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 "Walking Woolfs" starting on their first walk to the Ozark 
 
 Mountains, showing Mr. Woolf in his poorest 
 
 condition, weighing 107 pounds. 
 
TRAMPING 
 
 AND 
 
 CAMPING. 
 
 -BY THE— 
 
 'WALKING WOOLFS;' 
 
 PRICE 50 CENTS. 
 
 By Mail, 60 Cents 
 
 Address DWIGHT H. WOOLF, 
 929 Minnesota Avenue, Kansas City, Kansas. 
 
 t. I. MESEDAUIL * SOU, PBIHTIIIS, KAIISAS Cri».K««S»f. 
 
dfis (^ 
 
 HINTS FOR HEALTH. 
 
 Health comes first. 
 
 Get up early. 
 
 Go to bed early. 
 
 Get plenty of fresh air 
 
 Drink plenty of water. 
 
 Exercise daily in the open air. 
 
 Never be in a hurry at meal time. 
 
 It is better not to eat enough than too much. 
 
 Two meals a day are enough for persons employed 
 at office work. 
 
 Don't jeopardize your health to make money. 
 
 Wealthy men would give their riches for health. 
 
 Health is easy to lose and hard to gain. 
 
 There is a bright side to life if you look for it. 
 
 If you can't think of something pleasant to talk 
 about, be a good listener. 
 
 Don't worry — get back to nature. 
 
 Don't sleep with a closed window. 
 
 Open the window at the top. 
 
 Best Remedies — Fresh Air, Sunshine, Exercise Wa- 
 ter. Nature. 
 
 Remember — That the largest amount of your ail- 
 ments come from the lack of exercise and fresh air. 
 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The unique experience of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dwight H. Woolf, the champion Long Distance 
 Walkers, has awakened general interest through- 
 out the United States. 
 
 In 1909, Mr. Woolf's doctor informed him 
 that he would have to get out in the open and 
 stay there, or he would die. He weighed only 
 107 pounds, including clothes, and was growing 
 weaker daily. Yet he hesitated about giving 
 up his business as a music publisher — his life 
 work; and it seemed a little short of madness 
 to forego all the luxuries — the so-called "comforts" 
 — of civilization. 
 
 But Mrs. Woolf, who was a brave, sensible 
 woman, thoroughly devoted to her husband's 
 interests, agreed with the physician and suggested 
 a walk to the Ozark Mountains. 
 
 That was the beginning of a most remarkable 
 series of trips through Missouri, Kansas, Texas, 
 Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and up through 
 the north Atlantic States to New York and Boston, 
 then home to Kansas City — in the aggregate, a 
 journey of about 10,300 miles. 
 
 Yet, wherever the couple went there was 
 really but one destination — health. 
 
 Mr. Woolf gained strength and, not long after 
 starting, was able to make twenty-five or thirty 
 miles in a day. Clad in neat khaki uniforms, he 
 
 — 3— 
 
and his wife — now the leading woman pedestrian 
 of the world — marched from city to city, accom- 
 panied by Dolly and Don, their faithful horse 
 and dog. 
 
 The group was often surrounded by cheering 
 crowds, or met by newspaper reporters and escorted 
 with honor by delegations of police into the pres- 
 ence of mayors and other officials, who received 
 the travelers cordially. 
 
 But the "Walking Woolfs" gained something 
 far more valuable than honor or fame; and their 
 advice to others who have suffered from the 
 effects of sedentary work is: 
 
 "When you get into a rut walk out of it." 
 
 He who draws close to nature is rewarded in 
 many ways, not the least of which is perfect 
 health. 
 
 The object of this book is to preach the doc- 
 trine of exercise and fresh air. 
 
 THE PUBLISHER. 
 
 — 4— 
 
Tramping and Camping 
 
 IN THE 
 
 OZARKS. 
 
 BY STELLA WOOLF. 
 
 « SS REPARATIONS for a walk to the Ozarks 
 
 ! w^ I were completed. It had been our in- 
 1 w^ \ tention to get up at two o'clock on the 
 j •■■ I morning of departure, and start at three 
 ^.^m^,^^^ o'clock, but rain delayed us until four. 
 
 I fried some eggs and made some cofifee, but 
 we ate very little, our appetites being spoiled by 
 interest and excitement. 
 
 At last the horse was packed and ready to 
 go. About all that we could see of him were his 
 ears and tail. He kept stepping around rest- 
 lessly, and was inclined to be fractious. While 
 he was prancing in the back yard, the load, which 
 was top-heavy, fell to the ground, but he stood 
 quietly until Dwight and his father unpacked. 
 
 Finding it necessary to reduce the amount of 
 baggage, we left one of the cots, the two feather 
 pillows and a number of cooking utensils, also a 
 portion of the kodak supplies and some of the 
 blankets and ammunition. 
 
 As we walked down Tenth Street, Don, our 
 dog, posed as if ready to start, but seemed to be 
 waiting for an invitation. When we called him, 
 
he came tearing down the alley after us, wild 
 with delight. Many times, during the trip, we 
 were glad that we had taken the faithful creature 
 with us, for he proved to be not only a protection, 
 but a companion, as well. 
 
 The line of march led into Argentine and 
 down along the Kaw River, where Dwight stopped 
 and purchased a morning paper which contained 
 an account of our plans. People on the street 
 cars all along Tenth Street craned their necks to 
 see out of the windows. Many of them hailed us. 
 
 The first real hill was a stony one and hard to 
 climb. It appeared to go straight up in the air, 
 and it was covered with rocks as big as a wagon. 
 In Rosedale we got a drink at an old-fashioned 
 well with a windlass and bucket. Going in a 
 southeasterly direction the road was rough. 
 
 Dwight, for whose health we were making 
 the journey, was becoming exhausted. The horse 
 pulled back, but I got a stick and hit him to com- 
 pel him to go. Then Dwight and I exchanged 
 places, and he urged the horse forward. 
 
 Out on the Wornall Road the country is 
 wonderfully improved with fine homes, golf links 
 and everything that wealth can afford. 
 
 It was not long until Dwight was so tired that 
 we had to camp. He seemed weak, and looked 
 so ill that I feared that the exertion of walking 
 and urging the horse along would be more than 
 his constitution could stand. 
 
 We halted at a pretty place, where there 
 was plenty of green grass and water — out on the 
 Dodson car line, not far from Waldo. The pack 
 animal was so glad to be relieved of his burden 
 that he lay down and rolled. 
 
 Our experience in setting up tents was lim- 
 ited, and we got everything wrong at first. The 
 
 — 6— 
 
ridge pole would not stand up right, but the can- 
 vass was supported after a fashion, and gave us 
 shelter although both ends were hoisted away 
 from the ground. D wight had to lie down and rest 
 for a time. Then he got some sticks and started 
 a little camp fire. I cooked the dinner, consisting 
 of bacon, black coflFee and bread, and we ate like 
 a couple of famished "Wolves," which we were. 
 
 From the first meal, eaten in the open air, 
 Dwight was a different man. He commenced 
 to feel better immediately, and took new interest 
 in the outing. 
 
 Motor cars by the dozen passed us all day, and 
 many horses became frightened and shied off into 
 fences at sight of our outfit. 
 
 It was only eleven o'clock when we camped, 
 but we rested until the next morning. Our 
 supper was a fine one, with fried eggs, coffee, bacon 
 and bread. Dwight loaded his rifle and went up 
 the car tracks to shoot at targets. He had on 
 a blue jumper and looked like a "rube." Finally 
 he stopped shooting to keep Don from running 
 away, as the noise frightened the dog. 
 
 Passengers on the Dodson cars threw us the 
 Kansas City papers, both morning and evening. 
 That night, however, we experienced the first real 
 hardships of camping. We turned in, both of 
 us on the single cot, one with his head at the foot, 
 and the other with head at the other end of the 
 cot. We could not even turn over, unless both 
 did so at once. It was exceedingly uncomfortable, 
 and to make matters worse, a terrible electrical 
 storm raged all night. The rain came down in 
 sheets and coursed right through the tent under 
 the cot. I got a spell of the giggles over the situ- 
 ation, and poor Don had no place to lie down. He 
 went out of the tent, but the rain drove him back. 
 
The ground within was one pool of water. Then 
 he came to my end of the cot and tried to rake the 
 cover down with one paw. He wanted to get in 
 the cot, which was already pretty well occupied. 
 Dwight tried to sleep, and I think he did a little, 
 between the times that he was scolding me for 
 giggling and shaking the cot. 
 
 Finally morning dawned, and we got up, stiff 
 and sore from having spent the night in a cramped 
 position. Dwight said that he felt first rate. 
 Breakfast consisted of canned sardines and crackers. 
 
 Packing up, we walked through the little 
 town of Waldo, reaching Martin City in the after- 
 noon. A woman who saw us and supposed that 
 we were gipsies, pulled her children into the house 
 for fear that we might steal them. The whole 
 town seemed to be full of curiosity about us. 
 
 Beyond the town, we soon struck the mud 
 road, which was hard to travel, and we set up the 
 tent at the first schoolhouse. It was still driz- 
 zling rain, but a great many 'people visited camp. 
 
 We managed to get a good breakfast the 
 next morning, as our wood was dry. The farmers 
 gave us vegetables and buttermilk. After dinner, 
 we packed up again and continued the march. But 
 it was so muddy that we simply ploughed along, 
 and I often felt tempted to cry, I was so tired and 
 my feet were like lead. 
 
 On the other side of Belton, we looked for a 
 place to rest but there was mud and water every- 
 where. Just as I was becoming discouraged, a 
 lady and gentleman called to us from their house, 
 and invited us to camp on their farm. We spent 
 the evening with them and had a most pleasant 
 visit. 
 
 After supper Dwight dressed up like a country- 
 man, putting on his blue jumpers, and rode into 
 
 — 8— 
 
cown on Old Buck, the horse. Buck went slowly 
 through the streets, and every few steps Dwight 
 hit him with a stick. The loafers at the little 
 store commenced to guy the "rube". When 
 he had had enough fun with the crowd, Dwight 
 sprang down from the horse and removing his 
 jumpers showed his walking suit. 
 
 Sleeping on one cot was too uncomfortable, 
 so Dwight took the train back to Kansas City and 
 returned with what we had left behind. 
 
 Our next stopping place was on a deserted 
 farm. The owner had given us permission to help 
 ourselves to what vegetables there were in the gar- 
 den and we found some lettuce and onions. We 
 tried sleeping outside of the tent, but were obliged 
 to give it up on account of the heavy dew. Our 
 hosts offered a room in their house, but we thanked 
 them and declined, since the fresh air was nec- 
 essary to Dwight's recovery. 
 
 When I had washed our clothes and dried 
 them on the branches of the trees, we continued 
 the march, although we both hated to leave the 
 beautiful spot where the tent was pitched. 
 
 The people with whom we came in contact 
 proved to be pleasant and intelligent. We had no 
 difficulty in purchasing supplies as we went along, 
 and often, our visitors brought us nice, hot loaves 
 of bread or delicacies of some kind. After we 
 became accustomed to sleeping out of doors, our 
 rest was almost unbroken. 
 
 At Harrisonville, a crowd of men and boys 
 gathered around us as we went to the post-offfce. 
 They asked all manner of questions. It was 
 a very warm afternoon and we must have presented 
 a spectacle. Don was so uncomfortable that his 
 tongue lolled out. Our camp beyond Harrisonville 
 
 — 9— 
 
was in a fine location and we had good neighbors, 
 as usual. 
 
 Our feet had not yet become hardened to 
 walking, and it had been impossible for us to make 
 very good time. 
 
 At Garden City, we camped again in a rain, 
 but having gotten dry wood under the tent, we 
 were enabled to cook a good meal. Buck's feet 
 were very sore and his shoes had to be taken off. 
 He was re-shod at Garden City, after which he 
 seemed to be alright. 
 
 Not far from the town, an old man was very 
 anxious to know why we walked instead of taking 
 the train to our destination. Dwight explained 
 that he was walking for his health. He asked the 
 old gentleman if he had been healthy all his 
 life. The man replied that he had. Dwight then 
 said: 
 
 "Did you stay in the house and watch your 
 crops grow, or did you get out in the field and 
 make them grow.-*" 
 
 The man acknowledged that he had worked 
 in the field Dwight said: 
 
 "I am trying to get health, not by taking life 
 easy and waiting for health to come to me, but 
 by getting out and living with nature, and helping 
 nature to make me well." 
 
 At the next stop, we had a delightful place 
 near a stream of water. By adding potatoes, 
 onions and strawberries, which we bought of the 
 farmers, to our commissary, we enjoyed a fine 
 supper. A big rain, that night, soaked the tent 
 and bedding. Early in the morning, our new 
 neighbors came down with a lantern, and invited 
 us to breakfast. We dressed hurriedly in our 
 damp clothes and waded through the wet grass to 
 
 — 10— 
 
the house glad to accept the kind hospitality of 
 the people who had been so thoughtful. 
 
 On the outside, the building was not prepos- 
 sessing. It was old and weatherbeaten — a frame 
 house that had probably contained two rooms at 
 first, but had been added to until it was now 
 quite good-sized. Inside, it was just as homelike 
 as possible, with neat rag carpets on the floors and 
 cheerful wall coverings. Our breakfast consisted 
 of oatmeal with thick cream ; a big bowl of fresh 
 strawberries, home-grown, good country ham, hot 
 biscuits and coffee. It was a feast to us. This 
 was the second time that we had eaten in a house 
 in nine days. After the meal was over, Dwight 
 picked some cherries for the lady of the house and 
 she made cherry pies for us. 
 
 Early the next morning, we continued our 
 journey. The road was stony, and the horse 
 almost fell down. About ten o'clock, we camped 
 near Creighton and got breakfast. Creighton is 
 a quaint, pretty little town. The houses looked 
 neat and clean. Some of the people thought we 
 were gipsies. 
 
 Out near Hartwell School House we met an 
 old man who was inclined to be very confidential. 
 He informed us that he had been a widower twice, 
 and that he wanted to try matrimony again. He 
 gave us an account of his domestic affairs and 
 insisted that he could make a woman a good hus- 
 band; that he had two hundred acres of land 
 and money in the bank. He said, however, that 
 he did not want to marry some young girl who 
 was after his money, and who would run away 
 with someone else when she had gotten all her hus- 
 band owned. Dwight promised to do what he 
 could to find a suitable wife for the man, when we 
 got back to the city. 
 
 —11— 
 
The following morning we walked six and one- 
 half miles before breakfast, but had to stop on 
 account of the lameness of the horse. After we 
 had gone two miles farther, it commenced to rain 
 and we pitched our tent. 
 
 At Clinton we camped near an artesian well 
 of sulphur water. Dwight went into town and 
 while I was watching the outfit, a large man 
 came toward me. He had a rather kindly face, 
 but being alone, I felt nervous. He advanced 
 slowly and cautiously, and I stepped back into 
 the tent and loaded the pistol, all the time keeping 
 my eye on the stranger. He sidled up, trying to 
 engage me in conversation, and I was just on the 
 point of telling him to go away if he wanted to be 
 safe, when he drew back the lapel of his coat 
 and showed a star. He was a policeman. After 
 that, I was not afraid. As soon as he was satisfied 
 in regard to whom we were and why we were 
 there, he invited us to go down to his house, as 
 it was threatening rain. But before Dwight 
 returned, another voice called to me. Its owner 
 was a nice old gentleman, who said: 
 
 "Daughter, come on up to my house. I've 
 come down after you. It looks like it is going to 
 rain." 
 
 It developed that his daughter-in-law, whom 
 we had met, sent him to ask us to her house. We 
 accepted the kind invitation. 
 
 Leaving Clinton at 3:30 in the afternoon, we 
 went to Brownington. A couple of young men 
 whom we saw told us that there was a man in 
 town who would sell a burro, or trade it for a 
 horse, but after a fruitless search for the party, 
 we decided to keep our faithful Buck, and walked 
 on to Osceola and Vista. While in camp at the 
 latter place, we were preparing to retire for the 
 
 —12— 
 
night, when four men came up the hill toward us. 
 Don growled, and I was a little afraid, but they 
 seemed perfectly friendly, saying that they had 
 called out of curiosity. We received many atten- 
 tions at the hands of the people in the vicinity. 
 
 Near Collins, we found ourselves in the hill 
 country, where there is plenty of sand, rocks and 
 black jacks. 
 
 A farmer who lived at no great distance from 
 Humansville was very philosophical. He was fully 
 satisfied with life, saying that he owned good land, 
 and that all he had to do was to put the seed in 
 the ground and it would do the rest; that he had 
 pure milk and water to drink and clean sweet air 
 to breathe; that he enjoyed his night's sleep, and 
 that no man could ask for anything more. He 
 was undoubtedly the most contented man I had 
 ever seen. 
 
 That night the cows were entirely too friendly, 
 and kept sniffing around our tent. Don was 
 afraid and wanted to crawl up into the cots, every 
 time a cow came near the tent. 
 
 The next morning we walked from five until 
 ten, and then on account of rain, pitched our tent. 
 By this time we had become adepts at setting up 
 the tent, and it was done quickly, but none too 
 soon, for the storm came very suddenly. Dwight 
 cooked dinner inside and the smoke almost ran 
 us out. 
 
 When the rain stopped we continued the hike 
 until about five-thirty o'clock, then found a 
 delightful spot near a clear stream. I washed 
 our clothes and hung them on the trees to dry. 
 After supper it began to rain in earnest, and 
 the creek commenced to rise. Soon it reached 
 the ground where the tent was located. We grabbed 
 our clothes from the trees, stufiFed things into the 
 
 —13— 
 
pack-boxes, pulled down the tent, and got Old 
 Buck. By the time he was ready to move, the 
 water was up to our waists. As we waded out 
 and climbed a slippery hill in the dark, my shoes 
 came off at the heel whenever I took a step. But 
 we did not allow ourselves to become frightened 
 nor discouraged, and as this was a real adventure, 
 we liked it. However, the next place that we 
 selected for the tent was close by the farmer's 
 house. The entire family was very kind and 
 accommodating. 
 
 On the following day, our walk occupied from 
 ten thirty to five o'clock, when we were again 
 most fortunate in securing a good site for the camp, 
 in the front yard of some friendly people. 
 
 After taking breakfast with the family on 
 whose land we had put up for the night, we walked 
 to Bolivar, where everyone seemed to have a great 
 deal of curiosity in regard to our project. On 
 the other side of the town, Dwight went to a farm- 
 house to buy some provisions, and the lady gave 
 him buttermilk, bread, corn bread and rhubarb, 
 and when he asked the price, she said: "Is a 
 nickel too much?" She refused to take anything 
 for some butter. 
 
 At one house, where Dwight was asked to 
 play the violin, the folks furnished him with an 
 instrument that could not have cost over a couple 
 of dollars when it was new. He played as best 
 he could under the circumstances, but saw that 
 the music was not appreciated. Finally, it dawned 
 upon him that they had been accustomed to such 
 music as the Arkansas Traveler and like selections. 
 He asked what they would prefer. One fellow 
 said that he wanted to hear some of the good old 
 tunes — "Turkey in the Straw," or something of 
 that kind. 
 
 —14— 
 
Another rain detained us near Brighton. We 
 were just entering the Ozark Mountains, and the 
 roads were getting pretty rough, but the scenery 
 was beautiful. A portion of our route lay over a 
 ridge road, perfectly graded, naturally, but it 
 looked artificial. There were great trees on both 
 sides, and we could look down hundreds of feet 
 into the valleys below. It was an ideal place for 
 one who was inclined to be romantic, or for one 
 of poetic temperament. At the end of the ridge 
 was a clearing. 
 
 We had been talking all day about our wish 
 to trade off Old Buck for a burro, or for some animal 
 that would answer our purpose better than he 
 did. A couple of men came out to the road 
 and asked us if we wished to trade the horse for a 
 mule. We exchanged glances, and Dwight said: 
 
 "Yes, if you have a mule that you want to 
 trade, we will look at him." 
 
 The man who owned the mule accompanied 
 Dwight to the pasture, while I stayed at the 
 house and talked to the other man and a little 
 girl. Finally, the others came back leading a mule. 
 We took the pack off from Old Buck and put it 
 on the mule, then Dwight led it around the yard, 
 then I led the animal to test its gentleness. It 
 seemed to carry the pack all right, although it 
 was not very graceful about it. 
 
 We talked the matter over, and decided the 
 trade was a good one, as we believed the mule was 
 sure-footed, and that he would be able to get over 
 the mountains more easily than Buck could have 
 done. Telling the owner that we would trade 
 even, we left Buck behind and started down the 
 road with the mule, both of us elated by the 
 bargain. After going a few rods, we noticed 
 that he had a slip-shod, rocking carriage, something 
 
 —15— 
 
like that of a camel. He stepped with a sort of for- 
 ward, rocking movement, that shook pieces of lug- 
 age from the pack, and we commenced to pick up 
 various articles, as we walked along behind the ani- 
 mal. Dwight stopped at a farm-house to buy some 
 eggs, while I stayed in the yard to watch the outfit. 
 Hearing a noise, I looked around, and saw the mule 
 on the ground with the pack on his back. I 
 called to Dwight to hurry, and he came running 
 out of the house. We took the pack off, and 
 made the mule get up. Don was so excited 
 that he ran up to it and grabbed one of its hind 
 legs between his paws and hugged it. Notwith- 
 standing the calamity, we had to laugh at the 
 absurdity of the situation. 
 
