretch o still water in uh 
 crick runnin in fr m th west. They s 
 uh high bluff o rock on th south side, 
 n th fire c n come right to th top o th 
 bluff n not hurt us much. They s kind 
 o short grass long there too, n some 
 timber, so it won t burn so fast there any 
 how. Liable to be uh lot o smoke, 
 
116 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 though, n we ll half to look out fer that 
 too. C mon, less git uh hustle on us." 
 
 Down the hill we went, helter-skelter 
 for the canoes, and jumping in, paddled 
 swiftly to the creek the boy spoke of, 
 about an eighth of a mile back up the river. 
 
 Landing, we quickly unloaded and 
 carried the canoes over a riffle for about 
 fifty yards, and launched them in the 
 back-water of the creek, where we reloaded 
 them again, and then carefully picked a 
 path through the shallow water until they 
 were safe and snug under the high rock 
 bluff that formed the south bank. 
 
 A safer place to escape could hardly be 
 found in the country, and to the boy s 
 quick judgment and intimate knowledge 
 we owe our lives, probably, to-day. 
 
 "Say, I m goin to th top o th bluff n 
 see how things is," said the boy when we 
 had everything safely fixed, and up he 
 went, climbing the straight sides of the 
 bluff by clinging to the few bushes and 
 points of rock that offered a foothold. 
 
 Reaching the top, he stood for a moment 
 
RACE WITH A PRAIRIE FIRE 117 
 
 or two looking at the smoke cloud, and 
 then, turning, shouted: "C mon, up, n 
 fetch th rope n some matches. It s 
 only juss started down fr m th top o th 
 mountain, n we c n backfire, if we hurry 
 up, n fool th fire sure. Come a-run- 
 nin , cos we hain t got no time to swap 
 jack-knives." 
 
 I climbed up the bluff too, then, carry 
 ing the coil of half -inch rope about sixty 
 feet of it that we used in handling the 
 canoes in rocky riffles sometimes. 
 
 The boy took the line and doubled it 
 around a small jack oak that grew on the 
 brink of the bluff, letting both ends hang 
 down. "Now we got uh quick way to 
 git down if we haff to run," he said. 
 
 "C mon, less start uh backfire now," he 
 continued, as he gathered up a great bunch 
 of dry grass and leaves, and twisted them 
 into a torch shape. 
 
 "We got to hurry, she s a-comin !" he 
 said, as he ran toward the coming fire. 
 
 A hundred yards from the creek bank 
 he stopped, lighted his torch and ran 
 
118 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 parallel with the creek, dragging the burn 
 ing mass along the top of the grass. 
 
 Immediately tiny flames leapt up and 
 began growing, spreading to the north and 
 south. 
 
 When his torch was burned out the boy 
 dropped the remains of it and came bound 
 ing down toward the creek like a scared 
 rabbit. 
 
 "Slide down!" he shouted, and down I 
 went. 
 
 A moment afterward he scrambled over 
 the edge of the bluff and slid down the 
 double rope too; then catching one end he 
 pulled the line down and coiled it up. 
 
 * Guess it can t bother us now. Yeh 
 see that fire at I set 11 burn up to th top 
 o th bluif here fore th big fire gits this 
 far, n en it burns toowords th big fire 
 too, n when they meet they ll both go 
 out, n there yeh are." 
 
 Even as he spoke little wisps of burning 
 grass came tumbling down from above, 
 and we were kept busy watching the 
 canoes and then- contents. 
 
RACE WITH A PRAIRIE FIRE 119 
 
 In about ten minutes there was nothing 
 but a blackened, smoking stretch of country 
 to the south and the big fire had swept by, 
 "jumping" the creek and going on north 
 like an express train. 
 
 We were safe, but pretty well choked 
 with the pungent smoke, and our eyes were 
 red and swollen to a painful degree. 
 
 "It s all right now, let s git back to th 
 river n g won down," said the boy. 
 
 Soon we were afloat and hurrying down 
 to the south with the current. 
 
 On both sides there was nothing but 
 the black, smoking world; no life any 
 where in sight. The river was more or 
 less covered with charred embers of wood 
 and the debris of the fire too. 
 
 On reaching the first little town down 
 stream, we learned that the fire had fol 
 lowed the river for a number of miles, 
 and so concluded to give up our voy 
 age, as there would be no pleasure in 
 floating so far through such a desolate 
 country. 
 
 That evening we loaded the canoes in 
 
120 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 the baggage car and went back home on 
 the train. 
 
 The fire had burned to the river south 
 of town, and there a combination of river, 
 fields and small creeks, coupled with a 
 change of wind, had stopped its rush, and 
 it died a natural death. 
 
BEAVER TRAPPING ON THE 
 RIVER 
 
 <4 SAY, I got uh camp all fixed fer win 
 ter up river, n I reckon them beaver 
 pelts is about right now what yeh say, 
 less go up n git em?" Thus the boy 
 spoke as he came into my workshop one 
 bright November morning. 
 
 The leaves had become only brown bits 
 of flotsam that the wind played tag with, 
 and piled into long windrows and heaps in 
 the protected spots of ground, and the 
 trees were gray skeletons penciled against 
 the sky. Frost whitened the ground, 
 while every morning there was a fringe of 
 ice along shore in the quiet reaches of the 
 river, and the air was just snappy enough 
 to be like wood wine. 
 
 "Well," I answered, "I guess there is 
 no valid reason why I should not go, so 
 make your plans and consider me a part 
 of the outfit." 
 
 121 
 
122. JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Aw right. Reckon we might juss as 
 well figger on gittin all th fun we kin 
 while we re at it, so I ll take all my traps 
 along mebby we kin git some coons n 
 mnssrats while we re ketchin them beaver 
 too." 
 
 "What do I want to take?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, bring yer gun n shells fer ducks 
 n geese, n some small shot fer quail n 
 cottontails, n en yeh better bring uh 
 couple o loads o buckshot, cos we might 
 see uh ki-ote some round up there aw 
 right. I got nough outfit fer both of us, 
 n we ll git supplies fer uh week er so, 
 n en we won t haff to come back till we 
 git them pelts, less we want to." 
 
 "When will we start?" 
 
 "In th mornin , I guess can t git 
 ready much fore that, n en they ain t no 
 use to hurry anyhow, n we want th best 
 part of uh day to git things fixed n th 
 traps set, yeh know. Say we start early 
 in th mornin ?" 
 
 "All right, then, I ll meet you at the 
 landing about sunrise to-morrow." 
 
BEAVER TRAPPING 123 
 
 "Uhhuh. So long." 
 
 The next morning bright and early I 
 hurried to the landing, where a clatter of 
 oars on the sides of the boats and the 
 sound of a merry whistle told me that the 
 boy was already on hand and busy. 
 
 "Hullo, got here, did yeh?" 
 
 "Yes. I see you are ready." 
 
 "Yep. Got th old Mud Hen out V 
 loaded her up, cos I thought th canoes ud 
 be uh leetle touchy like fer so late in th 
 season ice liable to come with th first 
 freeze n it ud cut em all to pieces, yeh 
 know, n en th old Mud Hen 11 stand 
 most any kind o knockin round thout 
 hurtin her any. Git yer stuff in n less 
 be goin . I ll row n you steer, n have 
 yer shootin iron ready mighty apt to git 
 some ducks this time o day, yeh know." 
 
 Five minutes later we were leaving a 
 long, wrinkly wake that spread across the 
 quiet stream, and tinkled against the thin 
 ice crystals that fringed the shore. The 
 willows now were gaunt stripling trees, 
 outlined like pen lines against the morn- 
 
124 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 ing sky, and the bine-gray of the timber 
 banked in behind them half-way to their 
 tops in flattened perspective from our point 
 of view. Small brown birds chirped 
 among the bushes as they hunted their 
 morning meal, but the clatter of summer 
 visitors was lacking, for all the birds were 
 gone, save these hardy little brown fel 
 lows, and an occasional slate-colored tit 
 mouse that ran up and down the larger 
 tree trunks, unmindful of whether he was 
 on the upper or lower side, or whether he 
 was headed up or down gravitation 
 seemed to have no more effect on him than 
 it does on thistle down. 
 
 "Don t seem much like it did uh month 
 er so ago long th river now, does it?" 
 asked the boy. "Still," he continued, 
 4 they s juss as much to see n hear as 
 they was then, only it s different, n yeh 
 got to know how to look fer it these here 
 frosty mornin s changes everything juss 
 like they take th leaves offen th trees, 
 don t they?" 
 
 The boy kept up a running fire of com- 
 
BEAVER TRAPPING 125 
 
 merit on river life and ways until we 
 reached his winter camp a snug little 
 half -sod, half -dugout cabin hidden away 
 in a nook of the river bank. 
 
 "Here we are," he announced, as he 
 pushed the nose of the old "Mud Hen" 
 up against the soft bank and jumped 
 out. 
 
 "Less git our truck hit th cabin n 
 git things fixed up fer livin , n en I want 
 to git them beaver traps set sure to-night, 
 cos the sooner we git em th better, while 
 they don t know we re in th country. 
 Yeh see, these here beaver is mighty slick 
 critters, n they savie things fore yeh 
 know it, so th best way is to trap em 
 fore they know yer round that s why I 
 want ever beaver trap I got set fer 
 to-night." 
 
 "We piled our outfits into the cabin, 
 then, taking a hasty lunch, loaded the 
 traps and ax into the boat and were soon 
 pulling for the beaver grounds a mile 
 further up stream. On the way we 
 stopped long enough for the boy to cut six 
 
126 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 poles, about ten or twelve feet long, and 
 strong enough to hold a struggling beaver 
 when the trap had him fast. 
 
 "Now you row n I ll fix these trap 
 poles," said the boy. 
 
 I took the oars and the youngster went 
 to work whittling wedges and splitting the 
 small ends of the poles, after which he 
 slipped the ring of a trap chain over the 
 end and drove the wedge firmly into the 
 pole, enlarging it so the ring could by no 
 possibility be pulled off. 
 
 "That s uh trick I learnt from old man 
 Hagey when he was trappin long th 
 river here, an it s the best scheme I ever 
 
 saw to work on uh beaver trap 
 
 Whoa! Now backup to th bank where 
 yeh see that kind o uh wore place in th 
 grass, n be careful yeh don t touch th 
 bank er th bottom with th boat, n en 
 I ll set this trap fer Mr. Beaver." 
 
 I backed the boat into position, and the 
 boy, taking one of the poles, drove it 
 deeply into the soft mud of the river, tip 
 ping it at a slight angle downward, and in 
 
BEAVER TRAPPING 127 
 
 such a position that it was entirely under 
 water when he had finished. 
 
 Then he set the powerful trap, and lean 
 ing out, placed it in the runway leading 
 into the beaver hole in the bank ; but in 
 such a way that the pan was about four 
 inches under water ; then he covered the 
 heavy parts of the trap with soft river 
 mud and was finished. 
 
 "That one ll ketch Mr. Beaver by the 
 front foot left front foot when he comes 
 out, n en when he finds he s fast he ll 
 plunge right fer deep water, takin th 
 trap with him n slidin th ring clear out 
 to th end o th pole. That s where 
 he ll make uh mighty big mistake, cos th 
 pole s longer n th trap chain is, n he 
 can t git back to th shore, n en th trap 
 is so heavy he can t swim to th top fer 
 more fresh air, ner he can t git to th stick 
 to gnaw it off, n sides it s hard n dry, 
 n he couldn t cut it anyhow ithout 
 breakin his teeth. Yeh see them little 
 knots on th pole is all long enough to 
 ketch th ring n stop him ef he should 
 
128 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 try to git back to shore after he gits 
 caught, n he can t hold his breath long 
 nuff to gnaw his laig off n git out that 
 way, n there he is juss got nnthin to 
 do but drownd hisself, cos he didn t stop 
 to think bout how he d git back when he 
 struck fer deep water. That s what old 
 man Ilagey told me when he showed me 
 how to trap beaver, n he knowed if ever 
 anybody did n en I ve caught a lot of 
 em that way since, n I know it ll work. 
 
 "Some folks puts castor on sticks n 
 things to draw beavers to th trap, but I 
 think that kind o stuff is uh whole lot like 
 putt in anniss oil on fish bait all uh lot 
 o rot n foolishness. I reckon it s uh 
 whole lot better to juss figger on bein 
 smarter n whatever you re after is, n en 
 you don t need no such tomfoolery. 
 
 "Aw right, less g won to th next place 
 got to set these other five traps to-night. 
 
 By and by all the beaver traps were in 
 position, and we went back to camp, where 
 we soon had things in good shape for a 
 comfortable stay of several days, if need be. 
 
BEAVER TRAPPING 129 
 
 "I m goin out n set uh lot o these 
 mussrat traps now," said the boy. "Yeh 
 git uh bite to eat, n I ll fix these rat 
 traps alone they ain t pertic lar work, cos 
 uh rat 11 juss purt near fall into uh trap if 
 yeh give him uh chance." 
 
