The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1905-08-16

Bethuel Barsand was strong man,
forty years old. one of the "grip-tight,
bold-fast'' breed, well fitted TO hew
a civilized farm from the savage will
derness, except that he was no hunter
or woodsman-merely hard-working,
f-trained farmer He did
not even own a rifle, which most pio-
neers consider the primal necessity.
But an ancient flintlock musket, cap
tured from the British by his father
In one of the Canada border campaigns
of the War of 1912, served his needs.
Mrs. Barsand was a strong woman,
one of the tireless pioneer home-mak-
ers. In new country, where nothing
could be bought and everything had
to be home made. the women, no less
than the men, had to be strenuous.
For many weeks, however, Mrs. Bar
sand had been compelled to rest two
hours every alternate. day, huddled
over a fire with ague chills. She cheer
fully said this gave her system nee
essary chance to pause and consider
itself. The ague was slowly wearing
Off, for it was now late summer, and
the first frosts of autumn usually end
ed malaria for the year.
While languidly eating her supper of
plump wild pigeon. floating in its
nourishing broth, hot iohnny-cake and
butter luscious wild blackberries with
cream, and fragrant wild herb tea,
supposed to be remedial for chills, pre-
pared by her daughter Marian, Mrs.
Barsand remarked. tentatively:
II believe ! should feel well as ever
if could have three or -four meals of
real meat. Just think, Bethuel, we've
been here over year, and in all that
time we haven't tasted a bit of real
meat except salt pork"
''Why. mar said Jason, sturdy boy
of fifteen. "Why, we've had venison,
bear, coon, rabbit, squirrel, wild tur-
key, partridge, quail, wild pigeon. wild
duck and five or six kinds of fish, till
we're almost tired"
''All these are only game; they're not
real meat, such as ma MEANS" said
Marian.
'Let me kill a chicken or pig for you,
dear" said Bethuel, eagerly.
''No don't crave chicken or pig, and
we can't afford to kill chickens or pigs
this year. Maybe it's only a sick ap-
petite, but l keep thinking how good
that bear ham was which Mr.. Crumly
gave us last fall, and l wondered if
you could spare time to go bear-hunting
and get us some. Next thing to beef
steak, it seems to me bear steak would
do me most good. and come nearest to
real meat. I know you probably
couldn't get pound of beef or mutton
if you should search every settlebent
within hundred miles. Settlers in
a new country don't kill any stock so
long as it can be of any other use, and
not even pork till late November"
why Harriet, you know I'd spend
time hunting for anything you think
you'd Nike. Bear isn't generally thought
at all like beef, but your craving it is a
good sign-it shows your ague is quit
ting; it's sign that bear ham is what
you ought to have, and have it you
shall. But don't be disappointed if l
fail to get it right off. 'Tisn't quite
Ne bear-hunting season yet, but in a
week or two we'll have 'em coming
right here after green corn. A man
may hunt and hunt, and not see bear
in a month, though they're all about,
unless he meets one by accident
which generally happens when he'd
rather not and hasn't any gun"
At daybreak Barsand entered the
woods with his old musket loaded for
bear-seven buckshot on top of nearly
an ounce of rife powder! Barsand al
ways overloaded, and his idea was that
bear required an especially big charge.
Where to look Barsand did not know.
AT first he wandered aimlessly about
the clearing. Then he remembered
that bears like blackberries. and he
went off to where an old windfall
made a large opening in the forest. 1t
was piled with fallen trees and brush,
and thickly bordered with tall black
berry bushes loaded with, ripe fruit.
Surely there should be bears here. and
there would have been if Barsand had
come earlier. A number had break
TASTED here at daylight, and retired
after sunrise to doze away the hot
hours. Perhaps if dog he'd searched
the great piles of brush logs in the
windfall he might have started a bear
or two; but Barsand discovered moth
ing larger than rabbits.
Next he went to ravine where
there were wild plums just ripening
Bears had been there, as even a green
horn could see. There were big foot
prints on a patch of sand; but Bar
sand could not trace them, or Judge
how fresh the tracks were, or where
they went.
He next visited huckleberry
swamp, where he wandered about a
long time. Only few huckleberries
were ripe, but bears are fond of them,
and the swamp looked to be good
place for bears. But he found none,