 We finally got ready again, and started 
 down the road, forgetting, in the confusion, our 
 raw-hide whip. After going a short distance, the 
 mule lay down again. This time we were certain 
 that our trade had been a bad one. Although it 
 was early in the afternoon, we concluded to camp 
 for the night. Dwight went into a house to ask 
 permission to set up the tent in a yard, and I 
 walked the mule around in a circle to keep him 
 from lying down. After he was relieved of his 
 load, we tied him out with a rope. When supper 
 was over, we retired early, being tired and thor- 
 oughly disgusted. But we had no more than gotten 
 to sleep than a loud noise — a thud, as of something 
 falling — aroused us. This was followed by a 
 distinct groaning. I called Dwight to get up, 
 but he answered that he would not; that it was 
 that blasted mule again, fallen down and choking 
 himself in the rope. I dressed as quickly as possible 
 and went outside the tent to where the mule was 
 lying, and saw that the rope was wrapped all 
 around his head and neck and wound around 
 
 — 16— 
 
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one of his hind feet. Don was barking like a 
 wild dog. Hurrying to the farmer's house, I awak- 
 ened the man and told him what had happened, 
 asking if he would help us. He secured a lantern 
 and went with me to where the mule was, almost 
 choked to death. We saved the animal by cutting 
 the rope. He jumped up like a shot out of a 
 cannon, and we sprang aside to get out of the 
 way. The farmer then put the mule in his pas- 
 ture and there was no more trouble that night. 
 
 The next morning, bright and early, I went 
 down to the pasture and got the mule. I told 
 Dwight that I was going to take the creature 
 back to the man from whom we had obtained it. 
 My husband said that he would not ask the farmer 
 to trade back if the mule died on our hands. 
 Keeping my face straight, I walked the old mule 
 down the road until I came to the place, where 
 I saw Old Buck out in the yard. My heart leaped 
 for joy to see our horse. I was afraid that I could 
 not get him back, but when I explained how the 
 mule had behaved, his former owner seemed 
 surprised. His wife, however, informed me that 
 the animal had lain down in the road when she 
 had been riding him. The man said that he would 
 trade back if we would pay him a dollar to boot. 
 
 I led Buck to our camp, followed by the 
 farmer's little boy riding the mule. Long before 
 we arrived I could see that Dwight was looking at 
 us with a smile on his face. He was glad enough 
 to pay the extra dollar, and we rejoiced over the 
 transaction. That was our first and last exper- 
 ience with the far-famed Missouri mule. 
 
 Breakfast was eaten with a relish that morn- 
 ing, and we then continued the walk toward 
 Springfield. We camped on the south side of the 
 town, just outside of the city limits. The people 
 
 —17— 
 
were extremely pleasant. Many of them had read 
 of our excursion, and we were the recipients of 
 much attention. 
 
 The following morning, as we were walking 
 along the road, a man driving a skittish horse 
 passed us. We led Buck as far out of the way 
 as possible and advised the man to get out of the 
 buggy and lead his horse, but he would not pay 
 any attention to our advice, and whipped up. 
 The horse lunged sidewise and turned the buggy 
 over, and started to run away, dragging the driver. 
 He finally got loose, but the horse continued to 
 run until it came against a telegraph pole, and 
 the buggy was demolished. By this time a great 
 crowd had collected. An old, gray-headed woman 
 commenced to abuse Dwight. We paid no atten- 
 tion, as we did not wish to have trouble, although 
 the accident was not our fault, for if the man had 
 gotten out and led his horse it would have gone 
 along quietly. 
 
 We crossed the river near the Riverdale 
 mill, but instead of going over a bridge, we took 
 off our shoes and stockings, slung them over our 
 shoulders and waded to the other shore. Old 
 Buck got across all right and marched right on 
 down the road until he was out of sight. I followed 
 slowly, for the stones in the river bed hurt my 
 feet, and I stopped in the middle of the crossing 
 and cried. Dwight started to wade out to help 
 me, and Don got excited and jumped around 
 on the bank and barked like a crazy dog. Dwight 
 said that I was a tenderfoot, and could not stand 
 anything. 
 
 After a while we caught up with Old Buck 
 and camped and had dinner by a spring near 
 the roadside. We tried to buy some butter at 
 a farm-house, but the people would not sell us 
 
 —18— 
 
any. Then we got some biscuits, which were 
 hard and soggy, but anything goes, when one is 
 ravenously hungry. 
 
 The country did not seem to be so prosperous 
 as Central and Northern Missouri. Sometimes 
 we walked for miles without seeing a house. There 
 are many log houses with about two rooms, and 
 most of the barns are of logs with thatched roofs. 
 Chickens and pigs run loose in the yards. 
 
 It seemed to us that if a more energetic class 
 of people would go down into the Ozark region 
 aad take up farms, it would be an ideal place to 
 live. 
 
 Spokane is a little town with a post-office 
 and two or three buildings. We camped for 
 dinner in the woods, in a desolate looking spot. 
 I went to a new house, supposing that there would 
 be a well there. A big red dog jumped on Don 
 and commenced to fight him. I tried to separate 
 them, and Dwight, hearing the commotion, rushed 
 out and threw a stone at the strange dog. He 
 had bitten Don badly under one of his front legs. 
 An old, snaggled-toothed woman came to the door. 
 She was chewing tobacco, and looked at me rather 
 curiously. When I asked if I could get a pail of 
 water, she directed me to a well down a very steep 
 ravine. 
 
 Slipping and sliding, I got down to the place, 
 but there was great difficulty and danger of falling 
 into the well. The water had to be drawn up 
 overhand^ — no easy task. 
 
 One funny thing is that every time we asked 
 how far it was to Branson, we received a different 
 reply. It would seem that the closer we got to 
 the town, the farther we were away. No one 
 in this part of the country appeared to have any 
 idea of distance. 
 
 —19— 
 
We stopped for a drink at a house where 
 there were two women, a young woman and an 
 elderly one. Dwight asked them how far it was 
 to Branson, and the young woman said: 
 
 "It's thirty miles from my house to Branson." 
 
 The old woman said: 
 
 "Yes, it's thirty miles from her house to 
 Branson, cause I'll tell you how I know — I live 
 just a half mile from this lady, and there is a 
 traveling man that stops at my house every time 
 he goes to Branson, and I've heerd him say many 
 a time that it was fifteen miles from my house 
 to Branson." 
 
 We camped the next time at the only nice 
 looking farm-house that we had seen on the Wild- 
 erness Road. The day's walk had almost worn 
 us out, but we got a good supper with stewed black- 
 berries, boiled potatoes and other things. 
 
 In the morning, we turned off from the Wilder- 
 ness Road into the worst kind of a trail imaginable. 
 It was enough to upset any wagon. There seemed 
 to be nothing but rocks and ruts. Old Buck had 
 a hard time. He put one foot down, balanced 
 himself, then took another step and in that manner 
 succeeded in making some progress. 
 
 There was a most beautiful bit of scenery 
 that we viewed from the top of a mountain, and 
 we took a snap shot of it. 
 
 Food is high-priced in this locality. The 
 fact is probably due to the unsettled condition of 
 the country. 
 
 The bad roads proved too much for Old Buck, 
 and he lay down for the first time with his pack 
 on. But we allowed him a long period of rest at 
 the stopping place, and fed him well. 
 
 The road to Branson was part of the time dis- 
 tinguishable and part of the time in the bed of a 
 
 —20— 
 
creek where it could not be seen. To make matters 
 worse, the rain commenced to pour down, but we 
 kept right on walking. At a fork, we took the 
 wrong route, which led us out among the hills. 
 Finally we hit the main thoroughfare to the town. 
 Within a mile of the place, we asked a man how 
 far it was to Branson, and he replied that it was 
 about two miles and a half. 
 
 In camp at the edge of the village, we were 
 annoyed by hogs running at large. A big one 
 grabbed a sack out of our provision box and ran 
 away. Dwight chased her all around that part 
 of town, throwing stones at her, and she finally 
 dropped the sack, which contained our supply of 
 pepper. After that, one of us had to stay near 
 the tent all of the time to keep hogs and cows 
 away. Dwight hurried into town to present a 
 letter of introduction from a friend in Kansas City. 
 The gentleman to whom the letter was written 
 promised to find us a camping spot on the White 
 River the next day. 
 
 Branson being our destination, the long 
 tramp was now at an end, and we began to look for- 
 ward to a month's pleasant camping and fishing. 
 
 That night an army of pigs, little and big, 
 grunted and snifiFed around our tent. Don was 
 so afraid of them that he wanted to climb up into 
 the cots. One day, while going through the 
 mountains, Don was chased by a wild razor-backed 
 pig, and after that, throughout the journey, the 
 dog was afraid of all hogs, and we could not get 
 him to chase them away. The only thing he did 
 was to stand at a safe distance and bark himself 
 hoarse. 
 
 Having secured a camping ground on the 
 banks of the White River, and near to town, we 
 made ourselves as comfortable as possible, but 
 
 —21— 
 
both of us were dissatisfied. The spot on which 
 our tent was placed was a little knoll 
 close by the railroad tracks, and just a few 
 rods from a small, two-roomed house in which 
 lived a very kind family. The old log house had 
 a history, having been built over a hundred years 
 ago. Buck was allowed to roam over the town 
 at will with the other live stock. Our new neigh- 
 bors persuaded us to remain when we thought of 
 moving, saying that they would do what they could 
 for us. They loaned us a monkey stove with 
 which to cook, and they also brought down a table 
 and some chairs. 
 
 On the Fourth of July we accompanied our 
 friends to a picnic at HoUister, Missouri. It was 
 an old-fashioned celebration. We walked across 
 the White River bridge to the grounds. A great 
 audience had assembled. Everyone was enjoying 
 the festivities. There was a merry-go-round 
 pushed by a mule, and when the mule got so dizzy 
 that he almost fell down, he was replaced by an 
 ancient, raw-boned horse, until he, too, was forced 
 to retire. 
 
 We had gone to the picnic to see the sights, 
 but soon found that we attracted more attention 
 than anything else. We stood and watched the 
 free-for-all dance that was in progress on a small 
 twelve by fourteen feet platform. There was an 
 old organ and two fiddles, and the musicians were 
 playing hoe-downs in true back-woods style. The 
 dancers, with coats off, perspired abundantly. 
 The girls had ribbons around their necks and waists, 
 and were the picture of hilarity and good nature. 
 There was plenty of pop-corn, peanuts, and all the 
 accessories of a typical, rural Fourth of July picnic. 
 At last, tired of being considered a curiosity, we 
 returned to camp and spent the rest of the day 
 
 —22— 
 
throwing stones into the White River for Don to 
 jump in and get. 
 
 The days that followed were very pleasant. 
 We bathed and swam in the river and visited 
 some people with whom we had become acquainted. 
 When we were in the water, Don had to be watch- 
 ed to prevent him from jumping in after us and 
 scratching our backs. He evidently thought that 
 he was keeping us from drowning. One after- 
 noon, while swimming, I saw a large snake in 
 the water close to me. It frightened me so that 
 I started to run out, but the current was so swift, 
 it knocked my feet out from under me, and Dwight, 
 who was about forty pounds lighter than I was, 
 tried to pick me up bodily and carry me to the 
 shore. When Don observed what he thought was 
 a little fuss, he jumped into the water and tried 
 to separate us. 
 
 Staying in one place became monotonous after 
 a while, and we decided to get a boat and embark 
 on what is considered a dangerous trip. The 
 people who take these floats down the river, 
 usually hire a guide, but as we were fond of doing 
 things that no one else would attempt, we ventured 
 alone. I questioned one of the guides in regard to 
 handling a boat. He said that many people had 
 been drowned in the river while on these trips, 
 but that if we thought that we were capable of 
 managing a boat, he would be glad to show us 
 all that he knew. 
 
 We bought a flat-bottomed boat for two 
 dollars, and after the guide had shown Dwight 
 how to use the paddle, we got our belongings 
 together and started. It was a new life for Don. 
 He seemed to understand that he must not jump 
 out, although we knew that he longed to do so. 
 
 When we had floated about fifteen miles, we 
 
 —23— 
 
heard a rumbling sound — a roaring in the water — 
 and we thought that it must be caused by the rapids 
 which the boat was fast approaching. 
 
 Dwight stood up and looked down the river. 
 He could see the water splashing against the rocks 
 on one side of the bank. In the middle of the 
 river was a willow bar. Where the water divided, 
 one side was rough and the other side was smooth. 
 We tried to steer into calm water, but there was 
 a current that was pulling us directly toward the 
 willow bar. If we had run against the bar, we should 
 have been drowned as the boat would have upset. 
 To avoid this, we were obliged to go into dangerous 
 water. I shall never forget how the rapids looked 
 as we steadily advanced toward them. The cur- 
 rent was so swift that it moved the stones in the 
 bottom of the river. It tossed the little boat 
 around. At one time it seemed that we should be 
 unable to get away from the rock bank, but, making 
 a supreme effort, we finally found ourselves in 
 smooth water. 
 
 We floated on down the river, fishing, and 
 soon caught enough for supper. Don took great 
 delight, watching us. Every time Dwight threw 
 the line out, the dog jumped at it. He looked 
 comical when we reeled in our first big fish, which 
 was tied to the boat to make sure that we should 
 have at least one good fish supper while on the trip. 
 There is much pleasure reeling where one can see 
 the fish swimming. We tried several times to land, 
 and found, at last, that it was necessary to pick 
 out a spot about a quarter of a mile ahead, or 
 the current would take us beyond the point. 
 
 There was a gravel bar at some distance 
 from us, where we decided to pass the night, pro- 
 vided we should be able to make a landing. We 
 rowed to the bank, and the current caught the back 
 
 —24— 
 
of the boat and started us down the stream. We 
 were floating away from the landing-place. It was 
 necessary to make a landing quickly unless we 
 wished to be carried on beyond the bar. We got the 
 boat straightened around and looked for another 
 camping spot. There was no such thing as going 
 back. Soon we saw another desirable place. This 
 time we were more careful. As soon as we got to 
 the bank, I sprang out and held the boat so that 
 it could not get away, then Don jumped out — ^he 
 is never far behind — and Dwight tied the boat. 
 
 There was no ground in which to drive the 
 pegs to hold the tent. There was nothing but 
 a gravel bar. However, we finally succeeded in 
 getting the tent up, by using longer stakes. There 
 were no farm houses, and no one was within hear- 
 ing distance. Plenty of drift-wood was lying 
 around, so we had a big campfire. 
 
 Neither of us had ever killed a fish, and we 
 drew straws to see which one would perform the 
 operation. Dwight always wins, whenever he 
 bets on anything against me, so it fell to me to kill 
 the fish. When I knew that it was up to me, I 
 thought I should prefer to throw the fish back 
 in the river, rather than kill it, so Dwight acted 
 as executioner, and I prepared for the fry. 
 It was not long until our meal was ready, and it 
 certainly was very savory. 
 
 When supper was over, we went down and 
 set some trout lines to catch fish for breakfast. 
 Then, before retiring, we built a great fire to keep 
 away the wild animals, as we had been informed 
 that the mountains were infested with panthers. 
 
 Bright and early in the morning, Dwight 
 looked at the lines and found a big bass and a small 
 catfish. In the meantime, I had started the break- 
 fast. Dwight detected the odor of the good coffee 
 
 —25— 
 
before he reached the camp, and we were both 
 so hungry that we could hardly wait until the fish 
 was ready to cook. 
 
 It was not long until we were again float- 
 ing down the river. There had been a light rain 
 the night before, and the water had risen. The 
 sun was shining brightly. The scenery was con- 
 stantly changing. Sometimes there was a moun- 
 tain on one side and a valley on the other; then 
 matters were reversed. We noticed that water 
 was running out between two large rocks on the 
 side of a mountain, and thinking that it might be 
 one of the springs of which we had been told, 
 we endeavored to land, but failed to do so, and 
 were carried on. 
 
 There were no bridges, and every once in 
 a while we saw people ferrying across the river. 
 We tried to make a landing near a ferry, but the 
 folks called out not to come close, that there was 
 danger from the current, and we should be drawn 
 underneath. It was one of the times that Dwight 
 had to use his head, and he managed to turn the 
 boat and get away without accident. 
 
 It was growing dark, and we landed, with- 
 out difficulty. It was too late to look for a bet- 
 ter camping spot, so we pitched the tent on wet 
 ground, where there were many trees. We had 
 trouble fixing the cots so that we should not roll 
 off in the night. 
 
 After a breakfast of bacon, eggs and coffee, 
 we started, early the next morning, toward a 
 town named Forsyth. Our supply of provisions 
 was running low. The last of the bread had been 
 eaten. However, the banks of the river were so 
 thickly lined with trees that we passed the town. 
 We landed where we saw a path leading up through 
 the woods. 
 
 —26— 
 
I guarded the boat while Dwight set out to 
 j5nd something to eat. He walked several miles, 
 then at last, up the side of a mountain he found a 
 little log hut. He talked to a man whom he saw, 
 but received no answer. At last, the man took 
 a piece of paper out of his pocket and wrote upon 
 it that he was deaf and dumb, but that he would 
 get his father to come. 
 
 The old man appeared, but it developed that 
 they did not eat yeast bread, and all they had to 
 offer was cold biscuit. 
 
 After another long walk, Dwight arrived at 
 a house where a nice young girl came to the door 
 and asked what was wanted. She sold him food, 
 and we loaded the boat and went on our way re- 
 joicing. As we pushed from the shore, a man came 
 along, and informed us that the dangerous Elbow 
 Shoals were not far away. He directed us to go 
 to the left. We passed over some shoals successfully 
 that day, but had no means of determining whether 
 they were the ones referred to. Soon there was 
 a terrible rumbling, fully half a mile distant. 
 Dwight stood up in the rear of the boat to see 
 what course to pursue. We seemed to be at the 
 mercy of the current, which was pulling us straight 
 into the Elbow Shoals. There was no mistaking 
 them this time. The rapids were fearful. They 
 rocked the boat from one side to the other, while 
 Dwight used all his strength to keep a direct 
 course. To lose control at that point would mean 
 that we should be dumped into the river. At 
 last, we managed to get out. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and we camped 
 within hearing of the rapids. Getting several 
 sacks we manufactured a seine and caught some 
 minnows with which to bait our trout lines. Our 
 
 —27— 
 
nerves had been so shaken that we had very little 
 appetite. 
 
 Don had disappeared. We built a j5re, 
 and were debating in regard to supper, when the 
 dog came up with a rabbit in his mouth. His eyes 
 beamed with delight. I persuaded him to let me 
 have the animal, and when it was cooked, Don 
 was given a liberal share of the game. 
 
 We had been without fish for several days, 
 so while the boat floated along the next morning, 
 Dwight reeled out his line. I noticed a ferry 
 boat with a lot of people — more than we had seen 
 in that country before — on board. A man in- 
 quired where we were from. Dwight replied: 
 "From Kansas City." The stranger then asked if 
 we knew that it was against the law to fish in the 
 White River. Although he received a negative 
 answer, he instructed us to land over on the other 
 shore, as we were under arrest. 
 
 In the effort to land, we got hung on 
 some rocks in the center of the river, and the 
 one who had ordered us to go ashore, a justice of 
 the peace and a lawyer, entered a boat and came 
 out to where we were. The boat almost capsized, 
 but they succeeded in reaching us. One of the 
 men kept flashing a big revolver. It seemed as if 
 he wanted everyone to know that he had the right 
 to carry a gun — that he was the sheriff of that 
 county. It certainly looked as if he were rushing 
 things, to arrest us, then bring out a justice of the 
 peace and a lawyer to conduct the trial. We had 
 our trial, were found guilty, and fined fifty dollars, 
 for fishing on White Rivei 
 
 The lawyer who came out, tried very hard 
 to induce us to fight the case, but as we knew 
 that it must be a graft from start to finish, we 
 
 —28— 
 
did not wish to employ a legal adviser, especially 
 one who was in league with the opposite party. 
 
 When the fine had been imposed, Dwight told 
 them that he was in love with Arkansas, and 
 that he would not object to spending a month in 
 jail there, which of course, he would be compelled 
 to do on account of not having any money. 
 
 After they saw that they could not work 
 us for any money, they wrote out a receipt in full 
 for fifty dollars, and said that if anyone else both- 
 ered us, we should be allowed to go, upon showing 
 the receipt. We learned afterward that these 
 people held up everyone who came down the White 
 River. 
 
 It was several hours hard work to get the boat 
 loosened from the rock. In about an hour a soul- 
 racking noise could be heard. It was another 
 shoal. Dwight was determined that he would 
 go over it properly, and steered as carefully as 
 possible. In a minute we were right in the midst 
 of the rapids, which covered the entire river for 
 about a quarter of a mile. They had been named 
 the Tumbling Shoals, and whoever christened them 
 certainly knew what he was describing, for they 
 did nothing but tumble. Dwight guided the boat 
 through without accident. We began to think 
 that we were expert in the use of the paddle. 
 
 We had supper at six o'clock in one of the 
 finest locations for a camp that we had yet seen. 
 Dwight took a picture of two men on a large raft, 
 which was floating down the river. 
 
 We had now gone two hundred miles, but 
 one of the most dangerous rapids was to come. 
 We could not exactly remember what had been 
 told us in regard to it — whether it was in Missouri 
 or Arkansas. The river, in its windings, flows from 
 
 —29— 
 
one state to the other several times in two hundred 
 and fifty miles. 
 