 About dark he came in, tied up the 
 boat, and said: "I figger we ll have bout 
 four er five beaver n twenty er thirty 
 mussrats, n maby uh coon er two, by 
 mornin , less n it comes uh storm, n that 
 ain t likely. No thin moves much when 
 it s a-stormin , yeh know, but when th 
 weather is like it is now, all these critters 
 goes galavantin round bout all night, so 
 we ll have some fur in th mornin aw 
 right. 
 
 "Less eat. I m hungrier n uh ki-ote 
 t ain t done nothin but chase hisself fer 
 uh month." 
 
 After supper I smoked and listened to 
 the homely wood lore that the boy was so 
 familiar with, until the fireplace glowed 
 dull red and the boy remarked that, 
 "We d better sleep some." 
 
SNOWED UP IN CAMP 
 
 "SAY, I reckon that ain t more n hafl 
 bad fer one night s work, huh?" said the 
 boy, as he finished stretching the last 
 muskrat hide over a bent willow stick and 
 hung it in company with a dozen of its 
 kindred, a couple of coon skins and five 
 fine beaver pelts that dangled from the low 
 elm limb in front of the shanty. 
 
 "That s whut I c nsider uh purty fair 
 night s work that is seem at trappin 
 ain t nuthin like it ust to be when old 
 man Hagey trapped up n down th river 
 here he ust to git fifteen r twenty beaver 
 n uh night, n never took no count o 
 xnnssrats n such stuff. Them was trap- 
 pin times, but now they s so many folks 
 cum in n settled long th river that 
 trappin s petered out complete. 
 
 "I missed one old beaver up there by 
 that old cottonwood log guess I set the 
 trap uh little too deep fer him, maybe 
 131 
 
132 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 anyways it was sprung V on y uh few 
 hairs in th jaws. 
 
 "He ll be mighty cute now, V I dunno 
 if I kin git him right away er not. Gee, 
 I m hungry bin up since daylight, V I 
 like to froze fore I got warm pullin up to 
 th traps. This north wind has got uh 
 mighty snowy feel to it, V ducks are 
 thick on th river this mornin , so I 
 wouldn t be s prised if we git snowed up 
 here good V plenty fore we knowed it. 
 Got plenty o grub though, so let ersnow, 
 whut d we care, huh?" 
 
 I had breakfast all ready when the boy 
 finished his hide-stretching operations, 
 and after a dip in the icy current of the 
 river and a scrub with a rough towel the 
 youngster came in to the table, his face 
 aglow with health, and his appetite in 
 keeping with his looks. 
 
 "Say, I ll tell yeh whut less do after 
 breakfast less go n git some ducks n 
 have uh reg lar barbecue whut d ye 
 say?" 
 
 "All right, I m with you. Won t you 
 
SNOWED UP IN CAMP 133 
 
 have anything more to do with the traps 
 to-day?" 
 
 "No, I left em all set when I cum 
 down, n I ll go look at em juss fore 
 dark again, n set them other two er three 
 mussrat traps, n en I guess they ll do the 
 rest." 
 
 Breakfast over, we got the guns, and, 
 crossing the river, were soon tramping 
 through the sighing woods in the direction 
 of a string of ponds that the boy knew of. 
 
 "We don t want to hunt along th 
 river, cos th more racket we make th 
 more we are li ble to scare th beaver I m 
 after," said the young trapper. 
 
 About noon the chill wind that had 
 been moaning among the trees all day 
 lulled itself to comparative quiet, and a 
 few big flakes of snow floated down 
 through the gray branches. 
 
 "Less git back to camp. We got ducks 
 miff, n it s goin to snow plenty. We 
 better git uh stock o wood up to camp 
 fore it comes, too hard work, yeh know, 
 huntin wood when th snow s got it all 
 
134 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 buried up. I don t like th looks o this 
 weather uh whole lot, cos I figger nh 
 good, old-time storm s a-comin sure, n 
 if it does we ll juss haff to hoof it back to 
 town when it clears up, n leave th boat 
 V outfit tull th ice gits hard nuff to 
 bring em back on uh sled." 
 
 We were walking back toward the 
 boat as we talked and by mid-afternoon 
 had crossed the river again amid a flying 
 swirl of downy flakes that half hid the fast 
 whitening landscape, and after our guns 
 and game were stowed away inside the 
 cabin, we put in the rest of the afternoon 
 hustling good, dry wood, and building a 
 rough pole and grass shelter over it to 
 keep the snow off. 
 
 "Well, I m goin round to see if th 
 traps is aw right goin long?" asked the 
 boy, as the signs of evening came into the 
 sky. 
 
 A good deal of scraping and brushing 
 of snow was necessary before we got the 
 old "Mud Hen" in shape for the journey, 
 but in time she slipped out into midstream 
 
SNOWED UP IN CAMP 135 
 
 and pushed her now icy nose up the cur 
 rent amid a cloud of flying flakes until we 
 reached the beaver grounds. 
 
 The river looked strangely black in the 
 new white of the rest of the landscape, 
 and every solid object bore a great burden 
 of snow where the wind did not sweep it 
 off as fast as it fell. Our voices sounded 
 muffled and echoless in the increasing 
 storm, and there was a strange hurrying 
 sound in the air that rushed along above 
 the tree tops. 
 
 When the traps were all inspected, the 
 boy cast a quick glance aloft and around 
 the sky and said: "We re goin to have 
 uh chance to break ice along shore in th j 
 mornin when we look at these traps, n I 
 wouldn t wonder if to-night s the last of 
 it till it freezes up solid nuff to travel on 
 skates looks that way t any rate, so we 
 might s well git ready to break camp to 
 morrow, less you want to stay tell it 
 freezes up." 
 
 An hour later we were snug inside the 
 cabin, with a booming blaze in the dug-out 
 
136 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 fireplace, giving a cheerful warmth to the 
 little home in the white wilderness. 
 
 "Say, when are we goin to take that 
 trip west?" said the boy, as he finished 
 hanging his stock of green pelts up over 
 the fireplace so they would dry, and then 
 pitched a huge section of dry limb on the 
 blaze, so it would need no more attention 
 for some time. 
 
 "In the spring, I suppose; say when 
 grass gets good about the last of May or 
 first of June," I answered. 
 
 "Where ll we head for? I d like to go 
 to them Black Hills, up there n Wyo 
 ming, where you was that s uh good 
 huntin country, ain t it n mountains 
 n pine timber nuff too, I reckon less 
 go up there." 
 
 "All right, that suits me. It isn t so 
 far away as the main chain, and it s as 
 good a game country as there is in the 
 States to-day. Besides, it has this advan 
 tage, we can drive all over the country up 
 there with a wagon, which makes it a 
 mighty pleasant place to spend the sum- 
 
SNOWED UP IN CAMP 137 
 
 mer in. The water isn t anything to brag 
 about, but we don t need to go into the 
 alkali country much if we don t want to; 
 the water in the hills is all right, except in 
 a few places, and I know where they are." 
 
 All right then, that s a go. How ll 
 we go, wagon or pack horses?" 
 
 "I think a wagon the better. Take a 
 good broncho team and a light outfit that 
 won t wear the horses out and then travel 
 slowly, and we ll be all right for the sum 
 mer if we want to stay that long. There 
 is plenty of good mineral in the hills, and 
 we might do a little prospecting, too, if we 
 want to, as we go along. Who knows, we 
 might strike a gold mine before we get 
 back." 
 
 1 Well, I dunno much about rocks n 
 stuff, but I reckon I kin learn, n I ll 
 prospect all right. I reckon I d know uh 
 chunk o gold if I see it growin on uh 
 tree, anyhow; so I ll try it with yeh. 
 What I want more n anything else, 
 though, is to git uh crack at them deer n 
 elk n bears up there." 
 
138 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Well, we can get our outfit together 
 this winter and hit the trail as soon as 
 grass is good. The details we can figure 
 on as we go along, and we ll be ready 
 before we know it. What do you say to 
 getting this barbecue of ours going about 
 now?" 
 
 "That s so; I d furgot all about that 
 bunch o ducks. What 11 we do, chuck 
 th ducks n squirrels n snipes all in 
 together n make a potpie of em?" 
 
 "I reckon I m good for half of that 
 kind of a stew if you can handle the rest," 
 I answered. 
 
 "Here they go then. You git th taters 
 n onions n things ready, n I ll yank 
 th pelts off this bunch o game while yeh 
 wait, as th shoemaker sez bout half- 
 solin shoes down n town." 
 
 The big stow kettle was soon giving 
 forth savory odors, and we hustled around, 
 fixing up a camp supper that was good for 
 hungry outdoor folks, but probably a little 
 rich for dyspeptics to sleep on. 
 
 "Gee! we re sure in fer it now, snow s 
 
SNOWED UP IN CAMP 139 
 
 uh foot deep this minit, n still comin 
 down like th ole scratch," said the boy, 
 as he opened the door and squinted out 
 into the night with the air of one who 
 knew the signs. 
 
WE START FOR THE MOUN 
 TAINS 
 
 THE day came when the snows were 
 melted and the river ran bank full with a 
 murky flood. The south wind was full of 
 the earthy smell of spring, and robins and 
 bluebirds flitted up out of the sunny lands 
 below the southern horizon. There is 
 something about the awakening of a new 
 summer that makes men restless, so I was 
 not surprised when the boy burst into the 
 workshop like a runaway cyclone, and said, 
 "Say, gee!" 
 
 "What s the matter, now?" I asked. 
 
 "Less git ready n go t th mountains. 
 I m juss dyin to git out o this ole flat 
 country. Gee! I feel s if I c d climb 
 forty mile to-day. Whut s th use o us 
 foolin away our time here less git th 
 outfit together V git uh hike on us!" 
 
 "Now, see here, son," I answered, "you 
 must use a little horse sense and see where 
 141 
 
142 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 you would come out if you started to-day. 
 You know grass won t be big enough for 
 horse feed for a month yet, and up there 
 your horses have got to have grass, because 
 you cannot carry feed over a thousand 
 miles of wilderness for them. Savvy?" 
 
 "Yep. Less git things ready, anyhow, 
 n start juss s soon s ever we can. You 
 tinker up th wagon n I ll git th campin 
 part o th outfit in shape, n en we ll 
 have the whole thing ready sost t leave 
 bout th first o May what d yeh 
 say?" 
 
 "Well, that will do. Suppose we use 
 the shop for a headquarters and bring all 
 the outfit here. You can come here and 
 we can talk things over and decide on any 
 point that may happen to be in doubt, so 
 that when we start we won t have to come 
 back for anything. * 
 
 "That s uh go, then. I ll go n over 
 haul all th stuff I got n see what we 
 want to take, n what we don t. I ll 
 fetch em in as I come. Goo by; I m 
 goin ." 
 
START FOR THE MOUNTAINS 143 
 
 Then came thirty days of suppressed 
 excitement and anticipation for the boy, 
 and at last it was over. One bright May 
 morning we drove down through the town, 
 out across the iron bridge that spanned the 
 river, and slowly up the long slope of hill 
 side where the road climbed to the high 
 "divide." 
 
 The boy looked back from the hilltop, 
 and waved his hand in a good-by to the 
 little river where he had lived so many 
 summers and was now leaving to explore 
 other and unknown lands. 
 
 Our outfit was a light spring wagon with 
 a canvas cover and a first-class pair of 
 tough little bronchos that would pull, 
 buck, kick or run off with equal vehe 
 mence. Packed away in the wagon were all 
 the things that make a camper s heart 
 glad, but there was a conspicuous absence 
 of many useless and cumbersome things 
 that are made for and used by the would-be 
 camper who expects cream in his coffee in 
 the wilderness and kicks if he has to use a 
 saddle for a pillow. 
 
144 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 There wasn t much weight in the 
 wagon, but the boy and I made a good 
 many hundred miles with what we did 
 have. This voyaging across the grass 
 land was a joyful experience for both, and 
 the boy found so many new things to ask 
 about and want information on that it 
 kept me busy answering him. 
 
 Up along the divide we journeyed until 
 it was time to head northwest, and then 
 we wound down among the cut clay 
 canyons and entered the great wide valley 
 of the Platte. 
 
 "Say," said the boy, as he saw this 
 strange river, "this is uh funny kind o 
 river, ain t it? I ve heard about it lots, 
 but I never saw it b fore, n I reckon I 
 don t think much of it, now t I have seen 
 it. What s th use o uh river t ain t got 
 any trees long it n nuthin but sand bars 
 with uh little water round em fr m one 
 bank t th other? Hump! Why, uh 
 blamed ole catfish d have more sense n 
 to live n such uh place, seems t me!" 
 
 "That s where you don t know. Xow, 
 
START FOR THE MOUNTAINS 145 
 
 let me tell you something about these sand 
 rivers, because you may want to know be 
 fore we get back. There are plenty of fish 
 in all of them, but you must understand 
 that they stay in the deeper places, where 
 a current swings around a bend and under 
 mines the bank, for instance, or where a 
 log happens to make a bore in the sand 
 by swinging the current into one place 
 and making it wash the sand away. 
 Now, when you know this, you will not 
 have much trouble in catching a mess of 
 catfish in the Platte or either of the 
 Loup rivers, if you use frogs, minnows or 
 grasshoppers for bait, depending on the 
 season of the year, you know." 
 
 "I m goin to try em first chance I git, 
 f that s th case. I d like to fool some of 
 em just fer fun," he answered. 
 