 Finally we came to the McGar Shoals. The 
 rumbling and roaring were terrific. It was dif- 
 ficult to decide which way to go, for the entire 
 surface of the water looked bad. For the first 
 time during the trip, I was really frightened. We 
 steered the boat straight into a hole that seemed 
 big enough to swallow us. I screamed, as a great 
 wave hit me in the face and went over Don, the 
 whole length of the boat, to Dwight, dashing 
 against him and filling the boat half full of water. 
 After that, I was too busy dipping water to notice 
 much more about the shoals. It was a relief to 
 both of us when, at last, we had passed through 
 the worst of them. 
 
 Again and again, we tried to effect a landing, 
 but failed. At one place there were a lot of people 
 on the bank watching us. We suppose that there 
 must have been a town in the vicinity. When it 
 grew" dark, we almost gave up, thinking that we 
 should have to float all night. All at once, as we 
 were drifting along, the water seemed to go out of 
 sight. Of course. I knew that it was impossible 
 for the river to stop; it had to go somewhere, 
 but as far as we could see, it ended. 
 
 A quarter of a mile farther on, Dwight found 
 himself suddenly battling with the wildest rapids 
 that we had yet encountered. A large tree 
 had fallen over into the water, and the current 
 was taking us directly into this tree. A man on 
 the bank saw our danger, and called to us: 
 
 •Paddle to the right! Paddle to the right!" 
 
 This we did with all the energ%' we possessed. 
 I tried to help with a little paddle, but not under- 
 standing how to work it, I took the wrong side, 
 and if there had been any strength in my paddling, 
 
 —30— 
 
I should have thrown the boat straight into the 
 tree. As it was, Dwight's paddle was so much 
 heavier than mine that he got the boat out of 
 danger. 
 
 We spent a very restless night on a gravel 
 bar near the shoals. In the middle of the night, 
 we were awakened by a noise that sounded like 
 a woman's scream. Believing that it was the 
 dreaded panthers of which we had heard so much, 
 we arose and built a big fire. The moon was 
 shining brightly, and there was no trouble in 
 locating a great pile of drift-wood. Sitting near 
 the immense blaze, that reached high toward the 
 sky, we again heard the fearful cry. It made 
 the cold shivers creep down our spines, but we 
 braved it out. I felt more safe when, in the 
 morning, breakfast was eaten and the boat launch- 
 ed. 
 
 It was the last day of our floating trip. The 
 shoals were nothing to compare with those already 
 passed. Dinner was cooked on a little island in 
 the middle of the river. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, when we had almost 
 given up reaching Cotter, Arkansas, that night, 
 some smoke stacks loomed up ahead, presumably 
 our destination. Then a voice behind us called: 
 
 "Better get that old scow out of our way, or 
 we'll run over it!" 
 
 Turning around we were delighted to see the 
 smiling faces of Mr. Callison, the guide, and his 
 tourists. He invited us to camp with him and 
 his party that night. Willing hands helped us 
 ashore. The evening was spent around an im- 
 mense campfire on the beach. The night air was 
 so cool that we had to wrap ourselves in bed- 
 quilts, although it was only the latter part of 
 July. Our friends gave us credit for having nerve, 
 
 —31— 
 
as we had made a dangerous trip alone — a hard 
 thing for inexperienced people to do. The guide 
 remarked that I could not have valued my life 
 very highly, or I should not have started out as 
 I did. They could not know what confidence 
 I had in my cool-headed husband. Although he 
 was entirely without practice as a boatman, it 
 required only the real necessity for nerve and 
 prompt action to teach him how to manage a 
 boat. 
 
 Our vacation trip was over, and after spend- 
 ing a few pleasant days at Cotter and in the vicinity 
 of the town, where we made many friends, we took 
 the train back to Kansas City. 
 
 —32— 
 

 ca 
 
 m .2 
 
 a 
 ca ^ 
 
 O — ' 
 
 CI « 
 
Tramping and Camping 
 
 FROM 
 
 Kansas City to New YorL 
 
 BY STELLA WOOLF. 
 
 ^""■'"■^'^N Monday morning, May 2nd, 1910, we 
 j ^g'\ I began our two thousand mile walk to 
 I B ■ I New York. A journey on foot from the 
 I ^-^ I central part of the United States to the 
 3(;._,..»<^ Atlantic Coast is a very different thing, 
 in many respects, from a trip to the Ozarks — 
 which constituted our last venture. But Dwight's 
 health had shown such marked improvement from 
 the exercise, fresh air and wholesome country 
 food, that we determined to live in the open as 
 much as possible, until there would be no dan- 
 ger of relapse. 
 
 Heretofore we had carried our camping out- 
 fit on a pack horse, but this time we invested in a 
 horse and cart, which enabled us to lay in a larger 
 amount of the necessities of life than we had done 
 on former occasions. The cart consisted of a 
 box built on two wheels, and bore the inscription, 
 "Walking from Kansas City to New York." In 
 the front portion of the box were two compart- 
 ments; one for kodak supplies, and the other for 
 clothes. In the back were four compartments, in 
 one of which we placed our folding cots, stools 
 
 —33— 
 
and shoes, using the opposite lower space for 
 cooking utensils. The two upper compartments 
 contained provisions. 
 
 On the trip to the Ozarks we were obliged to 
 set our dishes upon the ground, so this year we decid- 
 ed to manufacture a table. Dwight made a flap to 
 the back end of the cart, hung on hinges, and put 
 swinging legs on it. When ready to eat our meals 
 we could let this down, and it formed a perfectly 
 level and a very convenient table. 
 
 We needed a stove and had no room to carry 
 one, so we had a substitute built to order by a 
 plumber. It was composed of a framework of gas 
 pipe, and was about one foot by two feet in size. 
 The folding legs could be doubled under. We robbed 
 our Home Comfort range of the upper grate be- 
 longing to the oven, and considered ourselves 
 well fixed for a stove that was easy to carry. All 
 that we had to do was to build a camp fire under 
 the frame, set the grate over it, and put on the 
 food to cook, and the results were as good as if 
 prepared over the finest stove in the world. We 
 could cook a meal fit for a king, and sit right down 
 to a table just as if we were at home, except 
 that everything tasted a hundred per cent better 
 than if it had been eaten at home. Out of door 
 living gave us hearty appetites, and no matter 
 what we ate, it seemed delicious. And at almost 
 every camping spot, nature's dining hall was far 
 more attractive than the most beautiful room 
 in any hotel or private residence. 
 
 All of our camping outfit — the tent poles, 
 kodak apparatus, stove, cots, stools — fold up. 
 
 It had been our intention to start very early 
 in the morning, but a heavy rain the night before 
 delayed us several hours, and we did not set out 
 until about eight o'clock, walking down Min- 
 
 —34— 
 
nesota Avenue, crossing the Inter-city Viaduct 
 and going down Sixth Street, where some ingenuity 
 was required in order to dodge the heavy transfer 
 wagons and other cumbersome vehicles. At this 
 point it was evident that the wheels of our cart 
 would not be strong enough to stand the wear and 
 tear of travel, therefore we exchanged them, at 
 the next blacksmith shop, for a heavier pair 
 
 During the process a crowd, curious and anxious 
 to know about the proposed walk, gathered around 
 us. At one o'clock we continued the march, but 
 neither of us was used to our new horse "Dolly," 
 which we had bought expressly for this journey. 
 Dolly had a mind of her own, and taking it into 
 her head to go outside of the road to help herself 
 to some grass, she lodged the cart in a bad mud-hole 
 and no amount of persuasion would induce 
 her to budge when we tried to lead her out. It 
 was impossible to push the wheels, and everything, 
 including our clothing, became spattered with 
 mud, but Dolly still held her own. 
 
 Just then an old farmer came along and asked 
 what the matter was. He said: 
 
 "I guess you don't understand horses very 
 well," and taking hold of her bridle led her back 
 to the road without a particle of trouble. This 
 experience afforded us a great deal of fun, gibing 
 each other about not knowing how to lead a horse 
 out of a mud hole. 
 
 When people get close to nature — it matters 
 not whether the sky above them is blue or gray — 
 their spirits rise and the smallest circumstances fur- 
 nish material for lively interchange of thought. 
 
 At four o'clock we reached Independence, 
 Missouri. The newspapers had said so much 
 about our starting on foot for New York that inter- 
 
 —35— 
 
ested throngs pressed around us on the streets and 
 asked all manner of questions. 
 
 Three miles beyond Independence we camped 
 near a farm-house. The weather had turned 
 colder, and a drizzling rain had set in. After 
 cooking supper, we retired early, somewhat ex- 
 hausted, owing to the fact that we were not yet 
 hardened to long tramps. 
 
 The next morning was cold and rainy, and 
 although four o 'clock was supposed to be schedule 
 time for beginning the march, we waited until 
 six o'clock. Our plan was to walk until eleven, 
 then stop and get breakfast, but we found it better, 
 after a thorough trial, to take the time to prepare 
 breakfast before starting. 
 
 On this particular morning, however, we did 
 eight miles, then camped in a pleasant place and 
 cooked the morning meal. As we passed along 
 the road, a man, woman and young girl came down 
 to their gate and spoke to us, inquiring about our 
 trip. It seems that they had read in the papers 
 about us, but they had not thought of our taking 
 the direction of the thoroughfare in front of their 
 home. They gave us permission to camp on their 
 land, and we bought fresh eggs for breakfast, and 
 some corn for Dolly. 
 
 My feet had become very sore, after walking 
 only a day and a half, so I rested for a couple of 
 hours, while Dwight painted the new wheels. We 
 sat in the sunshine, talked over plans for the trip, 
 and visited with the kindly farmers who passed 
 by. Our new friends sent us a plate of corn bread 
 and a pitcher of freshly churned buttermilk, which 
 we accepted and devoured. 
 
 Buckner was the next village on the way to 
 the crossing on the Missouri River at Lexington. We 
 bought some provisions and camped for the night 
 
 —36— 
 
by the roadside a short distance outside of the 
 town. After supper, we chained Dolly to the cart 
 that she might not be borrowed in the night. 
 
 The journey was continued early the following 
 morning, and walking through the town of Levasy 
 we came to Napolean, a small place where the 
 people stared at us. Some even ventured to ask 
 if we were a traveling show. 
 
 A cold wind was blowing, and we went on to 
 a little grove near a fine spring, and had break- 
 fast. While sitting at our table, we noticed coming 
 down the road an old man, bent and feeble. He 
 was carrying a budget slung on a stick across his 
 back. He stopped and called to us. Not being 
 able to understand him, Dwight motioned him 
 to come to us. He did so, and asked for a cup of 
 coffee, saying that he was an old soldier, and 
 had walked all the way from Kansas City. It 
 seems that he was going to live with a married 
 son at some place in Missouri; that he had been 
 told by the daughter with whom he had been 
 staying in Kansas City that there was no longer 
 room for him. Attempting to cheer him, we gave 
 him food. He put it in his pocket, and tottered 
 slowly onward over the ties, his budget, though not 
 large, appearing to be too much of a load for him. 
 He turned, as he was almost out of sight, and 
 waved his red bandanna handkerchief. That was 
 the last which we saw of the poor, unfortunate, 
 old man. 
 
 The river was now only a stone's throw away, 
 but the crossing at Lexington was about fourteen 
 miles distant. My feet had become so sore that 
 walking was a very painful thing. However, we 
 made about ten miles that afternoon, reaching 
 Wellington at four o'clock. We had now gotten 
 into a rough country— a coal mining district, lying 
 
 —37— 
 
along the Missouri River. Our tent was pitched 
 that night beside a church, and not far from a 
 store, and a good well of water. 
 
 Arriving at Lexington, we started in a down- 
 pour of rain for the ferry, a mile and a quarter from 
 the center of the town. However, the storm pre- 
 vented our carrying out the plan of crossing at 
 Lexington, and we camped near the Missouri 
 Pacific railroad. All kinds of tough men were 
 tramping back and forth along the tracks. A 
 poor family of miners lived in an old deserted house- 
 boat near us, and showed us great kindness, al- 
 though we felt some hesitancy about accepting 
 favors from such uncleanly people. They came 
 to our camp to visit, loaning us a lantern and assur- 
 ing us that there was no danger. The wood was 
 all wet, and we retired that night without supper. 
 
 Dolly was tied to the cart in front of the 
 tent, and with a revolver within reach, we tried 
 to close our eyes in sleep. But the night was in- 
 tensely dark, and we feared an attack by someone, 
 which made sleep impossible. The ground around 
 us was a vast mud-hole. Dolly was cold and rest- 
 less, and stamped about in the slush. Every time 
 a train roared by, she lunged and jerked the cart. 
 Even the ground under the tent was soaked so 
 that poor Don, our faithful dog, had no place to 
 lie down. He begged so hard to be allowed to 
 get up into our cots, that we finally permitted him 
 to do so, muddy as he was. 
 
 When morning dawned, Dwight arose and 
 took Dolly back into the town and bought her a 
 rubber blanket and some oats. He also had her 
 sharp shod, in order that she might be able to 
 pull her load up the slippery hills. It was still 
 drizzling, and we decided to change the route, and 
 
 —38— 
 
go by way of Higginsville, and the Glasgow 
 crossing. 
 
 It rained almost continually for the next two 
 or three days, compelling us to remain in camp, 
 and content ourselves with cold meals. I became 
 tired of staying in bed, and on the third day of 
 the storm I went outside of the tent, determined 
 to catch a ride to town, and buy some provisions 
 that could be prepared without fire. As I 
 stood in the rain, a man and woman in a buggy 
 came along the road, and I ventured to ask them 
 to purchase some bread and sardines for us, which 
 they agreed to do. I gave them a dollar, and 
 late in the afternoon they returned and stopped 
 beside our camp, giving me the provisions for 
 which I had sent. They laughed and asked me 
 how I came to trust total strangers with the money, 
 saying that they might have taken another road 
 and gone home. I told them that I was not at 
 all afraid of anything of that kind when I looked 
 into their faces and saw their honest expression. 
 They were extremely pleasant and invited us to 
 stop and see them when we continued our journey. 
 
 I took Dwight's coat — the only one he had 
 with him — and asked permission at the farm-house 
 to dry it. Dolly was already in the stable, and 
 I was invited into the dining-room, where I dried 
 the coat by the fire, my hostess chatting cordially, 
 the while. 
 
 When I returned to the camp, Dwight got up 
 and cooked supper. It was the first hot meal that 
 we had been able to prepare for several days. In 
 the evening we were invited to the house. Al- 
 though we appreciated the kind ofi"er of the use 
 of the farmer's stove, we really had no need of it, 
 and were very comfortable. 
 
 After all, one's happiness does not depend on 
 
 —39— 
 
outward conditions. We are never so uncomfortable 
 but that we might be more so, and there are always 
 redeeming features in any situation, if we only look 
 for them. 
 
 The following morning was clear and pleasant. 
 We had plenty of company all day, the neighbors 
 coming to see us while we dried the clothes and 
 bedding. The time was spent writing letters and 
 washing our muddy clothing and basking in the 
 sunshine. We accepted an invitation from the 
 young man at the nearest house to take supper 
 with his family, and passed a most enjoyable 
 evening. The hospitality and goodfellowship of 
 the people in the neighborhood made us feel quite at 
 home. 
 
 That night, Dolly was tied to the cart in order 
 to get an early start before daylight. Something 
 frightened her in the darkness, and she pulled the 
 cart over an embankment. She lunged about and 
 snorted, and Dwight had some trouble getting 
 down to her and loosening her from the cart. At 
 dawn, we learned that she had hurt her hough and 
 bent the axle of the cart. Otherwise, everything 
 was all right, although shaken up. 
 
 Our progress that day was rather slow, on 
 account of my feet becoming so tender. At Mar- 
 shall, a druggist gave me a preparation that afforded 
 great relief, so that I had no further difficulty — 
 particularly after I had discarded narrow shoes 
 and confiscated a pair of Dwight's, which were of 
 a broad, bull-dog last. With these shoes I walked 
 the entire distance to New York. My husband 
 had much fun at my expense on the way, insisting 
 that I had been trying to put a Number Seven 
 foot inside of a Number Four shoe. 
 
 Through Gilliam and Slater to Glasgow, there 
 was very little excitement, except that a big gray 
 
 —40— 
 
cat chased Don out beyond our camp and tried 
 to run him up a tree. The owners said that she had 
 been treed, at one time, and that since then she 
 had waged incessant war against dogs. 
 
 We walked in a drizzling rain through the 
 river bottoms, a desolate country, deserted because 
 of the floods. Disheartened farmers had left 
 houses and other improvements. The ferry was 
 not running, as the day was Sunday, so another 
 long wait in the rain stretched out before us, but 
 after we had retraced our steps to a good farm- 
 house, we pitched the tent. The farmer visited us 
 and cordially invited us to his home. The kind- 
 ness and friendliness with which the people along 
 the route treated us will always remain a pleasant 
 memory. 
 
 Glasgow is a small, but live town, on a high 
 bluff. It was a relief to get out of the sandy bot- 
 tom lands. At Roanoke we weighed the outfit. 
 Dolly weighed one thousand pounds, and the cart 
 about eight hundred and fifty pounds, while Dwight 
 tipped the beam at one hundred and seventeen 
 pounds and I at one hundred and ninety-one; Don 
 weighed fifty-two pounds. 
 
 Near Huntsville, we camped not far from an 
 old, picturesque mill, on a deep, swift stream. It 
 was a historic spot. The water wheel for the 
 mill was among the first freight shipped over the 
 Wabash railroad. 
 
 In the village of Kimberly, our camping ground 
 was close to a church in a beautiful location, al- 
 though in a coal mining community. While 
 Dwight took a sack and went to buy some corn for 
 Dolly, I undertook to carry water for her to drink. 
 
 As I walked down the road a wagon passed, 
 I could not see the occupants very well, but a 
 
 —41— 
 
voice addressed me, saying, as the wagon rattled 
 by: 
 
 "Where are you people traveling?" 
 
 I replied, innocently, but emphatically: 
 
 "We^are walking from Kansas City to New 
 York." 
 
 The same voice rang out laughingly: 
 
 "Do you think you will ever get there?" 
 
 I called back: 
 
 "Yes, I think we will," and in reply I heard 
 peal after peal of laughter, and then I began to 
 come to myself — it was my husband, riding down 
 the road in the wagon, and he thought it a good 
 chance to play a joke on me. 
 
 We prepared with great care for our arrival 
 in Moberly, which came into view at about ten 
 o'clock. Our tent and quilts were placed in a 
 neat pack on the top of the cart, which had been 
 washed all over, so that the inscription, "Walking 
 from Kansas City to New York," would show 
 clearly. Our clothing had been changed, and we 
 made a neat appearance, and it was not in vain, 
 for our reception was by far the nicest yet exper- 
 ienced along the route. The population of the 
 town was curious, but kindly. 
 
 The roads in this part of the country were 
 very badly taken care of, and there were great 
 ruts and sink holes. Not far from Hannibal, we 
 tramped through the mud all day, and were tired, 
 having lost our way. Dwight was refused per- 
 mission to camp near a farm-house where he had 
 stopped. As he emerged from the place — I had 
 dropped behind the cart — he said loudly enough to 
 be heard by the people : 
 
 "Come on, those people are not even human." 
 They had said that they did not want "camp- 
 ers" on their place. However, we encountered very 
 
 —42— 
 
few persons who were so selfish. From Hannibal 
 we were ferried across the Mississippi River, and 
 camped on the Illinois side. 
 
 It has been said that the farther one goes east 
 the more inhospitable and unfriendly people 
 become, but we did not find that to be the case. 
 The proprietor of the leading hotel at Barry, Illi 
 nois, entertained us at dinner, and referred us to 
 one of the richest farmers in the vicinity, for a 
 pleasant camping spot. 
 
 Through Missouri and Illinois, we noticed 
 some peculiar expressions. Many persons accosted 
 us with the remark: 
 
 "You're takin' a pritty long gant (jaunt) ain't 
 ye?" and when we walked rather fast they often 
 said: 
 
 "You're goin' at a pritty good hickory." In 
 Illinois and Indiana, they said: 
 
 "You're takin' a pritty long hike, by Jingoes!" 
 In Ohio it was simply, "a long walk," and in New 
 York, it was "a long journey," — "Ain't you'se 
 tired yit?" As we entered a small town in New 
 York, a small boy came running up to us, saying: 
 
 "Did you'se fetch de dog all de ways wid yus?" 
 
 At Valley City, Illinois, we were ferried across 
 the Illinois River. It was very rough and wide and 
 reminded us of our White River trip in the Ozarks. 
 On the other side we got on the wrong road and 
 into soggy ground blocked with logs and under- 
 brush. In the search for the right road we came 
 across some men sorting clam shells. This indus- 
 try is widely followed along the banks of the Illinois, 
 and often valuable pearls are found. The fisheries 
 were quite extensive at this point. One fisherman 
 told us that he had caught a fish — the day before — 
 weighing one hundred pounds, but we let this im- 
 
 —43— 
 
formation go in one ear and out of the other, as 
 a "fish story." 
 
 On Decoration Day, passing down one of the 
 most beautiful streets that I ever saw, we walked 
 into Jacksonville, a very nice city. The trees over- 
 lapped above the streets, making a perfect bower 
 all along the way. 
 
 At Springfield, which we reached on June 1st, 
 a great crowd gathered. While we were talking, 
 a fat, short little Jew came running up to us all out 
 of breath, and said: 
 
 "Come right over to my restaurant and eat. 
 You're perfectly welcome to anything I've got." 
 
 It was plain that his game was to draw the 
 crowd to his restaurant, so we thanked him saying 
 that we might call around when we got hungry, 
 but we did not get hungry while near his place. 
 
 Leaving the city, a young man and woman on 
 horseback accompanied us all the afternoon, show- 
 ing great interest in our trip, and taking supper 
 with us. The following day they again met us and 
 dined in our company. 
 
 On the other side of Hume, Illinois, a farmer 
 was plowing his field. When asked for permission 
 to camp on his ground, he hesitated for a minute, 
 evidently thinking that we wanted accommoda- 
 tions in his house, and said that he had a large 
 family, but when he learned that only a nice spot 
 for camping was desired, he led us to his orchard. 
 Going to the house for a pail of water, I saw little 
 ones ranging all the way from a five-month's old 
 baby to thirteen years. The mother said that she 
 was thirty-five years of age, the father forty. They 
 said that they had never had any sickness to speak 
 of, in the family, and that the children caused very 
 little trouble; that they looked after one another. 
 The mother did all of her own work, with the assist- 
 
 ._44_ 
 

 O +3 0» 
 
 pq 
 
 W 
 
 
 ^ O ^ 
 
 - a 
 
 
ance of her older children, and she informed me 
 that she never missed going to church on Sunday — 
 twice. We thought this a model "Roosevelt" 
 family, and noted the happiness and harmony in 
 the home. 
 
 On June 10th, we entered Indiana, near Dana. 
 The Wabash River crossing was at Montezuma. 
 Reaching Indianapolis, on June 14th, we felt that 
 a considerable portion of the journey had now been 
 accomplished. Our camp was in a suburb. At 
 Indianapolis the National Pike begins. It is a 
 public thoroughfare from Washington, D. C, to 
 vSt. Louis. The road led us to Columbus, Ohio. 
 The weather was now very hot and the dust whirled 
 into our faces when automobiles passed. There 
 were thousands of them. 
 
 The birth-place of James Whitcomb Riley, 
 the poet, is located at Greenfield. We also saw 
 "the Old Swimmin' Hole," which delighted his 
 boyhood days. 
 
 Just before entering Richmond, Indiana, we 
 were accosted by a farmer: 
 
 "Walking to New York, eh? Well, it's about 
 time to camp for the night, isn't it?" 
 
 Receiving an affirmative reply he said : 
 
 "Well, drive right into my yard, I always keep 
 all the walkers that come down the pike." 
 
 It seems that he had really kept all pedestrians 
 that had passed his place, whether they had money 
 or not, and that he did not want to miss any of 
 them. 
 
 At Cambridge City, Indiana, tickets to a ball 
 game were presented us, and the game was inter- 
 esting in the extreme. 
 
 At Richmond, we visited Barlham College, 
 where I had attended school years before. I 
 viewed the old college buildings and grounds, 
 
 —45— 
 
noted the few improvements, but saw only one 
 familiar face, that of a former professor. 
 
 We now entered the state that was "differ- 
 ent," — which is named Ohio. Here our treatment 
 was varied. This of course did not apply to Ohio 
 exclusively, as the same might be said in some 
 degree of all states, but the difference of opinion 
 was most noticeable in Ohio. In some sections the 
 people were friendly, and in other places, un- 
 friendly. Sometimes almost everyone whom we 
 met spoke to us, and at other times persons would 
 hardly condescend to answer a question. 
 
 In one of the neighborhoods where pedestrians 
 were regarded with suspicion, Dwight remarked 
 that he would like to find a nice place to camp, and 
 the farmer — at whose clover field we were looking — 
 replied that three miles up the road there was a 
 school-house where all the gipsies camped. A 
 woman, asked if she would be kind enough to allow 
 us to camp upon her ground, replied: 
 
 "We don't own this farm, are only renting, 
 and have no right to let you stay." 
 
 That night we tried six times to camp and 
 were turned away six times. An old man, sitting 
 in his front yard with his daughter, piled insult 
 upon insult, saying, with a sarcastic grin on his face : 
 
 "Why don't you get a railroad ticket? What 
 do you want to go through the country like this for ? 
 Why don't you ride on the cart?" and a dozen other 
 ignorant and insulting things. 
 
 At the next place was a man who had just 
 moved into Ohio, and he permitted us to camp at 
 his place. 
 
 Just west of Elyria, Ohio, were a man and a 
 woman walking to the Northeastern part of Penn- 
 sylvania. Upon reaching the town, we were sur- 
 prised to learn that the humane officers had ar- 
 
 —46— 
 
rested the man and put him in jail for walking the 
 woman across the country, as they claimed that 
 she was physically unable to endure such a trip. 
 
 After that, every time we met a policeman 
 Dwight dodged, for fear, he said, that I would be 
 arrested for walking him across the country. 
 
 We met many queer characters. Perhaps we 
 looked as funny to them as they did to us. One 
 day when a cold rain was falling, a man rode up 
 on a bicycle. Dismounting, he gazed curiously at 
 us and read aloud the sign on our wagon. 
 
 "Well, he remarked, "you've got quite a hike 
 before you." 
 
 "Yes," answered Dwight, "and also behind us." 
 
 About this time the man's partner came up, 
 and he too dismounted and leaned heavily against 
 his wheel. 
 
 Dwight said : 
 
 "What kind of a trip are you on?" 
 
 The first man replied: 
 
 "Oh, we're on a pleasure trip!" 
 
 But the expression on the face of his compan- 
 ion showed disapproval. 
 
 Dwight then asked : 
 
 "Where do you stay nights?" 
 
 Before his comrade had time to answer, the 
 man in the rear said : 
 
 "Oh, we hit the barns!" 
 
 The laughable part of the whole incident was 
 that the fellow who rode up first was trying to 
 make the best of a bad job, and the other man was 
 so thoroughly disgusted with the pleasure end 
 of it that he was ready to do anything to discredit 
 it. The last that we saw of the pair, they were still 
 riding tandem, the one in the rear being too tired 
 and disgusted to even attempt to keep up with his 
 more cheerful partner. Whatever we do in this 
 
 —47— 
 
life, everything depends on the point of view. 
 Those who look on the bright side, always have 
 pleasant experiences to relate. People who are 
 given to telling hard luck stories usually have 
 plenty of hard luck stories to tell. 
 
 At Cleveland, Ohio, we camped on the Rocky 
 River in a very picturesque spot. The next morn- 
 ing Dolly was missing. Supposing that she had 
 pulled her stake and strayed a short distance away, 
 we were not worried. But a thorough search in 
 the vicinity was unsuccessful, and it was two dis- 
 heartened beings that finally came upon her late 
 in the afternoon, eight miles out in the country. 
 She was tied up in a barn near our camping place 
 of the day before. 
 
 On July 11th, two red automobiles approached 
 us and a gentleman introduced himself as Mr. John 
 Abernathy, of Oklahoma. He had with him his 
 two small sons, who had made the long horse-back 
 ride from Oklahoma to New York to meet Colonel 
 Roosevelt on his return from Africa. They were 
 returning from New York, preferring automobiles 
 for the journey home. We talked to them for some 
 time, took their pictures, and secured their auto- 
 graphs. 
 
 On the same day, we reached Painesville, 
 Ohio, late in the afternoon, and having walked the 
 allotted number of miles for the day, decided to 
 camp at the first inviting spot. As we passed a 
 beautiul summer home, two gentlemen and two 
 ladies came toward us from the yard. They said 
 that they had read about our trip and they were 
 very much interested in us. They said that they 
 were show people, and consequently they knew the 
 world pretty well, themselves. We accepted their 
 invitation to camp on their lawn that night. They 
 
 —48— 
 

 & .^ 
 
 CI] 
 
 pq 
 
 
prepared supper for us, and our evening with them 
 was a most delightful one. 
 
 At Ashtabula, Lake Erie could be seen, for the 
 first time. It made a great impression on us, as it 
 was the only large body of water that we had ever 
 seen. We walked along the shore, within a stone's 
 throw of the lake, for miles and miles, enjoying the 
 breeze and the constantly varying color of the 
 water, as it changed from blue to pale green and 
 gold, with every movement of the waves. 
 
 While camping in a rather unfriendly neigh- 
 borhood in Pennsylvania, I tried to rent or borrow 
 a wash-tub. It was an absolute necessity that I 
 do our washing, or I should not have asked such 
 a favor of the farmer's wife. 
 
 She looked me over suspiciously, and said: 
 
 "Are you right sure you will be here in the 
 morning?" She evidently thought that we would 
 pack up in the night and run away with her tub. 
 
 On July 16th we entered the state of New 
 York. At Westfield there was a band of gipsies, 
 the toughest looking outfit yet encountered. 
 There were several covered wagons, painted red, 
 and with poor old skinny horses hitched to them. 
 Tramping beside the wagons were three men lead- 
 ing big brown bears. An almost endless number 
 of old women and children tagged along behind 
 the wagons, leading a lot of monkeys. Our horse, 
 Dolly, became almost uncontrollable with fright, 
 and for several miles after we had passed the out- 
 fit, she kept sniffing at the ground, evidently de- 
 tecting the odor of the bears from the tracks left 
 by their feet upon the ground. 
 
 When we were several days' walk west of 
 Buffalo, a man and a woman in an automobile 
 drove up beside us and stopped. They seemed to 
 be very much interested in us and our mode of 
 
 —49— 
 
travel, calling it unique. ^fiUpon arriving at Buf- 
 falo a few days later, we were met by them and 
 taken to their home, where they entertained us 
 royally. An automobile ride all over the city 
 was one of the attentions we received at their hands. 
 We left our dog, horse and cart at Buffalo and 
 went to Niagara Falls by train, spending a day 
 there, viewing the most wonderful sights we had 
 ever beheld. 
 
 Early one morning we arrived at Dunkirk, 
 New York. A large, nice-looking, well-dressed 
 gentleman came up beside the cart, saying: 
 
 "What have you in there? An elephant?" 
 
 Dwight made no answer, as he was accustomed 
 to the remarks of all kinds of people. Seeing that 
 no notice was paid to him, the man said again, 
 loudly enough to be heard by everyone around 
 us: 
 
 "Have you got an elephant in there?" 
 
 At this, Dwight turned and looked at him, and 
 said in an indifferent tone of voice : 
 
 "You are standing over there on the sidewalk, 
 aren't you?" To which the man replied: "Yes, 
 I am." "Well, then," said Dwight, "the elephant 
 is out." "You think you're pretty darned smart," 
 said the big man, as he walked away. 
 
 Late one Sunday evening, while passing 
 through the town of Bergen, New York, we were 
 tired after a long day's walk, and decided to dine 
 at a hotel. Dwight asked the proprietor if he was 
 prepared to serve a meal, and received a negative 
 answer. He evidently thought that we had no 
 money to pay for it. We disliked to be misunder- 
 stood by such ignorant people, but like many other 
 rural folks, they had never been away from home, 
 and our queer outfit was more than they could 
 comprehend. It was another unfriendly settle- 
 
 —50— 
 
ment. We found a fine camping spot, but had 
 no bread, and asked a woman sitting on the front 
 porch of a farm-house if she would sell us some. 
 
 "I will see if I have some," she said. 
 
 But her husband, who had overheard a part 
 of what had been said, yet not enough to know 
 that we wished to buy, not beg, spoke out loudly: 
 
 "We have no bread to give away." 
 
 One day, as we followed the road, which wound 
 pleasantly through green fields, we met a man and 
 a woman in a buggy. It was not difficult to see by 
 the expression on their faces that we had at once 
 become objects of pity. The man said: 
 
 "Now, you folks are having to walk from 
 Kansas City to New York! That's too bad! 
 Couldn't you have bought a railroad ticket for 
 pretty near what it is going to cost you to walk 
 through?" 
 
 Whenever we met anyone like this, we always 
 had some fun. Dwight replied to the man : 
 
 "Now, I'll tell you how it is. You see, we 
 have a sick cousin in New York, and we have to 
 walk so as to get there and see him before he dies. 
 You can readily see that we couldn't afford to buy 
 a railroad ticket, because it would cost at least a 
 hundred dollars to go from Kansas City to New 
 York by rail, and all it costs us to walk is the ex- 
 pense of buying a horse and outfit, and living 
 for three months and a half, and you know that 
 isn't much." 
 
 By this time the man in the buggy awakened 
 and said : 
 
 "Oh, I bet you are makinga whole lot of money 
 by doing this." 
 
 "No, I am doing it for my health," replied 
 Dwight, but even then the man wouldn't believe 
 it. 
 
 —51— 
 
At Canistota, New York, we camped on the 
 outskirts of the town, one Sunday evening. After 
 the tent was put up and our supper was started, 
 we noticed that we had about forty visitors, but 
 we were hungry and went right on cooking. Soon, 
 an aristocratic, middle-aged gentleman drove up 
 in an automobile, and remarked: 
 
 "I passed you this morning, and wondered 
 what you were doing, and when I saw you here 
 tonight, I just thought I would stop and see you. 
 I see you're walking from Kansas City to New 
 York. It's no business of mine, but if you don't 
 mind telling me, are you walking because you 
 have to, or just for fun?" 
 
 Dwight worked the sick cousin story on him, 
 but he was too wise, and saw through it at once, 
 saying laughingly: 
 
 "You people are all right. I glory in your 
 spunk. I see you're getting supper. I'd like to 
 stay and eat with you." 
 
 We were both surprised, but Dwight was game, 
 and said: 
 
 "If you're in earnest, you're welcome to dine 
 with us." 
 
 The gentleman, who turned out to be the own- 
 er of a large chair factory at Oneida, New York, 
 said : 
 
 "Certainly, I'm in earnest. Put on more 
 coffee and everything. I want to eat with you." 
 
 When supper was ready, Dwight put a board 
 across a camp stool, and our guest sat on one end 
 of it and I on the other, neither daring to move 
 lest the other upset. We joked and laughed dur- 
 ing the entire meal, and after it was over and the 
 crowd had dispersed, to some extent, our quondam 
 visitor said: 
 
 —52— 
 
"I have enjoyed this immensely. I like things 
 that are out of the ordinary." 
 
 He stayed and talked with us that night until 
 bed time, and as he left said: 
 
 "I shall see you people again before you 
 leave." 
 
 The next morning, before we had packed up, 
 he again drove out to see us, and conversed while 
 we finished packing. Supposing that would be 
 the last we would see of him, we bade him goodbye, 
 but a couple of hours later, he again overtook us 
 and invited us to take dinner with him at a hotel 
 in Oneida. We took his picture, and upon reaching 
 the hotel had a most pleasant visit with him. It 
 was one of many delightful experiences, and 
 we shall always have in our hearts a warm spot for 
 this true gentleman. 
 
 The most beautiful scenery of the entire jour- 
 ney was in the Mohawk Valley. The road runs 
 for miles along the Erie Canal through the wonder- 
 ful and far-famed region. 
 
 At Amsterdam, the great carpet-manufactur- 
 ing city, a break-down of our cart delayed us for 
 several hours. Schenectady, New York, we shall 
 always remember as a very live town. At noon, 
 on Saturday, when the Electric plant closed for 
 the half holiday, there were thousands of prosper- 
 ous, happy looking men and boys coming from 
 their work. In fact the whole town had a suc- 
 cessful appearance. 
 
 Upon arriving at Troy, New York, we turned 
 south toward the great metropolis. Crowds of 
 people surrounded our cart. One woman approach- 
 ed Dolly, and patting her, said: 
 
 "Oh, this poor horse! Does it ever get any- 
 thing to eat?" 
 
 This was too much for my good nature. I 
 
 —58— 
 
had frequently passed over rude remarks, with 
 a smile, but this time I turned on the old woman 
 and said slowly, so that the audience could hear 
 every word: 
 
 "Madam, if you were to eat pork chops in 
 proportion to the amount of oats fed to this horse, 
 you would be a great deal fatter than you are." 
 
 She had no more to say, but began to pet Don, 
 whom she pitied, no doubt, as much as she had 
 the horse. 
 
 One thing that was noticeable throughout 
 our travels in New York State was the number 
 of deserted farms. Every few miles we came to 
 tumble down farm houses and barns. The land 
 had evidently been deserted for sometime. 
 
 We did not attempt to keep any account, 
 but I think that there must have been over two 
 hundred within a comparatively small radius. 
 
 It required just one week to walk from Troy, 
 the turning point at the Hudson River, to New 
 York City. 
 
 At Yonkers, we received a message from the 
 New York World, stating that a reporter connected 
 with that paper would meet us at the city line 
 with an escort of police. The message urged us to 
 start from Yonkers on Monday, August 15th, rain 
 or shine. 
 
 Exactly three hours and three-quarters from 
 the time of starting from Yonkers, we were at the 
 City Hall, in New York City, where we met the 
 Acting Mayor and a number of other officials. 
 
 As we neared the City Hall I turned to the re- 
 porter for the World, who walked by my side, and, 
 pointing toward the building, asked what that 
 big crowd was, over there. He smiled, and replied : 
 
 "Well, that is the crowd waiting to see you." 
 
 I was certainly surprised, for there was a sea 
 
 —54— 
 
u 
 O 
 
 « « 
 
of faces, and when, with the aid of pohce and 
 reporters, we finally made our way to the entrance 
 of the City Hall, a mob of staff photographers was 
 stationed on every hand, taking snap shots at us 
 from all angles. 
 
 Escorted into the building, we met the Mayor 
 and gave him the congratulations of the Mayors 
 of the two Kansas Cities. 
 
 Thus ended the long journey. 
 
 The reporter for the World took us over to the 
 private dining room of his paper. It was in the 
 Roof Garden. After a pleasant hour with him, 
 chatting over the incidents of the day, we found a 
 suitable place to stay while in the city. 
 
 On September 15th, having spent a month 
 seeing New York City, we started home by rail, 
 shipping our faithful horse, Dolly, and Don, our 
 dog, to Kansas City, in order that they might be 
 with us on our next hike. 
 
 —55— 
 
Tramping and Camping 
 
 IN THE 
 
 Great Southwest. 
 
 BY DWIGHT H. WOOLF. 
 
 ^'^^"^^"^•^ HEN one has become accustomed to 
 I w » T f out of door life, it is a diflicult mat- 
 I v^r i ^^^ to settle down, even for a short 
 i * • 1 time, within four walls. Therefore, 
 as— ►.—»-■— <S4 three weeks after returning from New 
 York to our home in Kansas City, Kansas, Stella 
 and I could not longer endure the thought of liv- 
 ing in a house. So we began to make prepara- 
 tions for another walk. 
 
 At that time I was fully convinced that if I had 
 the nerve and energy to persist with the open air 
 treatment, I should eventually gain the point which 
 I had started out to win. 
 
 It was hard to leave our relatives, who had 
 looked forward with great pleasure to having us 
 with them during the winter. 
 
 We had decided not to take Don, but had gotten 
 only a few blocks from the house when we discov- 
 ered the faithful dog trotting along, peacefully 
 and stubbornly, under the wagon. Dolly, our 
 horse which had pulled the little cart all the way 
 to New York, could not realize, of course, what a 
 long journey was before her. 
 
 —56— 
 
It was autumn. The leaves and grass were 
 taking on a shade of brown that, although beauti- 
 ful in its way, did not present so cheerful an aspect 
 as in the springtime. 
 
 The city was soon left behind us. Along both 
 sides of the road were immense cornfields. Our 
 appetites were increasing with every step. Eager 
 to feast upon green corn, we bought some and 
 camped, with permission, near a farm-house, stop- 
 ping for the night at White Church, Kansas. 
 
 Our route proceeded through the towns of 
 Bonner Springs and Edwardsville. At Linwood, 
 Kansas, we became acquainted with a farmer's wife 
 who had very decided views in regard to the pleas- 
 ures of the country. Having all the necessities 
 of life at hand, she was surrounded by the beauties 
 of nature, yet she preferred the village close by. 
 
 After leaving the place, we had a little of 
 the noted winds of Kansas, the breeze center of 
 the universe. For a number of miles we could 
 hardly take the chance of opening our eyes, through 
 fear that they would fill with sand and dirt. How- 
 ever, at about three o 'clock we arrived at Lawrence, 
 where the State University is located. On the 
 outskirts of the town we stopped at a small store 
 to replenish our commissary. The proprietor, a 
 very friendly man, insisted that we must take din- 
 ner with his family. The meal was a most enjoy- 
 able one, and our experience at Lawrence was in 
 general, exceedingly pleasant. 
 
 The next morning the weather had turned 
 colder. As we cooked breakfast over the camp- 
 fire, an old man came along, carrying a pack on 
 his back. He said that he had tramped all the 
 way from Topeka, and had not had a bite to eat. 
 We told him to warm himself by our fire, and gave 
 
 —57— 
 
him some black cofifee, which seemed to cheer him 
 up considerably. 
 
 Passing through Topeka, the capital of Kan- 
 sas, we followed the Santa Fe railroad through 
 the towns of Pauline, Wakarusa and Carbondale, 
 to Scranton. Arrived in Burlingame late in the 
 afternoon, we met the proprietor of the leading 
 hotel. He was a very intelligent man, who was 
 interested in our trip, from the standpoint of 
 health. 
 