 A few days afterward, when we crossed 
 the South Loup, the boy made his promise 
 good, and we feasted on catfish to our 
 hearts content. 
 
 One evening, as the sun went down, it 
 threw a long, low line of hills into blue 
 
146 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 relief in the distance, and the boy noticed 
 it. 
 
 "What hills are them, way off yonder 
 hain t th mountains, are they?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No ; those are the sandhills, and before 
 noon to-morrow we will be driving over 
 this strange country one that is always 
 moving toward the southeast." 
 
 "Ah, g won! What yeh givin us?" said 
 the boy. 
 
 "It is a fact, nevertheless. You see 
 that range of hills is nothing more or less 
 than great heaps of sand, partly grassed 
 over and so dry that the wind always blows 
 the northwest side over the top of the hill 
 and leaves it to sift down on the southeast. 
 You see the edge of the desert country up 
 there, and by noon to-morrow you will 
 have seen the hills move and will know 
 how it is done without any telling. This 
 country stretches from here to the Nio- 
 brara River, and after we cross the Dismal 
 River we will follow the Middle Loup 
 right through these sandhills to the other 
 
START FOR THE MOUNTAINS 147 
 
 side, where we will come out at the Pine 
 Ridge country, and that is the last outly 
 ing spur of the Black Hills, where they 
 peter out and come down to the level of 
 the grass country. From there the hills 
 get higher and higher, until you get up 
 near Deadwood, then they begin to slope 
 the other way again. You will see all 
 these things as you go along. 
 
 "Ain t they any water n these sand 
 hills, only where th rivers cut through?" 
 
 "Yes, they are full of little lakes of the 
 finest kind of water, and in season they 
 are alive with ducks and geese. It s a 
 great game country all through plenty of 
 deer and antelope and a good many elk, in 
 parts, yet. It used to be a great buffalo 
 country, too, but they are all gone further 
 west or northwest now, and what few are 
 left are pretty wild. It s a Sioux country, 
 too, so we may have a chance to see what 
 a war party looks like before we get 
 back." 
 
 "Well, I dunno s I m lookin fer any 
 Injuns to speak of, n I didn t come out 
 
148 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 here to do any scrimmagin round 
 mongst em, but I reckon we kin show 
 em some fun if they come round lookin 
 fer uh fuss." 
 
 "There was a jolly smile on the boy s 
 face while he spoke, but there was a glitter 
 in his eye, and a flush of color on his 
 cheek, too, and I knew how well he could 
 shoot, so I concluded it would be pretty 
 unhealthy for a small war party of Indians 
 if they met those repeaters of ours in a fair 
 open fight the boy would be apt to think 
 he had struck a diversion, and shoot and 
 laugh at the same time he was built that 
 way, and was a Western boy, who natu 
 rally figured on a good Indian being a dead 
 one. 
 
 However, no one got our scalps and no 
 war bonnets came within our range of vis 
 ion on the trip, and the boy found plenty 
 of new and wonderful things to keep him 
 busy asking questions, and me equally 
 busy explaining. It would take too much 
 space to tell you how he thought a*soap 
 root was a kind of a palm tree, "er palm 
 
START FOR THE MOUNTAINS 149 
 
 bush, like," as he expressed it, and how a 
 mil-age fooled him into looking for a lake 
 one afternoon, how he wondered what 
 horned toads lived on, and was puzzled 
 about what kind of a bird a young curlew 
 was he "reckoned it might be some kind 
 o uh ostridge, er somp n o that breed, 
 on y they wasn t no ostridges in th 
 United States, t he ever heard of ceptin 
 them t was brought here fr m Africky." 
 He even went out and climbed among 
 the sand dunes the first night we camped 
 on the edge of the sand-hill country, just 
 to satisfy himself what kind of sand they 
 were made of. He was an inquisitive, 
 wide-awake, growing boy, with a thirst for 
 travel and the knowledge it brings with it 
 in these days, and gave no promise of 
 developing into the staid, steady man of 
 to-day, who talks good English, albeit 
 there may be a good Western word crop 
 out now and then when he gets into a 
 thoughtful mood and talks of the days 
 that are gone, when we have watched the 
 golden sun sink into the purple west and 
 
150 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 leave the sky a burning wilderness of color 
 against which our white-tilted wagon 
 stood in bold relief and our camp smoke 
 twisted a thin blue spiral, 
 
DOWN IN THE QUICKSAND 
 
 "So THAT S th Dismal River, eh?" said 
 the boy, as we drove up to the edge of the 
 sand dunes, where the road pitched its 
 yellow length down toward the stream. 
 
 "Less stop here uh minit an look at 
 things," he continued. "Seems s if all 
 these rivers out here just kinder got lost 
 like n go galavantin round through th 
 country thout no speshul reason tall. 
 They ain t as nice as uh river with trees 
 all long th bank, are they? Is ever river 
 n this country here this same way, juss 
 nothin but uh sort o ditch like, uh run- 
 nin crost th prairie when they ain t more 
 sand than they is water?" 
 
 "Well, they are a good deal alike," I 
 answered, "most of them being a ditch as 
 you say, down in a wide level valley like 
 this one, and all of them are full of sand, 
 more or less quicksand too, by the way, 
 and it is apt to make travel anything but a 
 151 
 
152 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 dream of pleasure, if you happen to get 
 down in it with the outfit. 
 
 "Do you see that little bunch of cabins 
 away up the valley there, on the right 
 bank of the Loup? No, here, away up 
 above the mouth of the Dismal, up this 
 other valley that s the middle Loup, and 
 this river right here in front is the 
 Dismal." 
 
 The boy looked slowly up the second 
 valley with the glass, and then said: 
 "Uh, huh, I see em sort o uh farm, I 
 guess." 
 
 "Well, that is Farmer s ranch, seven 
 miles from here, and the last ranch but 
 one between us and Pine Ridge. The 
 next is Stem s ranch, forty miles further 
 up stream and only a littly way from 
 where the Middle Loup rises in Dock 
 Lake, which is just this side of the Mobrara 
 divide. I think we had better cross both 
 rivers and camp at Farmer s to-night, then 
 go on up to Stem s to-morrow." 
 
 "What s the matter with goin down 
 below th mouth o th Dismal, n crossin 
 
DOWN IN THE QUICKSAND 153 
 
 th Loup down there won t haff to cross 
 but one river then, n it d be easier, 
 seems t me." 
 
 "That s where you lack wisdom, my son, 
 and show that you are a sure tenderfoot in 
 this country. You must remember that 
 the banks of these rivers are straight up 
 and down, and from four to forty or fifty 
 feet high. You can t drive a team up 
 and down such places very easily, can you? 
 Then you must remember that this trail 
 we are following was picked out by the 
 cow-punchers up here as the best route to 
 haul supplies in to camp over, so don t 
 try to hunt a new road these fellows 
 know the country and you and I don t, 
 see?" 
 
 "Yep, less g won n git t where we re 
 go in then, cos th sun ain t any too high 
 to drive seven miles n git into camp 
 decent." 
 
 We* careened and jolted down the strip 
 of yellow trail, sometimes with a deep 
 gully perilously near one side of the road ? 
 sometimes with good traveling under us, 
 
154 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 but always with the brake grinding against 
 the wheels and the bronchos bracing back 
 against the stout harness until we rolled 
 out on the level flat and on down to the 
 sandy stream, across it and up the valley 
 of the other until we were opposite Farm 
 er s ranch. 
 
 Here it was necessary to ford the Middle 
 Loup, one of the worst quicksand rivers in 
 the West. 
 
 "I expect we ll get down in the sand 
 here with the outfit, sure," I remarked; 
 "never crossed this river when I didn t, so 
 we had better get into shape to work 
 quickly if we do." 
 
 The boy looked at me with a quick side 
 glance that he had a habit of using, and 
 said: "Humph. That s uh nice layout, 
 I reckon. What yeh goin to do to buck 
 quicksand anyhow?" 
 
 "Well, about the first thing is to be 
 ready to jump overboard right suddenly if 
 the horses go down, and get them loose 
 from the wagon and loose from each other 
 so they can flounder across. The water 
 
DOWN IN THE QUICKSAND 155 
 
 isn t very deep, and if a broncho is free to 
 flounder around all he wants to, you won t 
 see him mire down so he can t get out. 
 We d better get off our shoes and surplus 
 clothing and get the picket ropes and tow 
 line ready for business. Better fasten a 
 picket rope to each horse s neck and bring 
 the coil back into the wagon, because these 
 horses of ours would be pretty hard to get 
 hold of if they got loose in this country." 
 
 Everything was soon in readiness for the 
 crossing, and we drove out into the current 
 of the stream. All went well until we 
 were in mid-stream, then the horses struck 
 the quicksand, and after a couple of in 
 effectual, floundering leaps they were both 
 fast down in the sand, until the water 
 lapped over their backs as they lay mired 
 there in the current. 
 
 "Now, out you go, partner," I said. 
 "Get your horse loose from the traces and 
 loose from the other horse. I ll attend to 
 this side. They won t move for a minute 
 or two, but when they begin to throw their 
 heads up, look out, for they ll jump in a 
 
15G JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 moment more. Get hold of your horse s 
 rope then and let him go to the bank after 
 his own fashion, but stay with him. You 
 must keep moving as you work or you 11 
 go down too." 
 
 We were both in the water and working 
 swiftly while I talked, loosening the traces 
 and the snaps that held the neck yoke and 
 lines to the harness. 
 
 "Look out now! Your horse is going 
 to get up get away from him !" I shouted, 
 as I saw signs of movement on the boy s 
 side. 
 
 The horse floundered to his feet, went 
 down, plunged up and ahead again, and 
 kept going until he reached the bank, 
 where he stood dripping wet and quiet 
 with the boy safe by his side. 
 
 My horse rested a little longer, and then 
 he too got up, only to go down worse than 
 ever, but he was a range horse, and had 
 been through this same experience before, 
 so he kept quiet a few minutes and then 
 began to roll, going entirely under water 
 and over on his other side, where he 
 
DOWN IN THE QUICKSAND 157 
 
 jumped to his feet, plunged forward and 
 was down again. 
 
 Trying to drive a horse under such cir 
 cumstances will only result in disaster, but 
 if left to take their own time they will 
 come out all right, so I kept moving about 
 and let the horse work out his own salva 
 tion, and in a few minutes he, too, stood 
 panting and wet beside the other on the 
 bank, none the worse for wear. 
 
 "Now you take care of the team and I ll 
 get the neck yoke and double trees, so we 
 can tow the wagon out," I said to the 
 boy, as I waded back after these two much 
 needed articles that were still in mid 
 stream on the slowly -sinking wagon. 
 
 "Now hitch them up and fasten the two 
 picket lines to the double tree," I said, as 
 I went back again after a heavy line, 
 which we had brought along for just such 
 scrapes, and I soon had it fast to the 
 doubled picket lines and to the end of the 
 wagon tongue. 
 
 "Now when you are ready drive straight 
 back away from the river so you will pull 
 
158 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 the wagon across, and I ll stay here to keep 
 the tongue up and steer the ship," I called 
 to the boy as I got back to the wagon 
 again. 
 
 "Aw right; ready?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, go ahead." 
 
 The wiry little team put a strain on the 
 rope, then got down close to the ground 
 and pulled like majors. The wagon 
 heaved upward out of the sand and then 
 rolled and swayed across the current like 
 a ship at sea, as the wheels sunk into the 
 soft spots in the bottom, and were pulled 
 on out again, and at last the outfit rolled 
 up the bank and came to a stop on the 
 solid ground. 
 
 "Say, gee," said the boy, "I d never a 
 thought o that way o get tin out o th 
 sand!" 
 
 "That is a trick I saw worked a long 
 time ago, my boy, by an outfit right down 
 on the South Loup. It isn t very elegant, 
 but you notice it works, as all the other 
 little things work out here, where men 
 have to take care of themselves." 
 
DOWN IN THE QUICKSAND 159 
 
 "They s always uhway to do ever thing 
 most if yeh juss know how, but th trick 
 of it is learning ain t it?" said the boy. 
 
JUST "HITTING THE TRAIL" 
 
 "This here s whut yeh call sage brush, 
 is it?" inquired the boy, as he climbed up 
 in the wagon seat with one of the highly 
 scented shrubs in his hand and turned it 
 over and over, inspecting every branch and 
 leaf. "Seems s ough it d ought to grow 
 bigger n that if it was goin to grow t all, 
 but I reckon they s uh reason why it don t 
 if uh feller juss know d it." 
 
 "Well," I replied, "you notice that this 
 ground is very hard, and that water is 
 pretty scarce two conditions that have 
 helped to produce this knotty, gnarly little 
 excuse for a tree. I have seen them 
 further west where they grow six or eight 
 feet high in the creek bottoms near water. 
 Take it up in the foothills this side of the 
 main range, where the soil is fairly good 
 and the water is plenty, there you will see 
 it grow to a good-sized bush." 
 
 "Hain t much water here t any time o 
 161 
 
162 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 year, I sh d judge, juss fr m th looks o 
 things, is they?" 
 