 At Osage City we formed the acquaintance of 
 some people who had recently returned from pros- 
 pecting in Nevada. They had read in the Nevada 
 papers of our travels. 
 
 That evening we camped with a jolly good 
 fellow who knew how to make good cider and 
 was not a bit stingy with it. He told us that the 
 road past his house was frequented by a great 
 many tramps; that he purchased a vicious bull- 
 dog, but that the dog must have been a tramp at 
 some time in his life, for the worst reception that 
 he ever gave a tramp was to meet him at the gate, 
 wagging his tail as a sign of welcome. 
 
 Our host entertained us during the evening 
 by relating a number of witty stories. His account 
 of an experience in Arkansas will bear repetition. 
 It seems that while he was on one of his trips to 
 that state, a gentleman came from the east, and 
 asked the farmers why they never sold nor bought 
 property in their part of the country, but just 
 left their farms from one generation to another. 
 After a while he got the people worked up so that 
 they began to sell. When all except one of the 
 farmers had sold out, they got together and dis- 
 cussed the problem of re-investing their money. 
 But there was one man, Bill Williams, who had 
 not yet disposed of his land, so the group called 
 
 —58— 
 
on him, inquiring what he asked for it. He replied; 
 
 "Boys, I don't ax nothin'." 
 
 "Well, how's that?" the boys exclaimed. 
 
 "Wall, if I don't ax nothin', I don't have to 
 take nothin'." 
 
 While camping at Emporia, Kansas, we met 
 a very interesting old gentleman, "Dad" McKanna, 
 an old-time engineer. During our conversation 
 with him, he informed us that he had run the first 
 engine ever run in Kansas; that he had eight living 
 children, twenty-nine grand children, and nine 
 great-grandchildren; that his oldest boy was fifty- 
 four years of age. Mr. McKanna, himself, was then 
 in his seventy -fifth year, and he had come to Kan- 
 sas in 1855, when the state was first settled. His 
 brother was John Brown's private secretary. 
 
 Emporia people showed great appreciation 
 of our song, "Takea Walk," and of our souvenir post 
 cards. Four miles from the town we stopped at 
 the home of a friend of William Allen White, the 
 well-known editor of the Emporia Gazette. 
 
 At Cottonwood Falls, Stella went into a bank 
 to get warm, while I supplied our commissary with 
 provisions. When I returned she seemed dis- 
 turbed about something. I asked her what the 
 trouble was. 
 
 "Well," she said, "I just stopped in the bank, 
 here, to get warm, while you were getting the pro- 
 visions that we need, and the banker asked me 
 what we were doing. I told him that we were 
 making an 8,000 mile walk, and he wanted to know 
 why I didn't stay at home and raise kids and cab- 
 bage, instead of going around the country in this 
 manner." 
 
 I told Stella not to mind what the man had 
 said, and then I went up to the window to get a 
 five dollar bill changed. However, the banker, 
 
 —59— 
 
not being satisfied with insulting my wife, started 
 in on me, by asking why I didn't push my wife 
 around in a wheelbarrow ; that it would attract more 
 attention. I tried to be polite to him, although 
 I knew that he did not deserve it. I said that we 
 were not trying to attract attention, that we did 
 not care for notoriety; that I was taking these 
 trips for the benefit of my health, and used the 
 horse and cart to carry the camping outfit. But 
 he took so much interest in our aff"airs, proceeding 
 to tell me how I ought to manage, that I advised 
 him that I was very sorry not to have seen and 
 conferred with him before starting out; that here- 
 after I should not forget to confer with him in 
 regard to our future actions. 
 
 Four miles from Cottonwood Falls, we struck 
 the edge of what is known as the Flint Hills, of Kan- 
 sas. The land is used for pasture, only. When 
 we came down the last one of the big hills, we were 
 invited to a pleasant home, where we spent the 
 week end. 
 
 In Elmdale, our cart was surrounded by a 
 crowd of farmer boys, who were inclined to be 
 slow about purchasing souvenir cards, when a 
 lady, a resident of the town, came up and after 
 buying for herself, offered to loan the boys the 
 money for souvenirs. Their excuse for not 
 investing had been the lack of money. Through 
 the influence of this lady they all fell into line. 
 
 As our outfit passed the Clover Cliff ranch, 
 near Elmdale, a number of horses and pigs in a 
 lot became frightened and stampeded. One of 
 the horses started to run away at full speed, but 
 in the attempt to do so fell over a 400 pound pork- 
 er and they both rolled over together, the pig 
 squealing at the top of his voice. We always saw 
 the funny side of everything, and considered the 
 
 —60— 
 
incident a very laughable one. The Clover Cliff 
 ranch embraces 5,000 acres. 
 
 That night I went to a farm-house to buy 
 some butter and cream. After she had given me 
 a half a tin cup of butter and a spoonful of cream, 
 the woman said: 
 
 "I guess twenty-five cents for the butter and 
 ten cents for the cream will be enough, but you 
 can pay more if you think it is worth it." 
 
 The high cost of living is not confined entirely 
 to cities, although, as a rule, we received more 
 than our money's worth. 
 
 We passed through the towns of Peabody, 
 Newton, Walton and Sedgwick, camping on the 
 place of one of Kansas' most noted stock raisers. 
 
 Wichita appeared to be the most thriving city 
 through which we passed. At that point we were 
 entertained by a former teacher of Stella's. After 
 we had pitched camp a man with peculiar manners 
 came to visit us. Then his two boys came out, but 
 all at once the father spoke in a commanding tone, 
 asking them to go to the barn and throw down 
 some hay for the horses. We supposed that the 
 boys would take their time to the task, but to 
 our surprise they suddenly jumped up and ran at 
 full speed toward the barn to obey their father. 
 When they came back, and again commenced to 
 talk, the father looked at them without saying 
 a word and they sprang up and started for the 
 pasture to get the cows. After a while the wife, 
 who had been getting supper, came out to pay us 
 a visit, but soon after her arrival he said some- 
 thing casually about his trousers needing mending, 
 and the woman lost no time in going into the house. 
 Stella insisted on our starting early next morning, 
 as she was desirious of getting me away before I 
 
 —61— 
 
had a chance to learn how the man governed his 
 wife. 
 
 Perhaps these incidents may furnish a clue 
 to the reason why so many boys leave the farm as 
 soon as opportunity presents — and why so many 
 farmer's wives go insane. 
 
 At Wellington, Winfield, Oxford and other 
 towns we were entertained royally. People seemed 
 pleased to see a lady who had the nerve to under- 
 take a walk of such great length. 
 
 At Arkansas City we began to see real Indians, 
 coming from the different reservations. Newkirk, 
 Oklahoma, was a small place, but it had several 
 street attractions the day that we were there. An 
 Italian with a musical instrument called a concer- 
 tina gave a free entertainment on a corner. Un- 
 folding his camp stool, which he carried under his 
 arm, he placed it on the street near the curb, and 
 began to talk: 
 
 "Right over dis way to hear de musical man! 
 Don'tmees't! Remember dat music is de greatest 
 ting in de worl ' , and you got it right here, dis after- 
 noon!" 
 
 Finally, everyone on the street was near the 
 Dago, listening to the music, which was really 
 good. He played the tunes the old farmers liked, 
 and "Turkey in the Straw" made one of them, 
 an old gray whiskered man, forget the years that 
 had passed since his boyhood days, and clapped 
 his hands and stamped his feet in time to the mu- 
 sic. After a while the Italian went through the 
 group with his cap, taking a collection. When 
 anyone put in some money, he said : 
 
 "Good-a-man! Fine-a-sport!" but when I 
 started to contribute, he said: 
 
 "Oh, no, I canno taka de money from you — 
 you gotta maka de walk!" 
 
 —62— 
 
The collection was evidently a good-sized one, 
 for when the musician again sat down to play, he 
 wore the smile that won't come off. A gentleman, 
 who had mistaken Stella — on account of her sun- 
 burn and unusual dress — to be the Dago's wife, 
 stepped up and handed her a dime. Stella said: 
 "Is it a copy of 'Take a Walk' that you want?" 
 He replied, "No," and went away, leaving my 
 wife flushed with embarrassment. The Dago 
 appeared disappointed, but when he had finished, 
 he good-naturedly turned the crowd over to the 
 Socialist Soap-box speaker, whom we had seen at 
 Wichita. 
 
 We had a fine visit with old friends, at Ponca 
 City, and left there to see an encampment of Indians 
 on the Arkansas River. White Horse, the present 
 ruler of the Ponca Indians, succeeded White Eagle, 
 his father, who is now ninety-six years of age. The 
 tents of the Indians were scattered all along the 
 river bank. They were having one of their an- 
 nual celebrations. 
 
 An Indian's teepee is constructed in a very con- 
 venient way. The fire is built in the center of the 
 teepee, and the smoke goes straight up through a 
 hole in the top, and they all sit around the fire with 
 a kettle suspended from the top of a pole, often- 
 times a dog-stew being in the kettle. The young 
 generation is disposed to be exceedingly friendly 
 and sociable, while the older ones do not care to have 
 anything to do with the pale faces. There is one 
 thing that the American people will have to give 
 the Indians credit for, and that is living close to 
 nature. Whenever the government has insisted 
 upon their occupying houses, a window or door 
 pane that is once broken out is seldom replaced. 
 It is said that consumption was never known 
 among the Indians until they began to live in 
 
 —63— 
 
houses, and now it is claimed that whole tribes are 
 suffering from the disease. 
 
 We took Thanksgiving dinner with Mr. Joe 
 Miller, at 101 ranch, owned by the Miller Brothers. 
 Then, bidding Mr. Miller and his family goodbye, 
 we passed on to Bliss and Red Rock, camping that 
 night on the farm of a kind Bohemian. The next 
 day we were compelled to walk against a fiercely 
 cold wind, which was almost a gale, and as we 
 marched along with heads down to avoid the 
 biting cold wind in our faces, Dolly shied clear out 
 into a ditch. Looking ahead to ascertain the cause 
 of her fright, I saw a buggy a few feet in front of 
 us, coming at full speed, and propelled by a sail 
 made out of a piece of rag carpet. A boy and 
 girl were having great sport trying to guide the 
 conveyance. Now and then they were obliged to 
 grab the wheel to steer it into the road. 
 
 Cotton pickers were at work at Perry, and 
 also at Orlando, where we camped. 
 
 A funny incident occurred at Mulhall. While 
 Stella was in the newspaper office, a lady came in, 
 who appeared to be very much interested in our 
 trip, saying that she had read about our previous 
 journey in the New York World. When the wo- 
 man learned that we had post cards for sale, she 
 offered to give us a notice in her paper if we would 
 not ask her to buy anything. Stella gave her to 
 understand that we did not depend upon either 
 the cards or newspaper notices for our success. 
 
 Laying in a new supply of provisions, we start- 
 ed for Guthrie, where both of us had grown up. 
 We had a most delightful visit with old friends. 
 
 Passing through Edmond and Britton, we 
 arrived in Oklahoma City, and went to the 
 home of relatives. Oklahoma City has undoubt- 
 edly made greater strides than any other city in 
 
 —64— 
 

 •2 £ 
 
 J3 UH 
 
 a 
 
 at 
 
 04 to 
 
 5 o 
 
 (J HH 
 
 etf .t; 
 
 3 
 
the United States, being only twenty-two years 
 old and having over one hundred miles of paved 
 streets and many sky-scrapers. 
 
 The Canadian River, which we crossed at Lex- 
 ington, was almost dry, but it is considered one 
 of the most treacherous rivers in the country. 
 The bridge that was formerly suspended over it 
 between Lexington and Purcell had been washed 
 out by high water and quicksand. The abut- 
 ments and the entire structure with all the teams 
 crossing it had gone down into the surging water 
 and were soon swallowed up by the bottomless 
 quicksand. 
 
 In the old Indian Territory, there was no long- 
 er any guide as to how to travel, as there were no 
 square turns nor section lines. The roads were 
 the same as those used before civilization entered 
 that part of the country. 
 
 In a few hours we were stuck in the mud. 
 Some farmers helped us out and directed us to 
 where there was a better road leading into the next 
 town. It was rather disheartening, but we knew 
 that such things would happen occasionally, and 
 we retraced our way. 
 
 Camping in a man's backyard, we attempted 
 to shell enough corn for Dolly's supper. We 
 were amateurs at that work and did not make 
 much headway. Then, two little girls came to 
 pay us a visit, and one of them said : 
 
 "I '11 bet you all I can shell more corn than you 
 all can." 
 
 One of the children lived in Oklahoma and the 
 other one had come from Arkansas. The little 
 one from Arkansas, chewing snuff, began to work. 
 She shelled two ears to the other 's one, spitting 
 freely all of the time. I remarked that she was 
 a pretty smart little girl. "Well," she said, "down 
 
 —65— 
 
where I came from, if you go to school a heap, you 
 learn a sight," and I wondered if she were to go to 
 school a sight, would she learn a heap? 
 
 Paola, Pauls Valley and Wynnewood came 
 in quick succession. At the latter place our camp 
 was on the site of a gipsy camp. There had been 
 very little rain in that region and water was scarce. 
 Many times that day we had been refused water 
 for our horse. Leaving Wynnewood in the after- 
 noon, we asked a man whom we met where to 
 stop for the night in order to have plenty of water 
 for Dolly. He informed us that it would be nec- 
 essary to walk seven miles. We started for the 
 place just as the sun was sinking behind the hills, 
 finding *on arrival, an old broken down well, 
 and it had only about six inches of water in the 
 bottom of it. But a farmer who lived in that 
 neighborhood told us that it was dry. He evidently 
 hoped that we would pass on without using any 
 of the water, but we camped and passed a very 
 restless night. In the darkness several drunken 
 men stopped and tried to get a drink, and finding 
 the old well dry, gave way to anger and tore down 
 what was left of the boxing and windlass. 
 
 The following morning we walked into Sul- 
 phur, one of the prettiest spots in the state. Sul- 
 phur is a health resort, and people from all over the 
 country were staying there, on account of the min- 
 eral springs. After receiving a very cordial wel- 
 come, we walked a few miles beyond the town 
 and pitched our tent upon a dairyman 's premises. 
 His method of drawing water from his old well was 
 a peculiar one; hitching a horse to a long rope, 
 he rode the horse the entire length, drawing up the 
 bucket, which was attached to the end of the rope. 
 
 The next day was a hard one. A new road 
 had been made through the wilderness, and the 
 
 — 6&— 
 
numerous stumps that we had to cross almost 
 broke down the cart. Leaving the wilderness, we 
 got into a sandy region where Dolly almost re- 
 fused to pull her load. 
 
 Passing through Mill Creek and Troy, we 
 stopped with an elderly farmer from Missouri. 
 He was extremely thrifty, and when I bought 
 fodder for Dolly, gathered up some of the waste 
 upon the ground and charged me a quarter for 
 it. His wife also had the same thrifty spirit, 
 for when Stella went to the house to buy milk, 
 the woman poured some in a pail — she called 
 it "scum" milk— and said that she "reckoned" it 
 was worth a dime. 
 
 The next spot for our tent was in an out of 
 the way place, and there was the same trouble 
 about getting water for Dolly. Stella was a little 
 out of patience with me, and I determined to pun- 
 ish her for it, by letting her cook the supper. She 
 tried to build a fire, but as she was not an expert 
 she became disgusted and kicked the remains of 
 the fire over the ground. By that time, I decided 
 that she had been sufficiently punished, so I did 
 as I have done on all our trips, cooked a nice, warm 
 supper and made a big pot of coffee. And as we 
 sat by the fire, with a great forest at our backs, 
 and the bright moon smiling down upon us, we 
 could almost imagine that we were natives, lead- 
 ing their simple life and enjoying nature to the 
 uttermost. 
 
 There were several small towns that came 
 next in the order of march. In one town a crowd 
 stood out in front of a store, watching us depart. 
 Stella, was trying to present as good an appear- 
 ance as possible, and in making the effort, fell 
 down in front of me. As I had no chance to get 
 her out of the way quickly, so as to prevent the 
 
 —67— 
 
cart from running over her, I was forced to shove 
 her out of the way with my foot. We could hear 
 the crowd laugh as long as we were in hearing dis- 
 tance. 
 
 When we reached Medill, a boy was standing 
 on a corner with a can of hot tomales. Being 
 very hungry, we immediately proceeded to appease 
 our appetites. A large audience surrounded us 
 and watched us eat. The people showed as much 
 curiosity to see if we should eat like other persons, 
 as if we were wild, vicious animals in a menagerie. 
 But even that did not spoil our appetites, and we 
 were more than delighted when a man stepped 
 out and offered to buy five dozen red hot tomales, 
 if we would eat them. He stipulated, however, 
 that if we failed to eat all, we should pay for the 
 treat. Being told to bring on the tomales, he did 
 so, and we stood there before the crowd and ate 
 them every one. The laugh was then on the man 
 who had challenged our appetites. After selling 
 a few post cards to those who had watched our 
 feat — many of the bystanders, no doubt wished 
 that they had as good appetites as we had exhib- 
 ited — we started on our way with wishes of "good 
 luck" from the crowd. Kingston and Woodville 
 were the last towns in Oklahoma through which our 
 procession passed. It was now only two miles 
 to the Red River, the boundary line between 
 Oklahoma and Texas. The Red River has fully 
 as bad a reputation as the Canadian has, but un- 
 like the Canadian, it had plenty of visible water. 
 At first we were afraid to cross, but finally I mus- 
 tered up courage enough to wade across that we 
 might know its depth. As I waded, I could feel 
 the sand slipping under my feet. Undoubtedly, 
 if I had stood in one spot any length of time I 
 should have been swallowed up. Going back to 
 
 —68— 
 
where my belongings were, I unpacked the bottom 
 of the cart on the sand bar, so as to prevent that 
 part of our baggage from becoming wet. The 
 water was deep enough to enter the cart. At 
 last I persuaded Stella to get on top of the cart, 
 and again I waded across, leading Dolly by the 
 bridle. I then had to unpack the baggage from 
 the top part of the cart and wade back again after 
 the remainder of our baggage. It was my third 
 trip from shore to shore and I was wet and cold, 
 but when I had changed to warm, dry clothing, 
 I never felt better in my life. However, I was 
 thankful that the treacherous river was safely be- 
 hind us. 
 
 After packing the cart, we started up the slip- 
 pery, steep bank on the Texas side. To save 
 Dolly, who was unable to pull the load up the hill, 
 from backing into the river, both of us jumped to 
 the back of the cart and pushed with all our might, 
 thus giving the faithful little horse courage to 
 make a stronger effort. When we reached the 
 top, we holloed: 
 
 "Hooray,! Three cheers for Texas!" 
 
 At Preston, the first town in Texas, we met 
 a gang of ruffians, who had been partaking too 
 freely of the prohibited "firewater." A lot of 
 boys rushed out of an old vacant building and 
 surrounded the cart. They were bent upon having 
 some fun out of us, but finding out that we were 
 both jolly good people, they became our friends 
 and wished us good luck on our way. 
 
 At Denison, on Christmas Eve, the streets 
 were filled with shoppers. A large crowd collected 
 around our cart. While Stella was giving the story 
 of our trip to the representative of the local news- 
 paper, someone threw a huge cannon fire cracker 
 under Dolly, and she started to run away. Luck- 
 
 —69— 
 
ily, a man stopped her before she had done any 
 damage. 
 
 The explosion of fireworks on Christmas sur- 
 prised us, we had never heard them except on the 
 Fourth of July. It seems that it is the custom in 
 the South to celebrate Christmas in that manner. 
 
 We camped with people who were examples 
 of true Southern hospitality. Although they had 
 known us only a few hours, we were given free 
 access to the house and cellar, where a bountiful 
 supply of fruit and everything good was stored, 
 and told to make ourselves at home, while the 
 family spent Christmas day with friends. 
 
 The next stop was at Sherman. Before 
 reaching that city we visited acquaintances 
 of our recent hosts and were entertained royally. 
 
 Beyond Van Alstyne, we were delayed by 
 an accident to the cart, but with the help of several 
 farmers, I succeeded in getting the cart out of the 
 road, and taking the broken part to town had it 
 repaired. 
 
 It then began to rain. We were in the section 
 of the state known as the "black lands," or gumbo 
 mud, which is very rich and fertile. The soil, when 
 dry, packs and makes a road equal to anything 
 that is macadamized, but when wet even 
 slightly it makes traveling almost impossible. 
 The wheels became clogged with mud, so that 
 Dolly found it hard to pull the cart. As we plod- 
 ded along, we noticed an old hen, who was having 
 much trouble. Her toes were spread out almost 
 the size of a saucer. Poor Don was having hard 
 luck, too. The mud kept collecting between his 
 toes, and when walking became almost impossible, 
 he sat down and bit it out, keeping an eye on us 
 all of the time to see that we did not get very far 
 
 —70— 
 
ahead. This process was repeated every few feet. 
 It was a laughable sight. 
 
 Going by way of McKinney and Piano, we 
 camped in Richardson on New Year's Eve. The 
 only available spot was near a church and the 
 ground was covered with a growth of prickly burrs. 
 Dolly had been used to rolling every night when 
 unharnessed. She lay down on the burrs and 
 got up rather suddenly with an expression of pos- 
 itive disgust on her face. 
 
 At Dallas, on New Year's day, we first en- 
 countered a Texas Norther. Before getting our 
 tent up, our hands became almost frozen, and the 
 weather was so cold that it was impossible to pre- 
 pare supper. As we sat in the tent, wondering 
 what we should do, a gentleman who lived across 
 the street came to see us, asking if we would 
 accept some hot biscuits and apple butter. His 
 thoughtfulness did much to make our condition 
 at that time more tolerable. 
 
 During the cold wave, we remained in Dallas, 
 and met a number of exceedingly interesting people 
 among them a man and his wife who had been in 
 the crowd in New York City when we finished our 
 2,000 mile walk. 
 
 A theatrical company that was playing 
 Graustark in one of the best theatres in Dallas, 
 invited us to the show. Our observation has 
 proved that of all persons, the people of the stage 
 are the most cordial. Whenever we met them 
 they extended a hearty welcome. Their good 
 fellowship is accounted for by the fact that travel 
 broadens the mind, and contact with human nature 
 in all of its varied forms has a tendency to make 
 one more kindly disposed. 
 
 We made the acquaintance of Mr. Jones, a 
 young man who had just returned from walking 
 
 —71— 
 
to Nome, Alaska, and back. His example was 
 one of real pluck and energy. He had started on 
 the journey in a paper suit and without any money. 
 Many hardships had been encountered in the 
 far north. Two faithful collie dogs had accom- 
 panied him home. 
 
 At Fort Worth the crowds around us were so 
 dense that trafl&c was obstructed. Our reception 
 was a very pleasant one, through the attentions 
 of a number of delightful people. 
 
 The next towns in order were Crowley and 
 Cleburne. The roads were bad, and at times we 
 were compelled to sit down and rest and give poor 
 Dolly a chance to regain her strength. It seemed 
 to be a practically worthless country. The ground 
 was covered with black-jack timber and sand and 
 rocks, hence the region was sparsely settled. 
 
 After an escape, effected by using tact, from 
 a gang of rough boys at Covington, we marched 
 on to Hillsboro and Abbot. 
 
 Waco proved to be a hustling place. While 
 on the street, we met a gentleman — a friendly 
 German. He said: 
 
 "For how much do you sell your cards, Mr. 
 Woolf?" 
 
 "Ten cents a set," I replied. 
 
 "Veil, now, you gif me a set, and don't forget 
 to write to me." Then he produced a pocket 
 knife with his name and business advertisement 
 on it, and exclaimed: 
 
 "Now, I belif you forget me before you go 
 very far, so I gif you dis knife so you vill re- 
 member me, but first I vant you to gif me some- 
 ting, or you haf bad luck." 
 
 I handed him a match to break the spell of 
 bad luck which the acceptance of the knife would 
 bring on me, according to his belief, and thank- 
 
 —72— 
 
ed him, telling him that I should certainly remem- 
 ber him. After giving me a small memorandum 
 from his note-book — to refresh my memory in 
 case of forgetfulness — he departed, but soon after- 
 ward he came to me saying: 
 
 "I've someting else for you," giving me a 
 corkscrew enclosed inside of an imitation bullet. 
 "Now," said he, "I'm vonce more afraid dat you 
 lose dese tings and I vant you to be sure to write," 
 and we fulfilled our promise. 
 
 At Bruceville we were made the guests of the 
 town. We met there a man named Walk. He 
 owned a livery stable. He asked how far we had 
 taken our old horse. When told the distance that 
 she had gone, he remarked that he did not see how 
 she could do it, as she must be a hundred years 
 old. 
 
 Near Temple, we were entertained in one of 
 the mansions of slavery days. 
 
 Saledo, a health resort, and Prairiedale; 
 Jarrell and Cornhill came next on the route. 
 Georgetown is a beautiful spot where the old set- 
 tlers hold reunions every year. We walked from 
 Georgetown to Round Rock, a distance of ten 
 miles, in two hours, which was a record march for 
 us. 
 
 Austin is a nice city, beautifully laid out and 
 decorated with a new system of street lighting, 
 diflferent from any that I have seen elsewhere. 
 At regular intervals are large steel structures, 
 with brilliant lights at the top, and these shed their 
 rays over blocks in all directions. 
 
 Stella bought a large straw hat at Buda. 
 Although it was January the sun's rays were get- 
 ting very warm. The grass along the roadside 
 was green. 
 
 Beyond Kyle were acres and acres of cactus. 
 
 —73— 
 
There were many Mexicans in the part of Texas 
 through which we were now passing. Their fav- 
 orite dish, it seemed, was chilli con carne, a very 
 hot mixture made of beef, Mexican peppers and 
 other ingredients. 
 
 Entering San Marcos, we stopped to look at 
 the beautiful San Marcos River, noted for its clear, 
 cold water. There we met a couple who were 
 walking enthusiasts. The wife had regained health 
 by walking and swimming. 
 
 That night we camped with a family of Mex- 
 icans. They proved to be both friendly and 
 generous. 
 
 New Braunfels, a town colonized entirely by 
 Germans, was only a day's walk from San Antonio, 
 the first turning point and the end of the first lap 
 of the 8,000 miles. 
 
 We entered San Antonio early one morning, 
 passing through Fort Sam Houston, the second 
 largest fort in the United States. It was the time 
 of the Mexican uprising, and the city was filled 
 with troops on the way to the border. San Antonio 
 — ^SanAntone, the natives call it — is an exceedingly 
 interesting place, filled with historic associations. 
 The Alamo — the cradle of Texas liberty — is almost 
 the first place to be shown to tourists. The old 
 missions are quaint and the natural hot water baths 
 are patronized by visitors from far and wide. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Murray, theatrical folks, were 
 playing "My Country Cousin" at one of the thea- 
 tres. Mr. Murray won distinction by kicking his 
 way around the world in eleven months. 
 
 San Antonio looks almost like a foreign city. 
 The houses are low and close to the ground, and 
 many of them are made of adobe. They appear to be 
 dirty and gloomy, from the outside. No matter 
 how small the yard may be, its owner usually 
 
 —74— 
 
keeps a cow, chickens and pigs. Sometimes there 
 is a garden, also, for raising vegetables. The fam- 
 ous Buckhorn Saloon is a remarkable place. Its 
 walls are decorated with thousands of elks' horns, 
 heads, rattlesnake rattles and rare specimens of 
 different kinds. Women tourists may be seen at 
 any time visiting this saloon. 
 
 While in San Antonio we received invitations 
 from persons who lived in various sections of the 
 United States to be their guests when we reached 
 their homes. 
 
 We had a strange experience while in the city. 
 Late one night, as we were leaving the center of 
 town, we were followed by a large, dark-faced man. 
 From his actions it seemed that he meant no good 
 to us. Once he stepped up right behind us, but 
 we wheeled suddenly and faced him, when he slunk 
 into the shadow. There is no doubt but that he 
 had intended to assault us, but saw that we were 
 watching him. There was no sleep for us that 
 night. We both stayed up with a loaded revolver 
 at hand. Don seemed to know intuitively that 
 there was danger. He bristled up his hair and 
 growled and was as restless as we were. However, 
 nothing happened, although our camp had probably 
 been watched with the purpose of taking us un- 
 awares. When morning dawned, we sought re- 
 freshment in a few hours' sleep. 
 
 The morning of our departure, a lot of boys 
 came to see us off. They had great fun with Don, 
 who played as if he were one of them. 
 
 That night Dolly followed a farmer's wagon 
 for some distance, and when found she was calmly 
 eating fodder out of the back of the wagon. 
 
 Along the Southern Pacific railroad there are a 
 number of German settlements. The houses are 
 built back in the center of the farms, which are 
 
 —75— 
 
finely cultivated, as the Germans are good workers. 
 
 Near Flatonia, a creek had overflowed its 
 banks and covered the road with water. Our 
 progress was very slow and difficult. At last, we 
 came to quite a large body of water, and it appear- 
 ed to be impossible to walk around it. While I 
 was trying to figure out a way of getting across, 
 Dolly started down the road through the water, 
 leaving us standing on the bank. I let her go her 
 way, thinking that she would follow the road *and 
 get out all right, but she went up the creek. 
 Then it was up to me to guide her out. I reached the 
 outfit just in time to save it from being overturned. 
 Dolly and the cart were all tangled up in some 
 debris that had floated down the creek in the 
 drenching rains. After untangling myself from 
 a barbed wire fence, I managed to climb on Dolly's 
 back and take her out of danger. 
 
 Meantime, Stella had been looking for a place 
 to cross. She had succeeded in getting her feet 
 wet, but had not made any progress. I came to 
 her assistance, and after tugging with a big log 
 that weighed more than I did, and dragging 
 it a long way, I finally placed it across the stream 
 that separated my wife from me. I then leaned 
 over as far as I could and held out a long pole for 
 her to grasp, so that she might not lose her balance. 
 
 When about half across, she began to think 
 about which side would be the best to fall in, 
 and sure enough, in she went. When I had helped 
 her out, we climbed the hill on the other side, and 
 went to a log cabin, asking permission to change 
 our clothes there. The good old negro woman 
 gladly allowed us to do so, and when everything 
 was dry we again set forth. 
 
 The wind was cold that night, and the invita- 
 tion that came from the nearest family to stay at 
 
 —76— 
 
a house was indeed welcome. For the first time 
 in our lives, we slept between two feather beds. 
 Our hosts were Austrians, and we learned upon 
 inquiry that it is the custom in their country to 
 sleep in winter between feather beds. 
 
 In Schulenburg we were directed to the wrong 
 road and had some difficulty getting back into 
 line. Our tent that night was pitched on the land 
 of a German family. Stella went up to the house 
 to see if she could buy some ham, and as the weath- 
 er was a little cold, the German lady thought my 
 wife was suffering and came running out of the 
 house with a cup of hot coffee. Stella accepted 
 it, and while she was drawing a pail of water, the 
 woman came out again with her apron full of eggs 
 and slipped two of them into Stella's pocket, say- 
 ing in broken English : "Don't tell fader." Then 
 the little girl came, and acted as interpreter. 
 Stella bought some ham, and she had no more 
 than reached the camp until the little girl came 
 running down with two nice big slices of ham, 
 which she gave to us, saying, "Don't tell fader." 
 
 The funniest thing about it was that "fader" 
 had been to our camp and had been just as friendly 
 and generous as the rest of the family, bringing 
 us a basket of hay for the horse. 
 
 Our next stopping place was in a beautiful 
 spot, surrounded by woodland with plenty of 
 water near at hand. I cut a lot of wood and made 
 a huge campfire which we sat by until almost 
 twelve o'clock. 
 
 Leaving Columbus, we got away from the hills 
 into a flat country, camping near an orange grove. 
 Before reaching Eagle Lake we could see what 
 seemed to be a large city ahead. As we approached, 
 it grew smaller in size. It was a mirage. Beyond 
 the town was a vast cattle region. The great 
 
 —77— 
 
herds of long horned Texas steers paid little at- 
 tention to us. They were so thin that they could 
 barely stand. The immense prairies became very 
 monotonous. Here and there could be seen a 
 pool of stagnant water, all that the poor stock 
 had to drink. The grazing, also, was slim. Brown, 
 seared-looking grass was the only food the cattle 
 had. 
 
 Rosenburg, Richmond, the Brazos River cross- 
 ing, and Sugarland were soon left behind. On 
 the way to Stafford a freight train passed us, and 
 the conductor asked if we didn't want to ride. 
 
 We replied "no," telling him that if he did not 
 go any faster than he was doing at that time, 
 we should beat him anyhow. He laughed, and 
 the crew waved their hands as the train dis- 
 appeared in the distance. Some time later, we 
 passed the same freight train at a switch, waiting 
 for a passenger to go by. We turned the laugh 
 on the crew, saying: 
 
 "I told you we would beat you if you didn't 
 hurry up." 
 
 Soon the train again went by us, then, after 
 making a few more miles, we overtook it, and the 
 situation became really comical. We kept up 
 this passing and re-passing until the men began 
 to think that we were pretty good walkers. Then 
 we grew confident and exerted ourselves to out- 
 do the train, and we finally did reach the next 
 town ahead of it .The townspeople joked the crew 
 until they were mad enough to fight. 
 
 Our camp, the next time, was with a grading 
 outfit that was building a shell road from Houston. 
 These roads are characteristic of this part of the 
 country. They are made from shells from the 
 Gulf of Mexico, and form one of the very finest 
 pikes. The boss proved to be an old acquaintance, 
 
 —78— 
 
from Guthrie, Oklahoma. At Houston we were 
 the guests of a former resident of Oklahoma. We 
 had known him for years. This friend was sur- 
 rounded with all the luxuries of life. Down at 
 the bayou he had a launch, and at Morgan's Point, 
 on Galveston Bay, was his house boat supplied 
 with everything that goes to make a duck hunt 
 successful. The trip in company with our host 
 was a novel one. Going down to Morgan's Point 
 on the launch, we visited the old battle ground 
 where Santa Anna was killed in the decisive battle 
 between the Texans and the Mexicans. Arriving 
 at the Point, the launch was anchored and we all 
 went fishing. But the duck hunting on Gal- 
 veston Bay was the most exciting part of the ex- 
 perience. There were great flocks of ducks that 
 had come down from the North for the Winter. 
 Hunters had decoys all along the banks. The 
 decoys were so natural that even our host was 
 deceived. At one time he came very near shooting 
 at some of them, but just in time a man came out 
 of a thicket and waved his hand. Just then we 
 caught sight of a flock of real ducks: 
 
 "Now, be still," said he, "there's a large 
 bunch of ducks, and you have to be quiet and not 
 steer the boat too close to them." 
 
 He had turned off the power so as not to make 
 any noise, and we were moving slowly through 
 the water, when all at once the flock arose, and 
 when they were about ten feet from the surface 
 of the bay, he shot into them, disabling a couple. 
 We had a hard time to find them, as they are very 
 plucky and even when shot they battle for life 
 to the last. Sometimes they get away, but after 
 a long search we found two ducks that we had 
 killed. Securing another one, from a bunch far- 
 ther out in the bay, we returned to Houston. 
 
 —79— 
 
On the way to Beaumont we camped on the 
 banks of a fine stream called Trinity. While I 
 was pitching the tent, I allowed Dolly to graze, 
 and she attempted to run away. I chased her 
 for about a mile and a half before I succeeded in 
 stopping her. Then I gave her a good whipping 
 all the way back. Don was so excited when I 
 whipped her, that I thought he would certainly 
 try to take her part. Don always thinks he must 
 take a hand when anything goes wrong. 
 
 The country had now taken on a genuine trop- 
 ical appearance. The Spanish moss hanging from 
 the trees was beautiful. Along the roadsides was 
 a growing plant that resembled a palm. Magnolia 
 trees were on every hand. It was the month of 
 March, and we compared the balmy air of Southern 
 Texas with that of our own home at that time of 
 the year. 
 
 Before reaching Beaumont, we visited the 
 oil fields and became objects of interest to the 
 workmen, who purchased our souvenir cards. Our 
 next camp was infested by two kinds of visitors, 
 of the welcome and the unwelcome sort, the latter 
 being a swarm of mosquitoes. For supper, we 
 had fresh oysters, purchased from a near-by fish- 
 erman. A gipsy woman came to see us, bringing 
 a dozen eggs as a present. She referred to the days 
 of her youth, when she had been a wanderer. 
 
 Leaving Beaumont, we had much trouble 
 about taking the best road, and after retracing 
 our steps once or twice, we started down through 
 an unsettled part of the country. The ground 
 was soft and boggy, and part of the time there 
 were no wheel prints to guide us. Going over 
 what is called the "corduroy" roads, the cart 
 was nearly broken several times. Corduroy 
 roads are made by placing logs in the mud, so 
 
 —80— 
 
that vehicles will not sink. Some of the logs had 
 rotted, the wheels got into one rut after another. 
 
 The banks of the Neches River are so low 
 that the river seems to be on a level with the shore. 
 On the sand, taking a sun bath, were several tiny 
 alligators. We traveled along the river for many 
 miles and then were ferried over. At the ferry, 
 no one was in sight, at first, but hanging to a tree 
 was a big piece of iron, to be used as a gong for 
 notifying the ferryman, who lived quite a distance 
 from the river. We hit the iron several times, 
 and two women came down the road, and to our 
 amazement, got on to the ferry boat and by main 
 strength pulled it across the river. They seemed 
 surprised to learn that anyone was walking down in 
 that part of the country, and doing it from choice. 
 
 Our rest, that night, was broken by the 
 swarms of mosquitoes that annoyed us. We tried 
 taking our tent to another spot, at some distance 
 from the trees, but it was of no avail. The 
 mosquitoes followed us. Not until we reached 
 New Jersey did we see any duplicate of such mos- 
 quitoes. When morning came, we were exhausted 
 from loss of sleep, and our foreheads and noses 
 were specked and swollen from the bites. 
 
 One of the prettiest sights we witnessed in 
 the south, was the water lilies on the bayous. 
 The flowers springing up from the water were so 
 thick that there appeared to be a solid bed of 
 blossoms. 
 
 —81— 
 
Tramping and Camping 
 
 IN 
 
 Dixie Land. 
 
 BY D WIGHT H. VrOOLF. 
 
 '^""^•■■^•i^T WAS necessary to go up the Sabine 
 f w I River to West's ferry in order to cross. 
 I I I ^^^ ground was soggy and walking 
 I •■• I rather difficult. The ferry boat was 
 3K'-~— *'s5£ propelled by a small motor boat. I took 
 the picture of Stella with the horse and cart, just 
 ready to leave the landing. 
 
 On the Louisiana side, we had to repair an 
 old, broken-down bridge before we could get any 
 where, and then we were mighty lucky that it 
 did not fall in. The same thing happened many 
 times that day. 
 
 We now entered the pine forests, passing 
 through our first lumber camp. Vinton, a little 
 town in the heart of the oil section, is only seven- 
 teen feet above sea level. On the way to Lake 
 Charles, we were lost, not seeing a single house 
 or person for ten miles, walking all the time through 
 a forest. There was nothing but big pine trees 
 and burnt stumps and burning trees on all sides 
 of us. Finally we came to a little new pine house 
 with a picket fence around it. I knocked at the 
 door and a wrinkled faced old woman peeked cau- 
 tiously out of a crack and asked what 1 wanted. 
 
 —82 
 
I told her not to be afraid, that I simply want- 
 ed to inquire about the roads; that we had gotten 
 lost. 
 
 By that time she mustered up courage to say 
 in a high-pitched, squeaky voice: 
 
 "Where's you all aimin' to go?" 
 
 I replied that we had started to go to St. 
 Charles, but that we had gotten on the wrong 
 road. 
 
 She then informed us that we were on the 
 way to De Quincy, a little farther — about four 
 miles — ahead in the pine woods. 
 
 When asked what kind of a town it was, she 
 replied : 
 
 "Oh, it's just a heap of pine knots and a 
 store or two!" which we found to be the case. 
 
 But a branch of the Kansas City Southern 
 railroad running through it livened up the town 
 somewhat and made it seem not quite so far from 
 home. 
 
 One of the strange things about this town, 
 and Vinton, also, was the sale of "Near-beer," 
 which was freely distributed to the entire popu- 
 lation. Louisiana is a local option — or prohibition 
 — state in sections, but this Near-beer seemed 
 to get near enough, judging from results. 
 
 The only sign for the guidance of travelers 
 was in the vicinity of De Quincy. It was "De- 
 Quincy, 4 miles." 
 
 Nearly every step that we took, a snake 
 appeared, running out from under our feet. On 
 all sides, we could hear the grass rustling, and if 
 we looked in the direction from which the rustling 
 came, nearly always a snake was wriggling itself 
 out of our way. The reason for this was that 
 we were close to an immense swamp. 
 
 A man on horseback came along, and we 
 
 —83— 
 
asked him how it was that there were so many- 
 snakes in that part of the country. He said: 
 
 "Where are you all travelin'?" 
 
 We told him that we were going to New Or- 
 leans. 
 
 "Well, if you all are goin' by way of New 
 Orleans, you all haven't seen any snakes yet." 
 
 Right then and there we decided to change 
 our route from the low, swampy region, and trav- 
 el northeastward through the pine forests to Alex- 
 andria. 
 
 As we were going along the road, when there 
 was not a snake in sight, we could always see the 
 trail of one, in the dust. Seeing a big black-looking 
 one stretched out as if it were dead, I thought it 
 must be lifeless, but just to make sure I stepped 
 on its tail. It was the livest snake I ever saw, 
 suddenly raising its head and darting its tongue 
 out at me. I lost no time giving it all the room 
 it wanted. 
 
 Leaving Kinder, we got into the turpentine 
 forests, and for miles and miles we could see 
 where the trees were cut so as to allow the turpen- 
 tine to drip into little cans that were placed on the 
 trees. Cutting these trees evidently kills them, 
 but not until after the trusts, who own all this 
 vast amount of timber, have gotten more than 
 the worth of the trees from the turpentine they 
 yield. The people who inhabit the region, do not, 
 as a rule, own any of the land; they are, in general, 
 poor and illiterate. Many of them are merely the 
 slaves of the big timber concerns. 
 
 The system that the timber trusts employ is 
 to send out men into the country to offer those 
 who own the land a small sum of money, possibly 
 about two dollars or two dollars and fifty cents an 
 acre. There being no chance for the people to 
 
 —84— 
 
handle the property, they sell at the trusts' own 
 price. After the concerns buy up a lot of land in 
 one vicinity they build a railroad to transport the 
 timber to the mills. These railroads are construct- 
 ed of light weight rails, and are narrow. They are 
 termed "tram" roads. We saw many abandoned 
 tram roads, as we walked through the immense 
 forests. 
 