 "Xo, not very much. You see, this 
 country is had lands that is Pine Ridge 
 off yonder where you can see that chain of 
 hills with the evergreens on. Over here is 
 the South Fork of the Cheyenne River, 
 where it runs around the south edge of the 
 Black Hills, or, rather, "between the hills 
 and the had lands. 
 
 4 * This is a curious country up here, you 
 notice. The line of formation is as clear 
 hetween the hills and the had lands as 
 though they were miles apart. Here the 
 water is loaded with alkali across the 
 Cheyenne Eiver it is good. There is no 
 grass nor rocks here to speak of, and across 
 the river both are plenty. Here it is bad 
 lands; there it is mountains and fairly 
 good soil." 
 
 "That s kind o curious, ain t it? 
 What makes it that way?" 
 
 "It is the formation, that is all just a 
 geological freak. The bad lands are a 
 sedimentary formation and the hills are an 
 
"HITTING THE TRAIL" 163 
 
 upheaval. The probabilities are that what 
 we see in the present Black Hills country 
 is nothing more nor less than the tops of 
 a half-buried mountain range, and that 
 the country we are traveling over now is 
 the bottom of some ancient lake that " 
 
 "Whoa! gimme th shotgun!" 
 
 The boy grabbed the gun and tumbled 
 out of the wagon in a reckless way that 
 endangered himself and the whole outfit, 
 but, boylike, landed on his feet and ready 
 for business. Walking back and to one 
 side of the road a few paces, he flushed a 
 pair of pintail grouse, both of which came 
 tumbling down as the gun cracked twice 
 in quick succession. 
 
 "What kind o prairie chickens d yen 
 call them?" he asked, as he climbed back 
 and inspected his birds. "I never saw no 
 chickens like them down long th river at 
 home." 
 
 "No, I guess you never did. Those 
 birds are pintail grouse, and the prairie 
 chicken is a different grouse altogether. 
 This one lives up here along the streams, 
 
164 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 and only comes up in the high coun 
 try to nest. You should have left 
 them both alone, as they are probably a 
 pair that are nesting around here some 
 place." 
 
 "That s so," said the boy. "Fact is, I 
 never thought nothin bout it when I 
 shot em. I juss see uh new kind o bird 
 V took em in. Reckon I ll haff to 
 r member bout sich things after this too 
 less n we re short o meat er somp n." 
 
 All day long we drove over the clay hills 
 and along the sage brush flats, crossing the 
 Cheyenne River without accident in time 
 to go into camp on the north bank, where 
 a little clump of cottonwood trees made us 
 feel as if we had friends near by instead of 
 being just a wandering outfit all alone in 
 the wilderness, and an Indian wilderness 
 at that, for we were not so very many miles 
 from the spot where old Sitting Bull got 
 the long call for the happy hunting 
 grounds in after years. 
 
 We would soon be among the Black 
 Hills now, and the boy kept up a rapid 
 
"HITTING THE TRAIL" 165 
 
 fire of questioning that got me busy find 
 ing answers for. 
 
 "Say, gee!" lie remarked, as he put the 
 kettle on containing the two grouse, with 
 the idea of producing one of his camp 
 stews made from any kind of game that 
 came handy, seasoned with vegetables and 
 a bit of pork. "Say, I m juss hankerin 
 fer uh crack at uh elk er deer er bear 
 don t care much which, but I want to git 
 uh shot at somp n big. This here ole 
 .45-70 o mine s juss git tin rusty f r 
 somp n to do. Here we been out two 
 weeks bout n we hain t seen nothin 
 bigger n uh kiote, ceptin them two 
 antelope down n th sand hills, n yeh 
 wouldn t lemme shoot at them." 
 
 "Look here, son, I told you why you 
 shouldn t shoot antelope, or deer either, 
 for that matter, in the spring, didn t I? 
 Now here you are getting bloodthirsty 
 again, and you don t stop to consider that 
 we have plenty to eat, and that big game 
 in the spring is the last thing any white 
 man wants to eat anyhow. Now, you just 
 
166 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 keep your ammunition until we run out of 
 grub or some Sioux wants our hair for his 
 own personal decoration; then you may 
 blaze away to your heart s content. Other 
 wise, don t get foolish and do things that 
 you might regret." 
 
 1 I guess they s uh heap more sense V 
 they is poetry in that, too," said the boy, 
 good-naturedly. * I ought to know better, 
 V I do know better, too, n to kill things 
 n th spring, but I reckon uh feller gits 
 sort o fergetful like, sometimes, n juss 
 wants to kill everything he sees juss cos he 
 can. Course, bears n kiotes don t count, 
 n f ever I run crost uh bear I m goin 
 to shoot n ^keep uh shootin tull I git 
 him er haff to run. " 
 
 "You had better give any bear that you 
 meet in this part of the country the right 
 of way unless you ve things all your own 
 way," I answered. "They grow pretty 
 big up here, and they have a nasty habit 
 of clawing people all to pieces after you 
 shooi; them full of holes. They have a 
 way of living long enough to damage a 
 
"HITTING THE TRAIL" 167 
 
 man pretty considerably after they are 
 shot through the heart." 
 
 "Well," said the youngster, reflectively, 
 chewing a straw as he looked into the 
 blaze, "they s one thing sure; if I see uh 
 bear n kin git uh good stiddy shot at his 
 ole head I m goin to crack away, n I 
 bet he won t feel much like eatin me up 
 after one of these ole . 45-70 s o mine goes 
 through him tween his year n his eye." 
 
 "You had better put it a little further 
 back, for a bear s brain is mostly behind 
 his ears and pretty low down. Aim low 
 and well back and you have a chance to 
 break his neck and to brain-shoot him, in 
 which case he would probably be through 
 with the troubles of this mundane sphere. " 
 
 "Huh! Gittin funny, ain t yeh, on 
 this here bear talk." 
 
 "Oh, no; just giving a rank young 
 tenderfoot a few pointers, that s all. I 
 think, however, that you will not need 
 many pointers on what to do if you meet 
 one of these bears that run through this 
 country you ll be mostly running." 
 
168 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Oh, I durmo! Course I ain t goin to 
 take no fool chances with uh big bear ; but 
 if one of em gives me uh haff uh show 
 I ll juss everlastin ly lambaste him full o 
 holes er quit shootin that s uh sure 
 thing." 
 
 "Better let him get away if he will, my 
 boy. They re mighty unhandy to have 
 around the house." 
 
 "We ll see," he answered, reluctant to 
 give up, and I thought perhaps he d better 
 be taken care of while we were up there 
 for fear he would do something he would 
 regret if he met a big bear. However, my 
 fears were groundless, for ho was with big 
 Ike Ward when he met his bear, and Ike 
 did all the killing, while the boy stood by 
 and took a big dose of experience that 
 might be called bear cure. 
 
 "How long 11 it be fore we git into real 
 mount ins?" he asked, as he rolled up in 
 his blanket and waited for sleep. 
 
 "About to-morrow or next day, I guess 
 depends on the trail we take. If we go 
 up Skull Creek we ought to camp about 
 
"HITTING THE TRAIL" 169 
 
 Kara Creek or at the foot of Inyan Kara 
 Mountain day after to-morrow night, I 
 should think." 
 
 "Injun Kara? Whut kind o uh name s 
 that?" 
 
 " Sioux. Means a mountain inside of a 
 mountain. Now let s go to sleep. I m 
 dog tired." 
 
 " Aw right." 
 
A NIGHT EXPERIENCE 
 
 "So THAT S Inyun Kara, is it? Well, 
 that looks like uh sure nuff mount in aw 
 right on y it don t seems ough it wuz 
 very big, that is, not fer uh mount in," 
 said the boy, as he stood squinting through 
 the purple twilight at the great bulk of 
 Inyan Kara Mountain. 
 
 Our camp-fire glimmered with a daylight 
 glare and a thread of blue smoke twisted 
 lazily up toward the crimson and gold 
 clouds, floating so high above us. The 
 canvas tilt of the wagon was tinted with a 
 warm, reflected light, and the horses were 
 munching the grass, which grew all over 
 the flat valley of the boisterous stream. 
 
 The boy, arms akimbo and hat thrown 
 back, stood feasting his eyes on the first 
 real mountain sunset that he had ever seen. 
 
 1 1 Say, gee ! Looks most like you could 
 hit that ole pine up n top o that cliff 
 with uh rifle ball, don t it?" 
 171 
 
172 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 I smiled as I thought of the distance and 
 answered: "If you could shoot three 
 times as far as you can and shoot straight 
 enough, perhaps you could hit that tree 
 it is about nine miles up to where it 
 stands, you see, and the very best you 
 could do would be to throw a bullet a 
 couple or three miles. " 
 
 "Course I ve read about how this here 
 mount in air s mighty deceiving but I 
 didn t have any idee it was that bad. 
 Why uh feller c n see ever limb n ever - 
 thing up there it don t seem s ough it 
 was possible it s eight er nine mile up 
 there." 
 
 "Well, you can see for yourself to-mor 
 row just how far it is, for I ve an idea we 
 will camp up about the mouth of the 
 canyon for a few days and run around 
 afoot. There is a good spring up there, 
 but it only flows a little way and sinks 
 into the ground, the same as all the 
 springs in this part of the world do. 
 Wood is plenty, and there is a nice little 
 glade there with plenty of grass for the 
 
A NIGHT EXPERIENCE 173 
 
 horses, so we can stay as long as we want 
 to. 
 
 "The reason I wanted to camp down 
 here to-night was to give you a chance to 
 see the big hill at a distance, and get the 
 general lay of the land, for when you get 
 up there you will find the whole landscape 
 looking very different from what it does 
 now. There are certain big canyons and 
 cliffs which you can get located from here 
 so you will have landmarks to go by, for 
 you can lose yourself very easily up in the 
 rough country, and find that camp isn t 
 where you thought it was everything 
 looks so much like everything else, you 
 know." 
 
 "Uh huh, I see. Feller sort o wants 
 to figger th main points out sost he c n 
 travel thout payin much tention to th 
 rest o th country, s that it?" 
 
 "You have the idea exactly." 
 
 The boy studied the rugged features of 
 the silent old mountain until it lost detail 
 and loomed up as a huge blue-black silhou 
 ette against the pink glow of the changing 
 
174 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 sky, and I suppose he thought the same 
 thoughts that all outdoor people think 
 when they look on the gigantic works of 
 Dame Nature, and find how small men 
 are, compared to them. 
 
 When the horses were brought in and 
 the night grew old, we rolled up in our 
 blankets there under the scintillating stars, 
 and the boy had a lot of questions to ask, 
 as usual, before we fell asleep. 
 
 "Gee," ho said, "don t it seem still up 
 here n this country? Nothin on y juss 
 that tinkly noise o water scootin long 
 down there over th stones n th creek 
 n th horses juss chompin n munchin 
 th grass like it was sponge cake er somp n 
 good like that. 
 
 "Hear that coyote howl juss then? 
 Seems as ough he was forty mile fr m 
 here, don t it? That kind o uh soft noise 
 like it comes uh nawful long ways, on y 
 it s juss s plain s ough it was clost by, 
 hain t it? Whut s er reason o that?" 
 
 "Well, I suppose its the clearness of 
 the air that makes it such a good conductor 
 
A NIGHT EXPERIENCE 175 
 
 of sound. I have heard men talking in 
 just ordinary tones out here when I could 
 hardly see them. Of course I couldn t 
 hear what they said, but I knew it was 
 men talking. It was plain enough for 
 that. I have heard grouse and other birds 
 calling early in the morning, and they 
 seemed to be right up close too, when 
 in reality they were a long distance away. 
 
 "This sound business out here is like 
 the distance you are apt to have a chance 
 to guess again before you get it just right. 
 I remember once I heard a big landslide 
 come down the side of a mountain in the 
 night " 
 
 "Whoa! whoa! Bill! Steady there, 
 whoa, boy!" 
 
 "Here kid, you keep down. Don t jump 
 up and sh<5w yourself that way. Keep 
 down in the sage until we know what s 
 up may be Indians. Got your guns?" 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "Keep low then and creep after me." 
 
 The horses were alarmed and snorting, 
 and something was wrong in camp. 
 
176 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 Silently we crept through the grass and 
 sagebrush clumps of the creek bottom, 
 keeping close to the ground, thus being 
 pretty sure of concealment, and at the 
 same time having the advantage over any 
 man or animal that might bo standing up, 
 because they would be more or less against 
 the light of the sky. 
 
 Suddenly I spied five gray forms hardly 
 distinguishable from the surrounding 
 brush, in the half -gloom of the night. 
 
 "S-s-sh! There they are! Loafer 
 wolves five of them. You take the one 
 on the left and I ll take the right-hand 
 side. Count three and give it to them," 
 I whispered. 
 
 "One, two crash!" 
 
 The rifles cracked with a sharp, spiteful 
 sound, and a moment later the whole 
 valley resounded with a cannonading of 
 echoes mixed with snarling growls of pain 
 and the snorting of the horses pande 
 monium seemed to have broken loose in 
 the quiet valley. 
 
 "Get the lantern I ll attend to the 
 
A NIGHT EXPERIENCE 177 
 
 horses," I said, as I groped my uncertain 
 way toward the animals, being still half 
 blinded by the flash of the rifles across the 
 darkness. 
 
 In a few moments the boy came running 
 back with the light and the trembling 
 horses soon became quiet again and 
 turned to their feeding as we went out to 
 see what damage we had inflicted on the 
 wolf pack. 
 
 First a still, shaggy form came into view, 
 looking strangely white in the lantern 
 light, but done for, as a big, dark patch 
 on the shoulder indicated. 
 
 A little to the right was another sitting 
 up on his haunches with forefeet braced 
 wide apart and bloody froth dripping from 
 his fanged jowles. 
 
 If ever an animal looked the demon, it 
 was that wolf there in the lamplight. His 
 eyes blazed green and his ears were flat 
 against his head, while the curved lips were 
 raised in an angry snarl above the red jaw 
 and its shining row of white pointed teeth. 
 Bloody froth came from his throat, and 
 
178 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 the clicking gurgle of a lung-shot beast 
 was his defy to us as he half stood there, 
 unable to fight back, but with the mental 
 inclination to do so very much in evidence. 
 Only a moment the savage picture lasted ; 
 then the muscular front legs trembled, his 
 great head sank down, and he settled to 
 the earth; a few rasping gurgles and a 
 few twitches of the great muscles, and he 
 was dead. 
 
 Gee! here s another one!" shouted the 
 boy, as he heard a little noise in the sage. 
 
 We ran toward this third one, crouching 
 as well as he was able among the sage. 
 
 "lie s back-shot," said the boy, looking 
 down at the beast. 
 
 This one showed none of the anger or 
 fight that marked the one just dead, but 
 seemed rather to want to slink away and 
 avoid us, being shot in such a way that his 
 whole hinder parts were paralyzed. 
 
 The boy pulled his six-shooter, and, 
 advancing to within a couple of paces, shot 
 the wolf behind the foreleg and finished 
 his miseries. Then, gathering our tro- 
 
A NIGHT EXPERIENCE 179 
 
 phies, we returned to camp, trailing them 
 along behind us. 
 
 Funny how that third one got it, " said 
 the boy. "I didn t see him. Did you?" 
 
 "No, I didn t, either. He must have 
 been a little further back, in the shadow, 
 and lined up with one of the others, I 
 guess." 
 
 "Are they dangerous?" asked the boy. 
 
 "Well, no, not very, generally. Of 
 course, if you happen to be caught out in 
 a deep snow by a hungry bunch of them 
 they would probably make pretty short 
 work of you. They do not run in packs 
 much, though, and are much more apt to 
 be alone or in pairs than in any other way. 
 I don t quite understand why they should 
 be together here at this time of the year, 
 unless there is a carcass somewhere near. 
 They kill a great deal of stock and some 
 game, and feed on any carcass that they 
 find. 
 
 "They are what the old hunters call the 
 buffalo wolf, because they hung along the 
 flanks of the buffalo herd, waiting to pull 
 
180 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 down the calves or the old creatures. The 
 cow men call them loafer wolves, for some 
 unknown reason, probably a corruption of 
 the Spanish *Lobo. though, and the 
 wolfers who roam all over this plains 
 country call them loafers, to distinguish 
 them from coyotes and timber wolves. 
 
 "Now, let s turn in, and we can take 
 the pelts off in the morning. 
 
UP KAEA MOUNTAIN AND 
 DOWN AGAIN 
 
 r can t be much nicer n that, 
 can it?" asked the boy, as he stood looking 
 up at the mist-hung peak of Inyan Kara 
 Mountain from our new camp in the little 
 glade by the spring. 
 
 The first rays of the rising sun were pen 
 ciling the fleecy clouds with gold and crim 
 son, while the lower bulk of the great hill 
 was still a mass of indigo blue and a 
 blended pile of rocks and timber, reaching 
 up to the sharply delineated crest. 
 
 "Say ; I reckon ut uh feller livin down 
 n th flat country long th river doanno 
 what he s missin tull he sees this kind o 
 sights, does he? Gee! don t seem s ough 
 juss light n air d do that, but I reckon 
 that s all they is to it ceptin th rocks 
 n timber n things. 
 
 " Looks purtier n any picture t ever I 
 see them kind ut fellers n girls paint 
 181 
 
182 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 to hang on th wall, yer know on y th 
 girls mostly allus seems to paint flowers 
 stid o mountains V things ; at is, things 
 like that. Reckon that hain t th girls 
 fault, though, cos they mostly stay where 
 they s people n don t come galevantin 
 round mongst th mountains where th 
 snakes n bugs n critters is; reckon 
 they d git th life bout skeart out of 
 em ahunerd times uh day if they did; 
 so they natchelly juss haff to paint flow 
 ers. 
 
 " Course th flowers ut they paint don t 
 look much like reel flowers, but then th 
 girls is satisfied, I guess, so what s th 
 odds?" 
 
 "Well, young man, you d better stop 
 moralizing and get your pack sack on if 
 we are to climb that hill and get back to 
 camp to-day," I said, as I threw my 
 traveling pack over my shoulders. 
 
 "Aw right, I m with yeh," he replied, 
 slinging the straps up over his sturdy arms 
 and giving the pack a shake to settle it 
 into position. 
 
UP KARA MOUNTAIN 183 
 
 E Go ahead, V I ll keep yer moc sins 
 
 lovin ." 
 
 Then we slowly conquered the pitching 
 trail that led ever upward over steep slopes 
 covered with smooth pine needles, where 
 a misstep would have sent us crashing 
 down into the gulch on up over great 
 masses of tumbled rocks that had ridden 
 some snow-slide half way down the moun 
 tain in former days, and over all the little 
 narrow ledges, where we must needs face 
 the cliff and cling with our finger tips and 
 moccasined toes and not look down into 
 the dim gulch, with its mass of seemingly 
 needle-pointed pines, reaching upward, so 
 _far below. 
 
 Past the sunny, moss-covered rocks, 
 where the yellow violets grew in the crev 
 ices and the quaint, waxy mountain flowers 
 sidle up against the boulders for protection 
 from the winds that forever moan across 
 the high places of the earth. 
 
 Then at last we came to the great cliff 
 where the south side of the big moun 
 tain is broken sheer off and is only a 
 
184 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 smooth wall of rock four thousand feet 
 high. 
 
 Flat down on our stomachs, with the 
 packs and guns left behind, we crept right 
 to the edge and enjoyed the prospect that 
 flattened away below like a play world in 
 a sand heap. 
 
 "Gee!" said the boy; "this makes uh 
 feller feel creepy n sort o funny all over, 
 like he s goin to juss tumble head-fo most 
 away down there ont them rocks n trees 
 n things, don t it? Looky there! There s 
 uh big bird, uh neagle, ain t it, sailin 
 long, way down there, bout half way to 
 th ground! Gee! don t it look funny to 
 see uh bird a-flyin long n us a-lookin 
 at his back stid o his breas ? That s th 
 first time I ever see anything like that." 
 
 "Lay still," I answered, "I m going to 
 roll a big rock or two over the cliff you 
 watch them and see what happens when 
 they strike the ground." 
 
 Then I scrambled back up and started a 
 big boulder to rolling out and over the 
 cliff edge then another. 
 
UP KARA MOUNTAIN 185 
 
 Both slipped over the edge and no sound 
 came back as they plunged downward into 
 
 "Gee! they re a long time fallin ," said 
 the youngster. 
 
 "There s th first one n there s th 
 other ! Gee ! They re knockin trees down 
 like pipestems juss jumpin n rollin 
 like er couple o cannon balls ! Gee ! but 
 they re smashin there! one of em s 
 busted all to smash agin nother big rock 
 n they s uh sort o smoky lookin place, 
 n th air like ye d fired uh gun." 
 
 All this was a strange, new experience 
 for the boy, and I smiled as I thought 
 how I had long ago enjoyed the same 
 "creepy" feeling that the boy described 
 and watched big rocks crash down among 
 the pines in the Uintah range, far beyond 
 the Western horizon from our present perch 
 on Kara s side. 
 
 "Come on, lad," I said: "we can t lose 
 much time if we make the peak and back 
 to camp before night. The trail from 
 here on is smooth and easy, but it is long, 
 
186 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 so if you want to look at the rest of the 
 world to-day we must be going." 
 
 Presently we were traveling the u hog 
 back," where the trail was all the flat 
 ground there was, and on both sides the 
 montain fell, steep and tree-covered, away 
 to the lower world. 
 
 Above us were the jumpers clinging 
 downward from the great mass of creviced 
 rocks that formed the peak. 
 
 The boy had a volume of comment and 
 questions for me to listen to as we pulled 
 ourselves up over these last obstructions 
 and then stood on the top of the world, 
 panting for breath but safe and glad that 
 we were there. 
 
 When our pulses were normal and we 
 breathed naturally again, the boy began: 
 
 "What s that sort o uh cloud way off 
 over there?" 
 
 "Mountains. Probably some of the 
 main chain of the Rockies; perhaps 
 one of the high peaks in northern 
 Colorado. This range over here to the 
 northwest is the Big Horn chain away 
 
UP KARA MOUNTAIN 18? 
 
 west of Powder Kiver, where Ouster was 
 killed. 
 
 "That queer pile to the north there is 
 Devil s Tower, just a strange freak of 
 nature that has forced that pile of basalt 
 up into the air and left it. Inyan Kara is 
 formed of the same kind of rock. This 
 little mountain all alone here to the north 
 is Sundance Mountain, where the Sioux 
 Indians hold their sun dances. These to 
 the east and northeast are the Black Hills, 
 each little chain having a name of its own. 
 The nearest range is called Black Buttes ; 
 that s the Bearlodge Eange just north of 
 Sundance and that one away off to the 
 east, the one that only shows its top, is 
 Ouster s Peak." 
 
 "Gee, but they s lots of em, ain t they?" 
 said the boy. "Say, I m hungry, less eat. " 
 
 His last remark brought a hearty laugh 
 from me, and the old mountain top rung 
 with more hilarity perhaps than had 
 broken the silence of the upper regions of 
 the world for many days. It struck me 
 as a laughable thing when the boy abruptly 
 
188 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 mixed the grandeur of the view with the 
 very material and commonplace idea of 
 hunger. At any rate the lunch was pro 
 duced and the youngster did ample justice 
 to the cold venison and hard biscuits that 
 we had carried all the way up in our pack 
 sacks. 
 
 "Gee, I m thirsty a uh fish," was his 
 next remark. "Where ll uh feller git uh 
 drink?" 
 
 4 Well, I guess we are a good way above 
 the nearest running water. You didn t 
 think that you d go so high that there d 
 be no place for the water to run down 
 from, did you, when you left camp?" 
 
 The boy looked blank. 
 
 "I never thought o that," he said. 
 
 "No, I know you didn t; what are you 
 going to do about it?" 
 
 "Go ithout, I reckon," he answered. 
 
 "Well, you see you won t have to this 
 time, my boy, because a good fairy told me 
 there was no water up here, and I just put 
 a canteen full into my pack for fear we 
 might need it." 
 
UP KARA MOUNTAIN 189 
 
 "Gee, but that s good fer sure," he 
 answered with a grin, as he passed the 
 canteen back after he had absorbed one- 
 third of its contents. 
 
 "Now," I said, "let me tell you a few 
 things that may be useful to you some 
 time. Always remember that the peak of 
 a mountain, unless it is a snow mountain 
 or unless it is early in the season, is just 
 about the dryest place you can find on the 
 face of the earth, and don t go up for any 
 length of time unless you carry at least 
 some water with you. Next, never drink 
 very much at once up here, because it 
 makes you unsteady on your feet if you 
 climb in any of the bad places you are 
 more than apt to find along the trail. 
 Don t eat much, for the same reason. You 
 can get along very well on a mouthful or 
 two of water at once, and just enough to 
 eat to keep from feeling hungry is 
 far better than a full meal in this 
 high country. Then, you can travel 
 better, are steadier and surer footed. 
 Wait until you get lower down to eat or 
 
190 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 drink much and yon will get along all 
 right." 
 
 " Reckon I won t for git that not after 
 this here lesson sure," said the boy. He 
 was a regular sponge when it came to just 
 simply soaking up lore of the wilderness, 
 and I knew would need no second prompt 
 ing. 
 
 "You see where the sun is, don t you?" 
 I asked, after we had sojourned for some 
 time in the upper country. "We had 
 better be going if we are to get back to 
 camp. This is not a pleasant place to be 
 after the sun gets down, for it gets pretty 
 cold and does it very quickly, so let s go. 
 
 "Here not that way we ll go down the 
 cliff. That is why I brought the ropes. 
 Give me yours and we will knot them 
 together in the loop ends, then we can 
 double them around a tree trunk or pointed 
 rock and slide down some pretty steep 
 ground with safety." 
 
 The boy looked on while I explained this 
 method of mountain travel, and then we 
 started down the almost straight northern 
 
UP KARA MOUNTAIN 191 
 
 side of the great hill, rather than to take 
 the time to retrace our steps over the long 
 trail that wound up from below, follow 
 ing the great ridge of rock, which twists 
 half-way around the peak just like the 
 thread of a screw and gives the mountain 
 its name. 
 