 On one occasion, we came upon a poor family, 
 "movin' from up on the tram," down into the rice 
 fields. The family consisted of a young man and 
 his wife, with their rapidly increasing progeny, and 
 the old grandmother, who was seated high up on 
 a wagon load of house hold belongings, holding 
 one of the youngest children in her arms. The 
 others were pedestrians from necessity, as the 
 wagon was too heavily laden for them to ride. The 
 load was entirely too heavy for the two small, 
 young oxen which were drawing it. I asked the 
 driver if he did not think it too much for the 
 team, and he replied: 
 
 "No, they could carry a thousand pounds." 
 
 As there was no humane officer to dispute his 
 right to overburden his poor beasts, we decided to 
 let a bad matter alone. 
 
 I asked the old woman on the wagon if she 
 would get down and let me take her photograph, 
 but she at first objected, saying that she would 
 have to have "two-bits" for her picture. When 
 I said that would be all right, she said: "Oh, I 
 wuz jest a foolin'," thenshestoodup with the others 
 and I took their picture. 
 
 I learned from the young man that these poor 
 people had been made the victims of the timber 
 trust. They had been persuaded to sell their 
 land, and having spent the pittance received from 
 
the sale, thex'^ were now forced to emigrate to the 
 rice fields in search of work. 
 
 Those who have been defrauded of their land 
 become angry because of their treatment, and are 
 constantly setting fire to the vast forests, there- 
 by keeping a beautiful green grass that always 
 grows where the dead grass has been burned 
 of!". The southern woods are beautiful, with their 
 long leaf pines, part of them burning, some burned 
 to the ground, and others still standing. The 
 ground has a solid green coating. 
 
 We were several weeks going through this 
 lumber region. At night, when we camped, we 
 burned pine knots, which blazed up and made a 
 brilliant fire which we could not put out. We 
 never had any difficulty starting a fire with which 
 to cook, when we were walking through the pine 
 forests, even after a soaking rain. It was necessary, 
 during this part of the journey, to keep on the look- 
 out for burning trees that were ready to fall. 
 
 On one occasion, as we walked along in a 
 leisurely manner, trying to avoid stumps, we heard 
 behind us a terrific crash, which caused Dolly to 
 jump and start to run, almost tipping over the 
 cart. Looking around to learn the reason of the 
 noise, we saw a huge tree, fully one hundred and 
 fifty feet high, lying directly across the road we 
 had just traversed. We had escaped, almost by 
 a miracle, from being crushed. Many fine trees 
 were burned at the bottom, and were ready to fall 
 When the fire once gets started, it does not stop 
 until the tree is burned to the ground. There is 
 so much pitch in the pine that even the green ones 
 burn. 
 
 Realizing that if Dolly once got away from 
 us in these forests, we should never be able to find 
 her, we made it a rule to lariet her close to the tent 
 
 —86— 
 
every night. As there are very few people to be 
 seen, and no square turns in the roads, we, ourselves, 
 lost the way about once a day. All a traveler can 
 do is to follow as nearly as he can the winding 
 path that appears to be the main road. Often times, 
 we continued walking when we believed we were 
 going in the wrong direction, until we came to a 
 house, then if the people could understand English 
 — they were usually French — asked them where 
 we were. Once the cart wheel broke, and I fixed 
 it as best I could, proceeding slowly until we 
 reached a house. Although the man of the family 
 could not understand our language, he saw our 
 plight, and started off to the woods with an axe. 
 He returned with two small, stout branches, which 
 he cut the diameter of the wheel, and placed be- 
 tween the spokes, thus strengthing them. When 
 I offered him money, he waved it away, uttering 
 some words that were unintelligible to me. We 
 then showed him a newspaper which contained 
 our pictures and a story of our trip, and gave him 
 a set of post cards, with which he seemed to be 
 delighted. These French people had complexions 
 that were almost of a copper color. The women and 
 children all went barefooted, and wore huge ear- 
 rings. One of the girls offered Stella a baked 
 sweet potato. The young woman at first brought 
 it out in her hand, but upon a word of reproof from 
 her mother, returned to the kitchen and brought 
 back the potato on a fork. She did not offer me 
 any, but Stella said that it was certainly cooked 
 to a queen's taste, and was as sweet as honey. 
 
 The wheel that the Frenchman had fixed 
 was now as strong as new, although it did not look 
 so well, and we used it until we reached Natchez, 
 Mississippi, where we were told that the "walking 
 spokes" were a very common thing, and were 
 
 —87— 
 
often resorted to by farmers of the cointry, as 
 blacksmith shops were few and far between 
 
 At Pine Prairie — the next little town — I dis- 
 covered that we had gone a great distance out of 
 our way. I stopped to get a shave. The only 
 person who did any shaving was a man who ran 
 the general merchandise store. He made a bar- 
 ber's chair out of a dry goods box, and it was a 
 comical sight, but not so bad looking as I, for I 
 had not had a shave for almost a week. It was 
 a serious operation. He had a razor that had evi- 
 dently been used as a household necessity, and it 
 snagged my whiskers out, instead of cutting them. 
 Every once in a while he turned to me and asked 
 if he were hurting me. 
 
 "No, go ahead," I replied, "it's all right," 
 but nevertheless I was glad to get out of that 
 chair. 
 
 After my release, I purchased a dozen eggs 
 from him, but he certainly did not know that 
 chickens were worth more than eggs, for out of 
 the dozen I got exactly five little chicks, which, 
 however, were dead. 
 
 We had the good fortune to strike the trail 
 of an automobile full of people who had come 
 down from Alexandria that day to auction off 
 the merchandise of a store that had gone into 
 bankruptcy, hence we could be certain of the 
 road for many a mile. 
 
 On the way to Alexandria, Don thought he 
 was going to be able to do something to pay his 
 share of the expenses. Hearing a pig squealing, 
 we looked in the direction from which the sounds 
 came and saw Don running toward us with some- 
 thing in his mouth. We exclaimed, "Don has a 
 rabbit!" but when he got closer, we found that he 
 had a little pig. Of course, he got a whipping for 
 
 —88— 
 
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this, for if the natives had learned of what he had 
 done, it would have cost his life, and made trouble 
 for us. 
 
 Don had worn himself out, all along the way, 
 chasing rabbits, but he had never succeeded in 
 catching one. But he found the game in Louis- 
 iana just the right size and gait, and he had chosen 
 the smallest one of the litter. As the dog dropped 
 the pig at our feet, it was just breathing its last. 
 Don's eyes gleamed with pride in what he no doubt 
 thought to be a great achievement. From that 
 time on we kept him — by the aid of a hickory 
 stick — from chasing any more pigs. 
 
 In Louisiana it is the custom for farmers 
 to brand their hogs and sheep and allow them 
 to run loose in the woods and fatten on the nuts 
 that fall to the ground in the fall. The animals 
 are herded together and every farmer picks out 
 his own according to the brand. No one is sup- 
 posed to be dishonest, and if reports be true, any- 
 one caught stealing another's stock is pretty 
 roughly dealt with, and not exactly according to 
 law. For which we deemed it wise to be careful 
 that Don be prevented from repeating his little 
 escapade. We thereafter called our faithful dog 
 a "pig-hound." 
 
 It was interesting to notice the gradual chang- 
 es in the customs as we traveled from one section 
 to another. A house that is characteristic of 
 the part of the state through which we were going, 
 is built with a long roof, protruding so as to form 
 a covering for a porch, or gallery. The majority 
 of these houses have flap doors and no window- 
 panes. The buildings are not painted, and each 
 one, no matter how small it may be, is provided 
 with a wide porch and a fire-place or two. There 
 is usually a good-sized hallway between the rooms, 
 affording a draught, which makes the house cool 
 —89— 
 
in summer. The floors seldom have carpets, and 
 are scrubbed clean and white, and, being at least 
 two feet above the ground, are dry and sanitary. 
 
 While camping beyond LeCompte, we were 
 visited by a great many persons, who seemed to 
 enjoy sitting around our fire. An old negro, who 
 had been a slave, related stories regarding the 
 customs of his younger days. Le Compte was 
 one of the oldest slave markets. The negro said 
 that once he thought he would like to travel a 
 little, and that he had gone as far as the Mississippi 
 River, when he saw a big, dark house on a hill. 
 Then he heard a voice saying, "fresh meat!" 
 Again, he heard the sound, "fresh meat! fresh 
 nigger meat!" He was very much frightened, 
 but did riot attempt to run when he saw someone 
 coming toward him. He knew that there would 
 be no use in that. They asked him what he was 
 doing in that part of the country, and he said: 
 
 "I was just looking for a job." The other 
 fellow said: "You can't get it here." 
 
 They began to talk among themselves, about 
 a big iron pot and fresh meat, and he said that 
 although he had not called -any one "marster," since 
 slavery days, he got down on his knees and called 
 that man "marster," and told him that he didn't 
 mean any harm; that he had been looking for 
 work, but that if they would let him go, he would 
 never come back. 
 
 When released, he ran as fast as possible with- 
 out looking back. The old man also told of a place 
 about ten miles from Le Compte. The town is 
 called Ten Mile, and is inhabited by a class of peo- 
 ple that is not composed of white folks nor of 
 negroes, but a sort of Red Bone variety, a mixed 
 breed. It is said that anyone who is either all 
 white or all black is not allowed to go there, nor 
 
 —90— 
 
to live in the vicinity. Those who have tried to 
 do so have never been heard of since. 
 
 After being entertained pleasantly in Alex- 
 andria, we started to Natchez. Many people 
 have been lost in the swamps between the two 
 cities, so we decided to avoid the road leading 
 through boggy ground. On the way to White 
 Sulphur Springs, we had much trouble determin- 
 ing which was the right road, and were compelled 
 to retrace our steps. 
 
 White Sulphur vSprings is a health resort 
 situated in a beautiful spot. At Jena the natives 
 were afraid of us at first, but were finally induced 
 to come to our cart. We soon found ourselves 
 in low lands where pigs and other stock annoyed 
 us while camping. Don was kept busy chasing 
 the hogs away from Dolly's feed pan. Marks on 
 the trees showed that the ground must have been 
 covered with water, fully ten feet, at times. There 
 are no bridges across the streams. We crossed so 
 many that it no longer seemed a hardship to pay 
 the charges, which were probably heavier because 
 of our not being residents of that section of the 
 country. At last a fewyman told us that the law 
 of the state did not permit a charge of more than 
 twenty-five cents, in Louisiana. The next time 
 an attempt was made to take advantage of us, 
 I remarked that there must be some mistake; that 
 the regular price was twenty-five cents. Then 
 the ferryman said: "Well, I guess that will be 
 all right." 
 
 Protected by a high dyke, built to keep the 
 water from overflowing the big plantations, we walk- 
 ed to Jonesville, regardless of the fact that it was 
 raining. 
 
 Plantation owners build little houses for the 
 negroes who work for them. The negroes receive 
 
 —91— 
 
very small wages, and are really in a worse con- 
 dition than during slavery days. 
 
 The number of hounds kept at these places 
 was surprising. On many occasions the dogs 
 started from the house as soon as we came in sight. 
 They kept up a continuous baying until they 
 reached us, but when I hit them over the head with 
 my stick they ran back to the house singing their 
 song all the while. 
 
 It was noticeable that the horses and cattle 
 throughout the South, were thin and starved-look- 
 ing. Along the dyke they ate the grass down as 
 fast as it appeared, yet their ribs could be easily 
 counted. 
 
 There was a tendency to ask too much for 
 what we were compelled to purchase in the country 
 stores. At one place, I overheard the wife of the 
 proprietor telling her husband to put up the price, 
 as they would never see us anj^more. For this 
 reason, we did not stock up until we reached 
 Trinity, where the kind proprietor of a big warehouse 
 invited us to camp under it's shelter. Soon, he 
 came out with a little French drip coffee-pot and 
 two cups of hot, steaming, coffee. Our new ac- 
 quaintance showed us many attentions that were 
 greatly appreciated. The large warehouse was 
 conducted by what is known as a Farmers' Union. 
 The farmers in the vicinity bring their products 
 there to be stored until a reasonable price can be 
 obtained for them. Credit is good, and in case 
 of a bad crop there is no suffering nor lack of 
 the necessities of life, which are all obtained at 
 wholesale price. Goods are purchased in New 
 Orleans and conveyed to destination by steamer. 
 At twelve o'clock when we were sleeping soundly, 
 a huge steamer came in with a consignment of 
 merchandise. The whistle soon awakened us. 
 
 —92— 
 
The sun came out the following day, and our 
 clothes and bedding were dried. I cooked a nice, 
 hot dinner on the small stove that had been loaned 
 us for use in the warehouse, and we resumed our 
 travels. 
 
 For many miles, the road to Natchez wound 
 through the woods. All through the state of 
 Louisiana, we saw poor white folks and negroes 
 who were so ignorant that they could barely give 
 us directions as to what road to take. 
 
 From Vidalia, Louisiana, to Natchez, we 
 walked, crossing the Mississippi River by steam 
 ferry. Natchez was once a thriving city, but the 
 boll weevil caused the cotton crops to become such 
 a failure that the commerce of the place was ser- 
 iously injured, as cotton was the chief product of 
 the vicinity. The insect first appeared in Texas, 
 but moved eastward. 
 
 While we were selling souvenirs on the streets, 
 a man who wanted to have a little sport asked 
 Stella why she didn't tie a cup on the dog, as she 
 might be able to take in more money in that wa)^ 
 She replied that she had thought some of doing 
 that, but that now she would prefer tying the cup 
 to his — the man's neck, as our dog was too good, 
 and had a human face. The crowd gave the 
 would-be wit the laugh, and he was hard to find 
 in the town, after that — at least during our stay. 
 
 We were entertained by some people who had 
 drifted down the Mississippi River from Illinois, 
 years ago, in a house boat. A number of families 
 in the neighborhood of our camp baked biscuits 
 on the morning of our departure, and presented 
 them to us, nearly filling the compartment of our 
 cart. As all were excellent, we did not venture to 
 pass judgment by showing any preferences. 
 
 From the high hill on the Mississippi side a 
 fine view is obtained of the low lands in Louisiana. 
 
 —93—' 
 
Our route now led us up one hill and down another, 
 which was pretty hard on Dolly. The scenery was 
 beautiful. The negroes had a very different way 
 of tilling the soil from that which is employed in 
 the North. Instead of using two horses and a 
 riding plow, they used a mule and a single plow. 
 The soil was of a light color, and did not seem to 
 be very productive, yet the cotton crops are good. 
 
 The next camping spot was a fine one, situ- 
 ated near a spring of cold water. A negro who 
 came to see us asked if we had ever seen the cane 
 brakes, where run-away negroes used to hide dur- 
 ing slavery days. Of course we had not seen one, 
 so he took us to a cane brake near by. It was a 
 strange looking place, the cane growing to all sizes 
 and heights. 
 
 Near Martin were many ox teams hauling 
 loads of logs. Sometimes, ten oxen were hitched 
 to one load. The hauling of these logs makes the 
 roads almost impassable in places, because of the 
 weight pressing the wheels down into the mud and 
 making deep ruts. 
 
 We camped one night on the land of some color- 
 ed folks. They were so elated by the fact that 
 they told all the negroes in the neighborhood, that 
 there were some people camping on their 
 place who had made a long walk. Before supper 
 was over, a number of colored women came, want- 
 ing to see Stella. It was dark, and they were afraid 
 that if they did not get a look at her that night, 
 we might be gone in the morning, so one of them 
 secured a box of matches and by striking a light 
 succeeded in throwing a glare on Stella's face. 
 One woman said: "Ain't she pur-ty," and another 
 answered: "She shore is." A third, thinking 
 that it was up to her to say something, came in 
 
 —94— 
 
with the remark: "She shore is a cute little trick." 
 It was all very amusing to us. 
 
 At Carpenter a lot of girls were standing on 
 the platform of the depot. They laughed at the 
 size of Stella's shoes, but if any one of the girls 
 had tried to walk a few miles, it would have taken 
 all the giggle out of her. 
 
 On a farm that we saw, a negro woman did 
 all the work, although a white man owned the 
 place. She plowed and tilled the land just as a 
 man would do it, but in the evening she expressed 
 great sympathy for my wife, saying : 
 
 "Say, mistah, why does yo' carry yo' wife way 
 down heah?" 
 
 I told her that I did not carry my wife; that 
 she was too heavy for me to carry. She said: 
 
 "Go on, man, I don't mean tote, what I 
 means is yo' is de cause ob her gwine." 
 
 Another time, when I was helping Stella to do 
 the washing, a colored woman who saw us, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "If I ever gits a man, I won't wo'k him so 
 hard!" 
 
 Jackson, the capital of Mississippi, presented 
 a beautiful appearance. Everything was clothed 
 in green. We camped on the old capital ground, 
 which is now deserted. 
 
 Once, while walking in the direction of Merid- 
 ian, we asked a colored boy about nineteen years 
 of age what road to take. He directed us very 
 intelligently, and then, to our amazement, we 
 saw that he was blind. He said that he had been 
 blind all of his life, nevertheless he could tell every 
 turn in the road, and point out objects— houses 
 and hills — in the neighborhood. 
 
 The roads grew steadily worse. We passed a 
 saw-mill, and the men all came out to see us go by. 
 
 —95— 
 
They asked us how we liked Mississippi roads. 
 Hut we in turn asked them if the roads had been 
 worked since (^.eorge Washington came down and 
 worked them. Indeed, the roads were so bad that 
 it was not only dangerous for Dolly, but for us. 
 In spots where big logs had been used, they were 
 rotted out here and there, and good-sized rivers 
 ran in between. Every time the cart dropped into 
 a hole, we expected to see it go to smash. Dolly went 
 along admirably, stepj)ing in and out of the ruts, 
 while we almost held our breath. Sometimes all 
 of us had to wade through water. We decided 
 that we had seen the two extremes the finest and 
 the worst roads in the world. 
 
 Meridian is the last town before entering Ala- 
 bama. The crowd on the streets wanted Don to 
 perform, and to please the people I tried to make 
 him do some tricks. A photographer took his 
 picture during the process. 
 
 Our first day in Alabama was a memorable 
 one because of the delicious strawberry short-cake 
 that we made. It was baked over our campfire. 
 The negroes were picking the fruit and it was being 
 shipped north by the car load. We purchased a 
 lot of ripe berries for a low price, as those sent awjiy 
 must be a little green in order that they may not 
 spoil. The soil in this part of Alabama is very 
 productive, and one can live comfortably on very 
 little money. Land sells for about twenty dollars 
 per acre. Having passed through Cuba and York, 
 we arrived at Livingston, where a reporter for the 
 Age-Herald, a Birmingham daily paper, met us. 
 As a general thing, the newspaper men ask sensi- 
 ble questions, but in this instance, we were inclined 
 to resent the inference that we sometimes rode 
 on the cart. As a matter of fact that would have 
 been impossible, from its construction. However, 
 
 —96— 
 
s -^ 
 
I finally persuaded the reporter that we were 
 taking a walking trip, and not a ride. 
 
 The next day's travel was over a new pike, 
 with large stones that had not yet been crushed 
 down. The Tombigbee River was almost out of 
 its banks. The ferry, which was probably bad 
 enough when the river was in its normal state, was 
 considered impassable when we reached the place. 
 It took several men to get us to the other side, 
 but we were determined not to stay in the swamp. 
 Many of the farms had been deserted on account 
 of floods. In Jackson, Mississippi, we heard of 
 a family that had left Louisiana because of the 
 unhealthful climate, and was moving to Virginia. 
 As we were going along at a pretty good gait, we 
 saw two wagons coming up the road, and a man 
 called out: 
 
 "You're the man and woman I've been looking 
 for a long time! I've heard of you all the way 
 along!" 
 
 A crowd collected. The man talked without 
 hesitation, telling them that we were not fakes, that 
 we really did walk, that he had been told by people 
 all along the route that we had never been seen 
 doing anything else but walking. From that time 
 on we heard of the travelers from different persons, 
 until they reached Virginia. 
 
 The coal mining district of Alabama came 
 next. As we left camp at Yolande, we had much 
 trouble getting down a steep embankment. I 
 asked Stella to hold Don, who always thinks he 
 is going to do some good by barking at the horse 
 when there is any difficulty. The wheels of the 
 cart were old and shaky. I saw that there was 
 going to be an accident, but could do nothing to 
 avert it. The cart went over, throwing Dolly on 
 her side. Stella was using all her strength to 
 
 —97— 
 
hold the dog, but she finally turned him loose, and 
 he jumped on Dolly, whom I was forcing to lie 
 down so that she would not hurt herself. Don threw 
 his paws around her legs and held on tightly, biting 
 her on the legs, and growling and barking. I was 
 afraid that he would get us into serious 
 trouble. At last, Stella managed to get hold of 
 him and tie him to a tree, and we got Dolly up 
 from her cramped position. Dolly is without 
 doubt the smartest horse in the world, for she did 
 not attempt to kick or run away, but just lay there 
 on the ground, seeming to know that something 
 awful had happened. Stella was so frightened that 
 she did not know where to begin to unharness the 
 horse, so I asked her to hold Dolly's head, so that 
 I could get the harness off. It is really surprising, 
 how I worked around the horse, lifting her legs 
 and rolling her around, and she did not attempt to 
 keep me from it. When finally released, she jumped 
 up seeming not to be hurt in any way. With 
 the assistance of two men who came to aid us, we 
 righted the cart and spliced the shafts, so that 
 they lasted until we reached Bessemer. 
 