 "Roping" is a fast way of traveling 
 down hill, and in an hour we had slid, 
 clinging like flies, from the peak down 
 ward until we stood among the nervous, 
 quaking aspen trees that grew in the bowl- 
 like head of a little canyon. Down this 
 cleft we traveled easily, and came out into 
 the little glade where the grass grew and 
 our transient home had been left early in 
 the morning. 
 
 "Gee, it don t look like it was uh day s 
 travel to go up there n back, does it?" 
 asked the boy, as he watched the blinking 
 stars come out one by one and hang glitter 
 ing in the blue-black dome above old Inyan 
 Kara, the pile that had been named by 
 the Sioux in the name of "a mountain 
 within a mountain." 
 
ACROSS THE DESERT COUN 
 TRY 
 
 INYAN KARA seemed just as near as it 
 had been when the boy watched the sun 
 gleam first on its top early in the morning, 
 away down by the spring where we camped 
 at the foot of the pine ridge. 
 
 The only difference was that the deep 
 blue seemed to have faded out of the side 
 of the old mountain and left it a lighter, 
 smoky, indistinct bulk that was a little 
 lower down on the horizon. 
 
 " Seems sough that hill don t git much 
 furder off no matter how much we travel," 
 said the youngster. "Here we bin goin 
 uh day n uh haff, V there s th ole 
 mountain juss like t was when we started, 
 on y yeh can t see none o th hol 
 lers on th side of ut like yeh kin 
 when yer clost up n en it don t set s 
 high s ut did. Eeckon that s cos we re 
 gittin kind o over th bend o th 
 193 
 
194 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 world like, V yeh can t see round th 
 curve." 
 
 "You guessed the reason exactly," I 
 answered. "By and by you will only see 
 the top of it and that will look like a bit 
 of cloud right on the horizon, and then 
 when the sun sets you will see all the 
 colors of the rainbow reflected from those 
 old rocks where we ate our lunch the other 
 day." 
 
 "Th Bearlodge Range ain t th same 
 color s Kara is. What s er reason o 
 that?" asked the boy. 
 
 "They are timbered clear to the tops, 
 and are not as high as Kara. Timber 
 always looks more or less blue in the dis 
 tance sometimes even indigo blue when 
 the light is right. There is no reflected 
 light, just the blue always, sometimes one 
 shade, sometimes another, but always blue. 
 Remember that in this part of the world, 
 too, for it may be valuable when the cold 
 northwest winds come down over this 
 country and you need wood for a camp." 
 
 "Aw right; I won t fur git." 
 
ACROSS DESERT COUNTRY 195 
 
 We are driving across the desolate 
 country between the Black Hills and the 
 Big Horn Range a country that is baked 
 and dry at all seasons except just while 
 the winter snows are melting, and even 
 then there is no water except a pool here 
 and there in the dry bed of a long-ago 
 creek. 
 
 Just now the weather was very warm for 
 early summer, and the gray ground re 
 flected the heat until the air was aquiver 
 with it. A few stray flowers still strug 
 gled to bloom against the drouth, but they 
 were stunted and undersized, and their 
 colors lacked the brilliant hues of their 
 kind that had come and gone with the 
 meager moisture of the melted snow banks. 
 Here and there the purple lake petals of 
 the pincushion cactus made a spot of color 
 in this gray desert a few gaudy prickly 
 pear flowers perched with half-closed 
 leaves on the upper rim of one of the 
 green pads, in close company with a tiny 
 striped lizard, perhaps, for these little 
 creatures basked in the sunlight or flitted 
 
196 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 across the barren, hot ground as the mood 
 seized them. Mostly it was gray desert 
 covered with grayer sage brush in the 
 valleys and low places, and with rocks of 
 a hundred hues to crest the hills or pile in 
 picturesque abandon downward into the 
 valleys. 
 
 4 What s that? Looks like uh town er 
 sompin way off there?" said the boy. 
 
 "Bad Lands. What you see here is the 
 south edge of them, and it is a wrecked 
 country from there clear up to the Mis 
 souri River, a good many miles to the 
 north. That country is worse than this, 
 for it is loaded with alkali, and has not 
 even sage brush or grass to cover its naked 
 ness. It is the bottom of an ancient lake, 
 cut and gashed by erosion until it is now 
 nothing but a country of a thousand hills, 
 each hill with a flat top and built up of 
 many-colored strata. There are no good 
 springs there all are thick with alkali. 
 There is fire clay, coal, ashes, clay, sand 
 stone, fossil monsters and petrified things 
 up there till you want no more. It is a 
 
ACROSS DESERT COUNTRY 197 
 
 country of ruin, silence and death, my 
 boy, and have a care that you do not stray 
 far among those flat -topped buttes, for each 
 one looks like each other one until you are 
 puzzled and lose your way, then well, 
 there are many bones in there, and 
 yours would not be noticed by a passer- 
 by." 
 
 "Gee! that must be a nawfull sort o 
 uh place f that s th case, but I d like to 
 get up clost n have uh look at em any 
 way," said the youngster. 
 
 1 We will cross a spur of that country 
 soon, and you will get all you want of it 
 then." 
 
 "Whoa! Wait uh minit they s uh 
 whopper of uh rattlesnake right b hind 
 that rock, all curled up n th sun. I 
 want his skin." The boy had tumbled 
 out of the seat and was running back on 
 the trail as he spoke. 
 
 In a moment more he had picked up a 
 fragment of a rock and battered the life 
 out of a six-foot "diamond back" rattle 
 snake. Then he pulled out his pocket- 
 
198 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 knife, put his foot on the snake s neck and 
 after cutting the skin clear around the 
 reptile s neck he skinned the squirming 
 body despite the muscular contortions and 
 the singing rattles. 
 
 4 Ain t it uh daisy?" he asked, as he 
 came complacently back with the yellow- 
 marked pelt dangling across his arm. 
 "Goin t make uh hat band o that feller s 
 jacket one, two, five, nine, eighteen 
 rattles good string, ain t it? Well, ole 
 feller, you won t never bite anybudy else, 
 that s one sure thing, an yer hide ll do 
 me juss s much good er more n it would 
 do you, anyhow, cos you d uh shedded it 
 anyway, V sides, uh feller d ought to 
 kill uh rattlesnake ever time he sees one, 
 juss same s he would uh kiote er any other 
 varmint ut s dang rus n no good." 
 
 He certainly had the Western idea about 
 rattlesnakes, for no man who has dwelled 
 in the grassland or ridden the range will 
 pass by one of these dangerous snakes 
 cow men especially will always stop and kill 
 them on sight, using the "hondu" or the 
 
ACROSS DESERT COUNTRY 199 
 
 swivel end of their picket line for the pur 
 pose, or even just a loop of rope. 
 
 All through the hot afternoon we drove 
 on across the gray desert, passing by the 
 horned toads, the lizards and the cactus, 
 until we were near the Belle Fourche 
 Eiver, in time for the night s camp. 
 
 "What s that white stuff over there; 
 tain t alkili, is it? Seems too kind o 
 yellow," said the boy. 
 
 4 Soap, natural soap," I answered. 
 "That is something of a curiosity even in 
 this country of strange things. It is 
 actual soap, too, all right, and it is really 
 a spring of soft soap coming out of the 
 ground. You see the whole country here 
 is loaded with alkali to the west there is 
 coal. Bed rock slopes toward the Black 
 Hills, and in the lower country here along 
 Wild Horse Creek and the Willow there 
 are some oil springs, where crude petro 
 leum comes up out of the ground. In 
 some instances the alkali and oil meet in 
 about the right proportion, and you have 
 one of these soap beds, as the cattle men 
 
200 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 call them. They are dry on top, but soft 
 under the crust, and cattle that try to 
 cross them break through and sink into 
 the mass of soap underneath and never get 
 out. That is the reason the cattlemen 
 have begun to fence these treacherous 
 places. -You see they look like dried-up 
 springs, and the cattle come to them in 
 the hot weather looking for water, and 
 down they go. Nobody knows how deep 
 they are, but you can push a good many 
 ten -foot poles down, one on top of the 
 other, and when you are tired out some 
 other fellow can push just as many more 
 down on top of them." 
 
 "Gee, I don t want much to do with 
 that kind o uh mess. Do they all look 
 sort o white n crumbly on top like this 
 one?" 
 
 "Mostly; some are more so, some are 
 less, but the character is the same. Keep 
 away from the edge of them even, if you 
 expect to be safe. 
 
 "Won t ketch me foolin round no sich 
 uh trap s that is, you bet," said the boy. 
 
ACROSS DESERT COUNTRY 201 
 
 "Hoi on, gimme th gun saw uh kiote 
 juss sneak over that point down there 
 m goin after him." Away he raced up 
 to the top of the next ridge like an Indian, 
 and stood among the rocks waiting. The 
 coyote, with characteristic cunning, had 
 vanished, and the lad could not get a shot. 
 
 Coming back, he stopped every few feet 
 and picked up something from the ground, 
 so that when he arrived at the wagon once 
 more he was loaded down with a hatful of 
 rocks. 
 
 "Got some pet-ree-fide wood, n things, 
 anyhow," he remarked, as he climbed back 
 on the seat. 
 
 In his collection there were fossil shells, 
 petrified eels, wood, bone and other sub 
 stances, turned to stone, and there were 
 also some fine moss agates and carnelians, 
 all gathered within a few yards of space, 
 and there were tons of them left littering 
 the ground for a long distance. 
 
 These things kept him interested while 
 I drove down the long slope of hillside to 
 the valley of the Belle Fouche and brought 
 
202 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 the outfit to a stop on the banks, where a 
 bit of open glade stretched along among 
 the switch willow brakes, and a few cotton- 
 wood trees offered dead wood for our 
 camp-fire. 
 
 There was a pool there in the river I 
 knew, and it was all the water we could 
 get, though it was red with alkali, and the 
 rim of the pond-like place was white with 
 a frost-work of crystals all around it. Yet 
 it was this or nothing. Ere the sun van 
 ished our camp was made, the horses 
 picketed and our fire going merrily. The 
 coffee pot bubbled and hissed and the alkali 
 water foamed inside, but we made good 
 coffee just the same, because we put a few 
 crystals of acetic acid in with the coffee to 
 kill the alkali. 
 
LORE OF THE TRAIL 
 
 4 SAY, is all this country juss desert like 
 it is here?" asked the boy, as he helped 
 himself to his second cup of black coffee 
 the next morning. 
 
 "Pretty much the same from here clear 
 over to the Big Horn Mountains, then it 
 changes to rough, mountain country, with 
 plenty of good water, grass and timber in 
 spots, until you get across into Idaho, 
 then it is lava and sand and sage brush, 
 and a little grass mixed in until the Cas 
 cade country begins, just across the Colum 
 bia Eiver. Over on the Pacific side of 
 that range it is hills and timber clear to 
 the ocean." 
 
 "Gee! That s where I d like to go! 
 Seems s ough this old desert is too much 
 alike all cactus n horn toads n things 
 tull uh feller gits plumb tired of em. 
 N en th water up here s purt-near worsen 
 whisky guess that s why s many fellers 
 203 
 
204 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 drinks whisky here too. Ain t no fishin , 
 I reckon, in uh thousan milo o country 
 like this nuther. What s suh use o such 
 country, anyhow?" 
 
 "Don t you see the cattle all around 
 you? That s use, isn t it? The beef for 
 half the country comes from these very 
 hills, my boy, in spite of all this desert 
 and desolation. There are men who live 
 out their lives among these buttes and 
 coulees, and fight the desert, the Indians, 
 the varmints, water, rattlesnakes, heat and 
 all just to see that you have beef and 
 plenty of it down in the States. 
 
 "There are thousands of wild things up 
 here too; deer, antelope, bear, wolves and 
 a host more that furnish meat, pelts or 
 sport too ." 
 
 "We hain t seen but mighty few of em. 
 Where do they range anyhow? Seem s 
 like we d dought to seen somp n moren 
 kiotes in all the country we ve been 
 travelin , if they re so plenty." 
 
 "Well, in the first place, we are not 
 hunting, for the season is not right, and 
 
LORE OF THE TRAIL 205 
 
 in the next place, we have been following 
 the trail. These wild things keep back 
 in the hills and don t cross as plain a trail 
 as we have been following unless they 
 shift their feeding places. Do you see 
 that blue line of hills off to the west there? 
 That is the divide between this river and 
 the Powder, and it is a rough bit of coun 
 try too full of gulches and cedar patches, 
 and with some pretty good springs scat 
 tered here and there through it, and it is 
 a game country. Now, I ll tell you what 
 I don t mind doing. We can drive up to 
 Ward s ranch and visit Ike and Phil this 
 evening, and then if they happen to be 
 out of meat we can all go hunting up 
 Mount Zahn way to-morrow, and get a 
 blacktail buck for a change of grub. Mind 
 you, no does, and not more than one 
 buck, even if we see a dozen. Anything 
 else besides deer and antelope you can call 
 game unless we run into a bunch of elk or 
 a stray buffalo or sheep these we will let 
 go, even if we get no deer understand?" 
 "Uh-huh, I savie. Think we kin git 
 
206 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 uh deer, do yeh? Gee, but I d like to git 
 uh crack at a nold buck with uh set o 
 horns like uh plum thicket ! Wouldn t I, 
 though?" 
 
 "Well, you can have the chance, for I 
 think I can just about put my finger on 
 several unless the Indians have been raid 
 ing down through here or something else 
 happened to drive the deer out. I know 
 their runways up there all over that coun 
 try, and I can find a buck without much 
 trouble, I guess. 
 
 "Now, let s hook up and get to Ward s, 
 for the sun is getting up, and it is a big 
 twenty miles from here to that line of hills 
 and Ward s cabin ia in the flat just this 
 side of the hills." 
 
 Soon our outfit wended its crooked way 
 across the desolate landscape that basked 
 in the first rays of the early sun. 
 
 It was still cool and delightful and the 
 boy was all animation and chatter as we 
 went along, following the gray thread of a 
 trail that wandered up and down, twisting 
 back against the bluffs to cross some little 
 
LORE OF THE TRAIL 207 
 
 canyon, then curving back toward Donkey 
 Creek again as though it was afraid to lose 
 sight of that miserable little excuse for a 
 water-course. 
 
 There is always a companionship some 
 way about a stream and a trail, and they 
 keep close company wherever they can in 
 the wilderness, be it desert, woods or 
 mountains. 
 
 4 What s all them rocks n uh circle 
 that way for?" suddenly asked the young 
 ster, as he noted them beside the trail. 
 
 "Teepee rings," I answered. "What 
 you see there is a sign, a record, of a past 
 camp, where some Indians have pitched 
 their teepee probably for a few days, 
 while hunting or just traveling. The 
 rocks were piled around the lower edge of 
 the teepee skins the tent walls, you 
 know and when the teepee was taken 
 down the rocks were simply rolled off the 
 edge of the skins, so they remained in a 
 circle, just as the squaws left them when 
 they folded up their house and vanished. 
 See, there are more of them over there, 
 
208 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 too there has been a hunting party here 
 in all probability, but it was a year or over 
 ago, for you see the grass has grown up 
 against the rocks and browned there, and 
 there is new grass growing around them 
 again." 
 
 "That s th way they do up here, huh? 
 Don t use no tent pins juss roll rocks 
 onto th bottom o th tent n hole it 
 down that way? Well, that ain t uh bad 
 idee nuther, n uh feller will find out 
 things as he goes along, won t he? 
 
 "What s them white spots way over n 
 that flat crost th creek?" 
 
 "Antelope. Take the glass and count 
 them." 
 
 "Gee, they s uh whole bunch of em, 
 bout forty er fifty, I reckon n they s 
 uh lot more way on up n more on th 
 side o th hill! Gee! They s uh whole 
 herd of em! Lot o big bucks mongst 
 em, too I kin see their horns little 
 black shiny ones at curl back n end in 
 uh kind o a hook, n en they s a little 
 prong, looks like, juss above ur eye. 
 
LORE OF THE TRAIL 209 
 
 Gee, they are purty, ain t they? Less git 
 one o them bucks." 
 
 "Do you want to shoot one of them or 
 wait for a black-tail buck in the morning?" 
 
 The boy looked through the glass again ; 
 then heaved a big sigh. "Guess I d 
 druther wait but they s a mighty big 
 buck in that bunch," he said. 
 
 A few moments later we drove in between 
 the hills and lost sight of the bunch of 
 antelope, so the boy had to hunt some 
 thing else to interest him. 
 
 He asked about the big slag boulders 
 that littered the country, and had to hear 
 the whole geology of the edge of the bad 
 lands before he was satisfied ; then it was 
 points on the poison of the centipede that 
 interested him ; then prairie dogs came 
 into the conversation, and he freely ex 
 pressed his contempt for the theory that 
 they did without water and lived pleasantly 
 in company with owls and rattlesnakes. 
 
 "Ain t I killed more n one ole rattler 
 with uh belly full o young prairie dogs? 
 You bet, I have, n nobody wants to tell 
 
210 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 me at dogs lives right long n th same 
 holes ith snakes I know better. Th 
 rattler ain t doin nothin but huntin 
 pups when he calls on uh fambly o dogs, 
 n en when he s et up all he kin s waller 
 comf table he crawls out n th sun n 
 goes tu sleep fer true, n en s when I git 
 him." 
 
 While he was dilating on the subject of 
 prairie dogs we drove out from the hills 
 and began to cross the last flat before 
 reaching Ward s place, and by two o clock 
 we had hailed those worthy brothers and 
 introduced each other there on the hot 
 desert. 
 
 Our team was soon taken care of, and 
 we enjoyed our first meal that was cooked 
 over a stove for many days when we sat 
 down in the rough cabin so far from people 
 and things. 
 
 After dinner our pipes were lit and we 
 sprawled at length across some buffalo 
 robes flung on the ground where the 
 shadow fell north of the cabin, and there 
 we talked the lore of the desert and 
 
LORE OF THE TRAIL 
 
 planned to kill a big buck on the morrow, 
 for we were a healthy company, with a 
 longing for the juicy steaks of venison. 
 
 "Reckon we d best go too-woard th red 
 buttes north o hyer airly n th mornin , 
 C manch," said big Ike Ward, as he 
 looked up into the sky from his point of 
 vantage on the flat of his back across the 
 big buffalo robe. 
 
 The blue smoke wound upward from his 
 black pipe, his long hair curled about his 
 square features, and one leg rocked up and 
 down across the other bent knee as Ike 
 unfolded the plan for to-morrow, a plan 
 that meant the ending of the days for one 
 big buck, for Ike was a man who took one, 
 or not more than two cartridges when he 
 went after deer, and he always got meat, 
 too. 
 
 I ve seen him shoot, and it is a nice bit 
 of action just as cool and easy as though 
 his target was as big as a house and stand 
 ing still, instead of a blue buck no bigger 
 than your hand, bouncing across a rough 
 hillside five hundred yards away just 
 
212 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 bouncing like a blue rubber ball for a few 
 moments, then when the gun spat it lead 
 and the dust flew against the hillside, the 
 buck fell headlong, and did not rise. 
 Then Ike would wipe the smoke out of the 
 barrel and take a fresh nip of tobacco and 
 go to the buck. That was the man who 
 outlined the way that the buck was to die 
 to-morrow. 
 
 "Ef we don t ketch one clost to th 
 spring, we ll hunt into them cedar canyons 
 where th lion like to fetched Phil th 
 time he got th bull elk up there; reckon 
 we cain t miss a-gittin one in thar shore 
 n git back fore it gits hot, too." 
 
 And so it was planned. 
 
 "How was it about Phil and the lion, 
 Ike?" I asked. 
 
 "Ast Phil," chuckled big Ike. But 
 that is another story. 
 
A TRIP WITH THE WARD BOYS 
 
 THEKE was a new, clean smell in the air 
 when we left Ward s cabin under the 
 snappy stars, and there was that peculiar 
 stillness which comes into the night just 
 before the gray of dawn. So it was a 
 silent cavalcade of dim forms, conversing 
 but little, and that little in very low 
 tones, as we rode toward the dim, dark 
 bulk across the northern sky which I knew 
 to be the red buttes where the Bad 
 Lands came down and ended against the 
 plain. 
 
 In due time we reached a spot where a 
 few scraggly cedars grew, and tied our 
 horses there, going on afoot to the hillside 
 above the spring, where Ward thought we 
 should get a deer without much trouble, 
 when they came down to drink about day 
 light. Objects were still only dim blots in 
 the general scheme of darkness when we 
 four settled down among the rocks and 
 213 
 
214 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 began our watch that was to end in kill 
 ing a big buck. 
 
 If any one spoke now it was in a whisper 
 and the comfort of a pipe was out of the 
 question, for game can scent tobacco smoke 
 a good bit further than they can the men 
 who make it. 
 
 Ike had picked a special point of vantage 
 for the boy, and had taken him under his 
 special care, to be initiated into the mys 
 teries of big game shooting, while Phil and 
 I sat among the boulders a short distance 
 away, talking of old times. 
 
 This was too difficult to continue in 
 a whispering conversation of any great 
 length, so we soon became mere motion 
 less, but watchful, bits of the landscape, 
 and remained as such until a cheeping call 
 such as a young grouse makes turned our 
 eyes toward big Ike. 
 
 A pantomime followed, in which Ike 
 told us by signs that three deer were 
 advancing toward the spring below us, 
 though objects were hardly yet more than 
 patches of darkness in the gray dawn, 
 
TRIP WITH WARD BOYS 215 
 
 which had now snuffed out all but the 
 morning star. Phil and I soon had the 
 deer located as they moved against a patch 
 of quaking asp, and then saw a little later 
 that there was a very small buck and two 
 does in company. Again Ike chirped, and 
 again there was a pantomime, which said, 
 "Let them go; we will get a bigger buck 
 for the kid." Slowly the deer loitered 
 along, nipping at the fresh herbage, look 
 ing, listening, always alert, and slowly 
 advancing toward the spring, and before 
 the sun was up they had dipped their 
 pretty noses into the clear water, while the 
 four of us watched them at a distance of 
 twenty yards. They had finished drink 
 ing when two more, a doe and a fawn, 
 trotted up, took a late drink and then the 
 whole five moved down into the canyons 
 and were gone when the sun shot his first 
 yellow ray across the world and tipped 
 Mount Zahn with gold. 
 
 Then Ike unfolded his big frame and 
 straightened up behind the rocks. "Come 
 on, Kid; ain t no use monkeyin round 
 
216 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 hyer no longer; deer don t drink arfter 
 sunup, an we ll hafto hunt th gulches 
 fer yer buck now," he said. 
 
 1 Which way, Ike?" asked Phil. 
 
 ** Reckon them breaks where yer lion 
 like tu got yeh d ought tu pan out which 
 way s th wind? alright, guess we d better 
 git in yunder," he said, as he wet one fin 
 ger and held it up to "feel the wind," an 
 old trick of the wilderness, by the way, 
 and one that always shows the true wind 
 direction, because the windward side of 
 the wet finger "gets cold quickest." 
 Leaving the spring, we started to travel 
 afoot in a very wide circle that would cut 
 a lot of very rough country, and end at the 
 horses, Ike and the boy traveling together 
 and Phil and I spreading out so we could 
 cover a good bit of ground thoroughly. 
 
 A mile had been reeled off when I heard 
 the grouse call again, and Phil beckoned 
 me to come. Together we advanced 
 toward Ike, being guided by a pantomime 
 from him as he crouched behind a big 
 boulder where we soon arrived. 
 
T.RIP WITH WARD BOYS 217 
 
 "Nine of em n a bunch; Kid see em 
 fust, n they s a whalin big buck in 
 amongst em. Juss gone hit thet patch o 
 cedars crost th canyon, n I reckon they re 
 headin fer th no th side o th hill tu 
 bed down," Ike explained. 
 
 "Keckon we d better cut round this side 
 n head em bout on th ridge, hadn t 
 we?" queried Phil. 
 
 "Juss what I cal lated. Kid d ought 
 tu git a good open shot thar, n he kaint 
 miss handy, fur he ll have good runnin 
 shots if they break. Less move, fur they 
 ain t travelin slow." 
 
 A minute later we were moving around 
 and up the hill at a slow trot, and soon 
 had brought the ridge into view, but the 
 deer were not in sight. 
 
 "See f yeh kin locate em, Phil," said 
 Ike, as he crouched with the boy and me 
 behind the boulders. 
 
 Phil left his gun and crawled out along 
 the side hill, carefully scanning the hill 
 side as it came into view below the ridge. 
 
 Suddenly he reversed his movement and 
 
218 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 came rapidly back to us. "Comin right 
 here t th fut o th hill big buck fust, 
 n not forty yards away. Git ready, Kid, 
 yeh got a shore shot this time V he s a 
 whopper, too," he said. 
 
 The boy poked his brown rifle barrel for 
 ward over the rocks, scraping it slightly as 
 he did so, and just then the big buck 
 came to the top of the ridge and stopped 
 stock still, looking toward the morning sun 
 and flapping his big ears forward. 
 
 "Stidy, kid," hissed Ike in his ear; 
 "don t yeh pull trigger now tull yeh 
 know yeh got him, fur yeh won t git 
 nother shot at nother buck like thet f 
 yeh live tu be a hundred year old. Take 
 yer time haff way up his shoul er n 
 when yeh know it covers him, cut er 
 loose, but " Bang! The rest of Ike s 
 instructions were lost in the roar of the 
 gun. The big buck doubled up like a 
 jackknife, and then bounded, or rather 
 plunged, away down the hill with the 
 whole bunch at his heels and all with their 
 "flags flying," except the big buck, who 
 
TRIP WITH WARD BOYS 219 
 
 ran low, with heavy, plunging leaps and 
 outstretched neck. 
 
 Instantly the boy leveled his rifle and 
 the lead began to stream after the buck, 
 while Ike had his gun with the sights in 
 line with the fleeing deer as a safety 
 measure. 
 
 "Stidy, kid," said Phil; "yeh got him 
 hard hit, n he kaint git fur no use o 
 schutin up th meat." 
 
 But the boy s blood was up, and the 
 rifle barked and spat, and the dust clouds 
 rose about the buck where the bullets 
 struck, until, just when another leap 
 would have hid him among the cedars, he 
 plunged down in a heap and rolled against 
 a boulder still. 
 
 The two other deer just behind him 
 cleared both his prostrate form and the big 
 rock at a single bound and crashed away 
 among the blue growth of stunted trees 
 which waved as a farewell as they dis 
 appeared. 
 
 Then the boy broke loose and yelled like 
 a young Indian on his first warpath, and 
 
220 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 the way he bounded down that rocky 
 steep would have done credit to the big 
 blue buck himself. 
 
 Ike and Phil grinned and looked at me. 
 
 "Kinder gits rattled sum when it s all 
 over, don t he?" said Ike. 
 
 "Mighty stidy headed kid while th 
 fun s goin on," said Phil. "I se watchin* 
 his gun, too wan t a sign o shake er 
 fever f m th time he fust poked it acrost 
 th rock tull th buck went down, though 
 he shot mighty fast." 
 
 "Only the way he always shoots," I an 
 swered. "I ve seen him kill half a dozen 
 young prairie chickens in about as many 
 seconds with a light rifle, while they crossed 
 a road, and it was about dusk, too." 
 
 We were proceeding slowly down toward 
 the boy and the buck as we spoke, and in 
 a moment the youngster began : 
 
 "Gee! Hain t he uh daisy! Ain t 
 that uh head fur yeh ! Reckon I didn t 
 fix him plenty er nothin five shots, n 
 three of em clean thro him, n nother n 
 juss ketched th side o his year n took uh 
 
TRIP WITH WARD BOYS 221 
 
 chip out kaint find th other n tall; 
 must uh missed, I reckon. I want to 
 keepthet head, C manch , n take it back 
 tu th States one, two nine prongs. 
 Gee, he must be uh nold feller!" 
 
 Well, Kid, git yer knife out," said 
 Ike; "yeh might s well learn tu take keer 
 o yer game now s ary other time, so take 
 holt it s gittin warm a ready, n we d 
 better be gittin too-woards home." 
 
 "I ll git th hosses up," said Phil as he 
 started off. 
 
 Under Ike s directions the boy proved 
 himself a good butcher, and soon had the 
 quarters un jointed and the body skinned 
 out of the deer, and yet had not skinned 
 the quarters and legs out of the hide at all. 
 
 "Pack em a heap easier thet away," 
 said Ike. "Say, kid, ain t thet a purty 
 big hole thar fer one ball to make lemme 
 see it a minnit . Yessir, blamed ef he 
 didn t put two bullets hit almost th 
 same place see, one of em juss cut a 
 piece out n en follered right in th same 
 place where th other n went. Kid, 
 
222 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 yeh couldn t do it ag in n a thousand year 
 barrin acksdunts." 
 
 When Phil came up with the horses, we 
 packed the deer on one, tied the head on 
 a second, and the tenderloins were rolled 
 in a "slicker" and lashed on behind the 
 saddle of the third. Then we started 
 back for the ranch, Ike and Phil telling 
 of other hunts when deer had not been 
 killed, with so little trouble ; of times when 
 a buck must die or a man must starve, and 
 only a cartridge or two to go on; times 
 when the Sioux got restless and hunted 
 the hunter, while he must needs hunt and 
 dodge together. They were interesting 
 men, those two sturdy plainsmen who 
 lived where the Bad Lands came to the 
 edge of the plains, and who had fought 
 the country, the storms, the Indians and 
 all, and were still alive and as tough as 
 pine knots when we came down the hill in 
 the warming day. 
 
 "You see thet feather a-hangin over 
 th bear skull down t th house, didn t ye, 
 Comanch?" said Phil. "Wull, right up 
 
TRIP WITH WARD BOYS 223 
 
 ag in thet boulder over yunder s where 
 ole Joe Lay Flee bored th Sioux ut wored 
 ut long n seventy-four er five n I juss 
 sauntered up yere n got th big feather 
 outen his war bonnut arfterwards thet is 
 arfter we d burried Joe pore cuss, they 
 had shot him full o arrers, n he pegged 
 out n a cupple o days arfter he got yere ; 
 but he got seven ut he knowed of, he tole 
 us thet s his grave over yon, wher th 
 pile o rocks is. Ike n me planted him 
 thar. Good feller, Joe war, too." 
 
 4 * What s uh matter, Kid? Yeh ain t 
 sayin nuthin ," said Ike. 
 
 "I m inderested," answered the young 
 ster, as he glanced back at the horse that 
 carried the big buck s head and watched 
 it swing from side to side and up and down 
 under the movement imparted by the 
 swinging gait of the cow horse. "Gee, 
 won t they look aw right down n th 
 States!" he said, as we pulled up in the 
 shade of the house and began to unpack. 
 
OUR HOME - COMING 
 
 THE summer days were changing to 
 autumn and here and there a bit of brown 
 had encroached upon the greenery when 
 the boy and I pulled up in town down in 
 the States" again, after our long trip into 
 the desert. We were browner and prob 
 ably a bit healthier than when we started, 
 for the dry, pure air of the desert country 
 is a balm for the outdoor man, and we had 
 breathed our fill. 
 
 From Ward s ranch all the way home 
 we had gone through about the same kind 
 of country and had about the same experi 
 ences that had been our portion on the out 
 ward trip, and as a result the boy who 
 came back was a well-seasoned young per 
 son, able to take care of himself in the 
 gray wilderness of sage and bare buttes 
 of alkali water and quicksand with the 
 best cow puncher who lived there. 
 
 He had mastered the mysteries of 
 225 
 
226 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 " throwing a rope" until he could catch a 
 horse off-hand. He had sent lead across 
 the landscape after deer and antelope until 
 he had become satisfied from the abun 
 dance of shooting. 
 
 Horned toads, diamond-back rattlers and 
 prairie dogs had become too commonplace 
 to give more than a passing glance to, and 
 now the youngster wanted to "rest up" 
 along the little river again. 
 
 After all, it is the first love that is the 
 best, although we may not think BO some 
 times, and thus become weaned away by 
 the novelty and newness of the unknown 
 and untried; but when the unknown 
 becomes known to us it seems common 
 place and we find ourselves wishing for the 
 things that we knew so well before. 
 
 The boy was undergoing this change of 
 heart as we came nearer home, and when 
 we reached the top of the hill he had pulled 
 up short as the sun hung low above the 
 valley of the little river and the little 
 town that spread up the slope of the 
 eastern hillside the place that the 
 
OUR HOME-COMING 227 
 
 boy knew so well the place we called 
 44 home." 
 
 What a meaning that little word has to 
 the wanderer ! 
 
 I think, perhaps, the boy felt the stress 
 of ifc, and yet did not know what it was or 
 why he felt it; but he looked long and 
 earnestly at the scene at the familiar 
 houses and the shining river that wound 
 about among the fringe of trees in the 
 center of the valley. 
 
 After a little he spoke. 
 
 "C manch, less go up river fishin 
 t-morruh will yeh?" 
 
 4 * Aren t you a little premature with 
 this fishing, my boy? Had we better not 
 wait a few days and get acquainted with 
 the folks a bit before we strike out on this 
 new tack?" 
 
 The boy rubbed his chin reflectively and 
 gazed at the ribbon of river where it came 
 out of the north, then his eye ran the 
 course of it down the valley past the little 
 town, and on until the valley came to the 
 rim of the southern sky. 
 
228 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 "Yas, uh reckon that s bout whutwe d 
 ought to do, but I do want to juss chuck 
 a minnie to thet ole Balaam ut I know is 
 uh waitin n nunder th ole maple stump 
 down there b th islan . I know they s 
 one there juss s well s ough I d uh 
 seen him, cos ain t nobudy knows juss 
 zackly where tu drop uh hook there 
 ceptin you n me, n 7 we ain t been heyer 
 tall sence early this season; an nuther 
 
 things is 0, Gee! I furgot bout 
 
 these heads we got in th wagon; guess 
 we ll haft tu let th fishin go tull we git 
 them took care of, that s uh fack never 
 thought bout them. G up, Bill ! 
 
 And so we moved on down the gentle 
 slope of hillside and entered the town. 
 
 Tired men, home-coming with dinner 
 pail a-swing and coat across their other 
 arm, looked at the travel -stained outfit 
 and passed a pleasant " howdy" as we went 
 by, some asking a few questions, others 
 waiting for a later time to inquire about 
 our success you know this is a village 
 habit, and each wanderer must come back 
 
OUR HOME-COMING 229 
 
 prepared to tell of his experiences in the 
 far countries he has visited yes, tell them 
 in detail and over and over again, else the 
 village folk will not be satisfied and the 
 traveler is apt to be dubbed "stuck up" 
 and adjudged to hold himself as a superior 
 being because of his traveling and sight 
 seeing. 
 
 " Hullo! Ole man Hagey s place muss 
 uh bin sold er somp n look ut th new 
 fence n new sidewalk, V Gee ! 
 They s uh new kitchen, too! Guess his 
 folks wouldn t never go t all th expense 
 o doin thet," said the boy, as we drove 
 
 by. 
 
 "There s Curly Lee, V Sap Williams, 
 V Ed Cole, V Walt Fiske, V uh whole 
 gang o fellers comin down th street ; bet 
 they re goin swimmin . Hullo, fellers!" 
 
 "H lo, kid! Git nything? Where yeh 
 bin all summer? What Why " 
 
 And a minute later there were a dozen 
 or more boys all about the wagon and all 
 trying to talk at once. 
 
 They clambered up on the wheels, shook 
 
230 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 hands, raised the canvas wagon cover, and 
 chattered like a bunch of magpies for 
 about ten minutes. 
 
 By that time calm enough settled over 
 the crowd to enable one to talk at once 
 while the rest stood, arms akimbo, and 
 listened or passed the commenta such as 
 all boydom passes under the circumstances. 
 
 When we began to move ahead once 
 more, the boy had learned that this crowd 
 of young savages were in truth going 
 "swimmin ," and he had promised to "be 
 down town at Lewis s" after supper. I 
 knew that a business meeting of a flock of 
 geese could not produce anything to com 
 pare with the noise and gabble that would 
 be the programme at " Lewis s" that even 
 ing, in consequence. 
 
 This home-coming through a small town 
 is a slow proceeding, and lights had begun 
 to twinkle in the windows when the boy 
 pulled up at the barn and we were at our 
 journey s end, tired, dusty and glad that 
 we were at home once more. 
 
 Then the welcome that was ours when 
 
OUR HOME-COMING 231 
 
 "the folks" found that we had returned 
 the thousand questions to be asked and 
 answered while we unhitched and put the 
 team away. 
 
 Then, while supper was being prepared, 
 we must needs unload the outfit and carry 
 everything up to the back porch, where it 
 had to be re-sorted and such things as we 
 decided could not be left outside had to be 
 stowed away in odd corners about the house 
 "till morning." 
 
 Of course there were a dozen or more 
 children from the neighborhood on hand 
 to assist by asking queer questions, and 
 "helping" by getting in just the wrong 
 place at just the right time to have some 
 one tramp on their numerous bare toes, 
 until their infantile yells rent the air and 
 brought more than one nervous mother 
 skurrying in to see "what on airth ailded 
 Jimmie." 
 
 But what is the use of lumbering up 
 columns of good type with this plain de 
 scription? Everybody knows just how 
 these things happen anyhow, for wander- 
 
232 JUST ABOUT A BOY 
 
 era have wandered across the earth since 
 time began, and some of them always 
 come back to repeat the scene we enacted 
 in the little town that evening. Always 
 the children are on hand, and of course 
 they get into some sort of trouble, and 
 equally of course this always brings the 
 mother, and many times the father also, 
 and then the wanderer who wants a chance 
 to get a bit of rest because of his physical 
 fatigue must needs answer a rapid-fire lot 
 of questions, most of them, of course, hav 
 ing no bearing on the subject at hand at 
 all. 
 
 The boy did not get down "to Lewis V 
 that night, for it was 10 o clock before we 
 got our chairs away from the supper table, 
 and even then the dishes had to "wait till 
 morning" for their tri-daily bath which is 
 part of the domestic mystery called 
 "housekeeping." 
 
 When the last impromptu guest had 
 looked at the clock for the tenth time and 
 then suddenly discovered that it was "get- 
 tin late," the boy and I again had a few 
 
OUR HOME-COMING 233 
 
 moments of comparative quiet, which we 
 used by storing everything snug for the 
 night, and at last even he, too, clattered 
 down the steps and on down the walk with 
 his merry whistle, bound homeward. 
 
 "Goo night, C manch see yeh in th 
 mornin ," he called as he passed out into 
 the street and let the gate slam shut with 
 a clang of complaining hinges. 
 
 The next morning he appeared very 
 sleepy and woe-begone when he came 
 around the corner of the house. 
 
 "Bin sleepin s long out o doors at uh 
 couldn t sleep tall tull uh tuk uh blanket 
 V rolled up on th grass," he explained. 
 
 THE END 
 

 
 DKfiC 
 
 Phillips, W, 
 
 S. 
 
 .root? 
 JJU 
 
 just about a 
 
 boy 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 M532988 
 
lust 
 about 
 
 a boy 
 
 W-5- Phillips 
 
 (^ElComancho]