 All this time Don was choking himself in the 
 effort to break loose and mix up in the affair. 
 
 At Birmingham, we camped on a vacant lot 
 in the center of the city, and soon the whole space 
 was covered with people. The representative of 
 a feed company presented us with a large sack of 
 feed for Dolly. She noticed when it was placed 
 upon the top of the cart, and evidently she knew 
 what it was, for she kept looking around to see 
 if it was still there. 
 
 After getting on the wrong road again, and 
 going back, we managed to reach Springville, in 
 sight of the Cahawba Mountains. 
 
 Following the main road to Atlanta, we noticed 
 
 —98— 
 
a decided difference between the people of the small 
 towns and those who lived in cities. Those who 
 had been brought up in villages were not so broad- 
 minded as the others, and were inclined to think 
 that we were fakes. On account of this peculiarity 
 of the little towns, we at first decided not to go 
 through Centre, but were obliged to change our 
 minds because our supply of provisions needed 
 replenishing. However, we were agreeably sur- 
 prised, for as we approached, there was a great 
 crowd on the street, and posted on a bill board 
 in big letters were the words: 
 
 "The Walking Woolfs will arrive at Centre at 
 4:15". A wide awake newspaper had given the 
 notice. Meeting the people of the little town was 
 just like going home, for they did everything pos- 
 sible to make it pleasant for us. Our camp in the 
 middle of the village was surrounded by a crowd, 
 and some of the boys secured a gas lamp, which 
 they hung to a tree, and we told jokes around the 
 campfire, and I played old, familiar tunes on the 
 violin, and everybody joined in singing the songs. 
 Some of the younger folks sang, "The Longest Way 
 Around is the Sweetest Way Home." 
 
 Entering Georgia the next day we camped in 
 one of the most beautiful spots that could be imagin- 
 ed. It was near a large spring, that sent out a 
 stream fully ten feet wide. The place is known 
 as Cave Springs. 
 
 A teacher from an institution for the deaf and 
 dumb came over and requested permission to bring 
 the pupils of his school to see us. They came, and 
 surprised us with their ability to understand what 
 was going on. Their teacher explained to them 
 who we were and what we were doing, and they 
 made up for deficiency in hearing and speech by 
 using their eyes to good advantage. 
 
 —99— 
 
Passing through Rome and Kingston, we ar- 
 rived at Cartersville, the old home of the evangelist, 
 Sam Jones. In the vicinity of Kennesaw and 
 Marietta we met several fake walkers. It seems 
 that anyone who states that he is walking on a 
 wager meets with respect in this country. We 
 had no more than entered Kennesaw than an old 
 man approached us, asking what we were doing. 
 I replied that we were making an eight thousand 
 mile walk. "On a wager?" he inquired. "No," 
 said I. "Oh, you're just traveling, then!" We 
 did not take the time to argue with him, but went 
 on to Marietta, where the community also lost 
 interest in us when it was ascertained that we were 
 walking for our health, and not for money. 
 
 Beyond Marietta, the City of Atlanta came into 
 view. We were then crossing a portion of the 
 Appalachian system of mountains. I noticed a 
 bright substance in the dirt. Upon inquiry, I 
 found that it was isinglass, and that there was a 
 factory situated at the base of one of the moun- 
 tains. We got into Atlanta at 9 o'clock. It is 
 one of the most energetic, wide awake, hustling 
 cities in the United States. The newspapers had 
 us photographed from every angle and devoted 
 much space to accounts of our travels. We ordered 
 a pair of wheels from Kansas City. 
 
 One of the strange things that always happens 
 in the cities is that some small boy takes a fancy 
 to our mode of living and wants to go along. This 
 happened in Atlanta. As we left the place, two 
 young ladies insisted on walking with us for a 
 time. They were at a great disadvantage, having 
 high heeled shoes and unsuitable clothing. This 
 was the first time that any woman had had the 
 nerve to attempt to walk with us. 
 
 The road that we now took had been called 
 
 —100— 
 
"the National Highway" by the New York Herald 
 and the Atlanta Journal, but after about ten miles 
 it degenerated into a common dirt road, except in 
 places where certain counties had taken it upon 
 themselves to make it a pike. 
 
 Walking through Norcross and Auburn, we 
 stopped for the noon luncheon. Among the crowd 
 wsts a little boy who saw me eating peanuts. I 
 asked him if there was anything that I could do 
 for him. He replied that he would like to have 
 some of those "gubers." I did not understand 
 what he meant by "gubers", but soon found out 
 that it was peanuts. 
 
 After going through a number of very friendly 
 small towns, we crossed the Tugaloo River on an 
 old bridge, built in 1846 by the slaves. 
 
 It is one of the few bridges that was not burned 
 down in war times. There were initials and other 
 marks made upon the wood before the Civil War. 
 In this section, convict labor is used for improving 
 the roads. It seemed to be the custom in the 
 rural districts for the girls and women to work in 
 the fields. A little girl confided to us that she 
 longed to travel all over the world on foot; that 
 she did not want to spend her life in one spot, 
 hoeing potatoes and plowing corn. 
 
 Before reaching Anderson we were informed 
 that the town possessed the largest sheriff in the 
 world. Someone told him that we wished to see 
 him and he came down to our camp. As we stood 
 beside him to be photographed, the contrast in our 
 height was comical. He is seven feet tall, and 
 weighs four hundred and twenty-five pounds. 
 
 The soil in the part of the country through 
 which we were now walking is odd-looking, but 
 exceedingly productive. Another thing that we 
 noticed in Georgia was that more white people were 
 
 —101— 
 
tilling the soil than in the states of Mississippi and 
 Alabama. 
 
 In the rolling lands the ground is plowed in the 
 form of a circle to keep the water from washing 
 the earth away. Natural, winding roads lead up 
 through the hills, and the scenery is very fine. Land 
 sells for about one hundred dollars per acre. 
 
 We had seen cotton planted — in Oklahoma and 
 Texas— and harvested. It was interesting, now, to 
 see the cotton mills. One cannot but feel deep 
 sympathy for the little children and poor, faded- 
 cheeked people who spend their lives in the mills, 
 commencing to work when very young, and never 
 knowing anything else as long as they live. 
 
 Stella talked with a group of young girls, 
 whom she met outside of one of these mills, during 
 .their brief luncheon hour, and she said that every 
 one of the group chewed tobacco the same as the men. 
 They told her that it was necessary on account of the 
 lint and dust which they were constantly breathing 
 while at work. The hours were from six to six, 
 with Saturday afternoons off, and the wages range- 
 ed from seventy-live cents to one dollar per day for 
 common labor, and higher wages for weavers and 
 other experts, according to their ability. 
 
 Some of the towns through which we passed 
 were far behind the times in many ways. Some- 
 times, girls or women laughed at Stella 's masculine 
 shoes, or her dress. They did not seem to under- 
 stand that a woman who has the nerve to start 
 out on an eight thousand mile walk, must, of 
 necessity dress comfortably and appropriately for 
 the journey. 
 
 It is to be hoped that the National Highway, 
 which is in course of construction, will be the 
 means of educating the inhabitants of the two 
 Carolinas. 
 
 —102-- 
 
In Gaffney, South Carolina, we met two very 
 pleasant and intelligent couples. One of the wives, 
 who worked in a mill, had sustained a frightful 
 accident a few years ago. Her hair had gotten 
 tangled in the machinery and one whole side of 
 the scalp had been torn off. The terrible wound 
 still showed, although the hair from the other 
 side had been combed over so as to conceal the 
 injury as far as possible. 
 
 Convict camps are a common sight in the country 
 districts. Talking with two white prisoners, who 
 seemed to be free to go where they pleased while 
 at work, we were informed by one of them that 
 he "got in for killin' a nigger." His sentence 
 was a five year ^ne, but he was practically free, 
 although compelled to wear the stripes. The 
 fact came out afterward, that the man had killed 
 the negro in cold blood, shooting him down because 
 he had refused to bring the white ruffian a drink. 
 
 Blacksburg, a small town on the route, had 
 become so religious that there was not even a drug 
 store open nor anyone to be seen at his home or 
 on the streets, on Sunday. Stella tried to get a 
 drink from the town pump, but it was not working 
 either. 
 
 That night we camped close to Kings Mountain, 
 where George Washington fought a decisive battle 
 during the Revolutionary War. 
 
 The Blue Ridge Mountains were in sight. The 
 air was delightful and the scenery beautiful. 
 I accidently dropped my faithful walking stick in 
 a well, which had been given me by a friend in 
 Georgia. I regretted it, as it was what I used to 
 defend Don with when other dogs ran after him. 
 However, the owner of the well afterward got the 
 stick out and sent it to me at Richmond, Virginia, 
 
 —103— 
 
with an inscription of his name and the date on 
 which I had lost it. 
 
 The weather was getting warm, so we decided 
 to change our rule, and rise at four o'clock and pack 
 our outfit and walk until about nine-thirty o'clock, 
 and when the sun came out good and hot, hunt for 
 a shady spot by some nice little brook, and rest 
 for three or four hours. We followed the plan 
 until we left Virginia. The hours of rest were 
 beneficial to all, including Dolly and Don. 
 
 Near Charlotte, North Carolina, we stopped 
 and borrowed some tubs and washed our clothes. 
 It was a matter of great pride to us that we always 
 kept ourselves clean, although it was impossible 
 to keep our clothes from becoming faded. 
 
 Our reception at Newell was a most pleasant 
 one. Most of the villages in the Carolinas were 
 very slow. Civilization was backward. The peo- 
 ple were poor. The majority of them were hands 
 and earned only about seventy-five cents or one 
 dollar per day. The houses in which they live 
 are usually owned by the mill corporations, and 
 the hands are charged seventy-five cents a room 
 per month for rental. The children begin to work 
 at thirteen years of age. They are scarcely able 
 to read or write, and often grow up in ignorance. 
 
 The soil is of a reddish color, and when it gets 
 into the clothes it is hard to get it out. Excellent 
 camping spots are plentiful, as there are lots of 
 trees, hills and small brooks. The air is invigor- 
 ating, but we noticed that windows in almost 
 every house were tightly closed. This was not con- 
 fined to one town but was the case everywhere. 
 
 At High Point and Greensboro we met inter- 
 esting people. Leaving the latter town, we took 
 the Danville road. It was a pike for a short dis- 
 tance out of the village. The county had been 
 
 —104— 
 
— H en 
 
 J3 
 
awarded a prize for having the best road in the 
 state. 
 
 In Danville, Virginia, a man whom we had 
 seen in Wichita, Kansas, then in Oklahoma City, 
 came up to talk to us. 
 
 In order to avoid the boggy roads, we decided 
 to go by way of Lynchburg, on the automobile thor- 
 oughfare, which we did for a day, then we turned 
 toward Chatham, and branched off to the East. 
 In places along the roads, the water was knee deep. 
 
 There was a strange, loud noise coming from 
 the trees in all directions. It turned out that the 
 sound was made by seventeen-year locusts, who 
 were making their periodical visit. It appears 
 that they go into the ground and remain for seven- 
 teen years and then again come forth, shedding 
 their skins, many of which were lying on the 
 ground. 
 
 We had been traveling where the southern 
 accent was strong. But the dialect was now begin- 
 ning to change, and the accent was growing very 
 pretty. A peculiar circumstance was that we 
 often found ourselves thoughtlessly adopting the 
 manner of speaking that was customary where we 
 happened to be. 
 
 The country from Danville to Richmond was 
 sparsely settled. With the permission of a gentle- 
 man who had read of our trip in the Danville Bee, 
 we camped on his place near a fine spring. The 
 water was clear, cold and sparkling and we drank 
 until our thirst was fully satisfied. A person who 
 lives in the city can only dream of such luxury. 
 The families which we came in contact with were 
 the very essence of friendliness. 
 
 In the far South, the wells were large and 
 open, with windlasses. In Virginia were drilled 
 wells encased in boxing, and the water was drawn 
 
 —105— 
 
in a long, slim bucket. Another style of old well 
 was the kind that has a sweep, or long pole with 
 a weight attached. Many times did we think 
 of the song, "The Old Oaken Bucket," as we drew 
 forth from a deep, old-fashioned well the moss 
 covered bucket and refreshed ourselves therefrom, 
 tipping it over so that we could drink out of the 
 side, and spurning such a thing as a cup. Forget- 
 ting our past life in the city, with its artificial ex- 
 istence, we leaned over the side of the well and 
 looked down at the glassy depths and saw our 
 reflection in the water. And we breathed a prayer 
 of thankfulness to the Almighty Power, the Maker 
 of all natural life and beauty, that we had escaped 
 from the thralldom of monotony and had gotten out 
 with nature and gained a little knowledge of her 
 lessons. 
 
 In Eastern Virginia I noticed that the manner 
 of speech differed somewhat from that to which 
 we had become accustomed in other parts of the 
 state. The next town was what I should have 
 called Charlotte. I asked a gentleman whom we 
 met the name of the place. He said: "Charlotte 
 Cou't Ouse?" I afterward noted that was the 
 usual way of referring to county seat towns. 
 
 At Hampton-Sidney College we had the 
 pleasure of meeting the most intelligent lot of boys 
 that we had seen on the trip. Although they 
 were bent on having as much fun as possible out 
 of us, we soon made friends with them. I gave a 
 little concert, and played the highest class of music, 
 which was appreciated by the boys. A crowd of 
 them walked to Farmville with us. The young man 
 who walked with Stella got red in the face, and had 
 to take off his coat, as we were going at a pretty 
 stiff gait. 
 
 From Farmville, our route lay along a minia- 
 
 —106— 
 
ture railroad track, but we soon learned that it 
 was merely a narrow guage line that was so con- 
 structed as to support full grown locomotives. 
 On the side of the cars were the words: "Tidewater 
 and Western." It reminded me of the book, "A 
 Slow Train Through Arkansas," or "Through 
 Missouri on a Mule." Then I thought of our own 
 primative method of locomotion. 
 
 After all, happiness does not lie in an advanced 
 state of civilization, as that word is understood 
 by the majority of persons. Luxury is not really 
 conducive to happiness, but the simple life, the 
 wild forest with air laden with sweet perfume, the 
 running brook, and the companionship of one 
 whom we love do constitute real happiness. 
 
 Going through Cumberland, we arrived at 
 Richmond by way of Manchester. Richmond is 
 filled with historic interest. We were photographed 
 in front of General Robert E. Lee's old home, 
 which is next to the post-office. The famous 
 Southern General maintained a place of residence 
 in the house from 1861 to 1865 . It is now used by 
 the Virginia Historical Society, as a museum for 
 relics of the Civil War. We were also photo- 
 graphed in front of Jefferson Davis' old home, 
 known as the White House of the Confederacy. 
 That building, also, is now used as a museum. 
 We visited the place where George Washington 
 had established headquarters during the Revolu- 
 tionary War. The structure was low-ceilinged 
 and small. The guide was very entertaining. He 
 pointed out everything of interest. 
 
 "This is the room that was occupied by George 
 Washington, and this one was occupied by LaFay- 
 ette," he said, indicating two apartments, one 
 opposite the other. Pulling off a handful of plaster 
 and handing it to Stella, the caretaker said : 
 
 —107— 
 
"This is a souvenir from the library wall of 
 La Fayette. Just notice how they made plaster 
 in those days. It has stuck tight all these years, 
 but no wonder, for they put real wool in it." He 
 pulled out some shreds of wool to prove his state- 
 ment. He told us the history of the building, 
 which was the oldest one in Richmond. It had 
 escaped the ravages of the Civil War. The house 
 was the one in which Washington and La Fayette 
 held conference before the fall of Yorktown. 
 
 As we stood there, casting our eyes over the 
 quaint old building and its surroundings, our 
 minds wandered back to the days when George 
 Washington lived. In those days people lived 
 pure, simple, natural lives. Their houses were 
 built for comfort, not style. In the main room 
 was an open fire, piled high with blazing logs, send- 
 ing out good cheer. The stalwart, brave men of 
 those days were made rugged by the way they 
 lived. Instead of getting on a street car to ride 
 two or three blocks, they walked and exercised 
 their muscles. Perhaps it was a fortunate thing 
 for them that such things as street cars were un- 
 known, and that journeys were made in wagons 
 or stage coaches, in which they could breathe the 
 pure air. 
 
 It is a wonderful thing for the health when 
 ones meals are cooked in the open, over a camp- 
 fire; when one lies down at night to sleep upon a 
 bed of boughs under a clear sky. There would be 
 no fear of germs — in fact, they would become 
 practically unknown — if the present generation 
 would eat wholesome food, breathe plenty of fresh 
 air and take proper exercise. And what a multi- 
 tude of doctors, healers and dispensers of drugs 
 would have to go out of business' 
 
 —108— 
 
We took a picture of the building with the 
 interesting old gentleman standing in the doorway 
 with an ancient musket across his arm. 
 
 Don knows that the cart belongs to us, and 
 while we were in Richmond, it was put in a 
 livery stable. After it had been placed in an ele- 
 vator and taken up on the second floor, and Dolly 
 had been cared for, in her stall, Don ran back up 
 the stairs to see if Dolly was all right. He came 
 down, jumping and twisting himself around, satis- 
 fied that everything was as it should be. He seem- 
 ed to consider himself the overseer of all of us. 
 The next morning, when we arrived at the stable, 
 he commenced to sniff around for the cart, look- 
 ing every imaginable place. He had been watch- 
 ing Dolly the day before, and had not noticed that 
 the cart, also, had been put away on the floor above. 
 Not being able to find our belongings, he sat down 
 on his haunches, the very picture of despair. Just 
 then, he glanced up and saw the cart descending 
 slowly on the elevator. His eyes brightened; his 
 ears stood up, and then he leaped into the air and 
 jumped on the elevator beside the cart, barking 
 like mad and cutting every caper known to a dog. 
 
 Neither Don nor Dolly like the crowds that 
 surround us on the streets. Don curls himself up 
 like a ball, so that his tail can hardly be distin- 
 guished from his head, and the people usually step 
 on him as they go around the cart. Then he springs 
 up and snaps at their feet, whining and crying, but 
 he never really bites anyone. Don always begins 
 to sit up and whine when he gets into a city. 
 Dolly does not particularly enjoy being poked in 
 the ribs by mischievous boys, and she, too, is 
 usually on the defensive. She never fails to 
 nip at some one as folks pass her. When she 
 became too clever at her new art, we had to put a 
 
 —109— 
 
muzzle on her when we entered a city. But it is 
 almost as bad as a parent teasing his child then 
 whipping it for its actions afterward. 
 
 We left Richmond on what is known as the 
 Old Telegraph Road, leading to Alexandria, Vir- 
 ginia, where we crossed the Potomac River and 
 entered Washington. We camped that night, at 
 an ideal spot seven miles from Richmond. When 
 supper was over, a voice came out of the darkness, 
 saying : 
 
 "Would you'se, please ma'am, give me a 
 match?" 
 
 Stella was very much startled, and stepped 
 back into the tent. Don rushed out fiercely, 
 growling at the visitor. Holding the dog by the 
 collar, I approached the man and gave him some 
 matches. He then asked for a drink of water, 
 saying : 
 
 "Hold that dog, mister, I don't want him to 
 jump on me." 
 
 I saw at a glance that he was a tramp, 
 and not being able to determine on such short ac- 
 quaintance whether or not he was harmless, I 
 refused his next request by an evasive answer. He 
 had asked to be allowed to sleep in an old shed 
 near by. By this time the storm was upon us, 
 and as the tramp turned to walk away, saying, 
 "All right, I don't wish to discommode you," I 
 saw that he was lame. But it was too late to re- 
 call him, as he quickly disappeared, but my selfish 
 act of fear caused a chill to settle in my heart. I 
 could not dispel the feeling that I had for com- 
 mitting such an act of cruelty, in not giving the 
 poor creature the permission for which he had 
 asked. 
 
 To make the situation all the more wierd, 
 a frightful electrical storm tore loose from the heav- 
 
 —110— 
 
ens. It seemed as if the whole universe was ablaze 
 with fire. The wind was a gale, and notwithstand- 
 ing the fact that we held the tent with all our 
 strength, it broke from our grasp and left us in a 
 drenching rain. Groping close to the ground with 
 our blankets wound around us, we finally reached 
 the shed, the shelter that we had denied the poor 
 tramp. 
 
 It was several hours before we could rescue 
 our tent and set it up again. The cots and blankets 
 were soaked, and there was no sleep for us that 
 night. But from that time, I vowed that when 
 ever I had a chance to help a fellow being I 
 would do so. 
 
 This incident brought to my mind most vividly 
 the idea that humanity has been in a rut since the 
 earliest ages. What a small amount of real fellow- 
 ship there is in this big, selfish world ! What dis- 
 trust of our fellow man! What lack of intuitive 
 power to read human nature! All animal life 
 seems to prey, the one against the other — the 
 strong against the weak. Yet, back of it all, there 
 is the guiding power of love, charity and compassion, 
 if mankind would only develop it more fully. 
 
 The day after the storm, we had our first fried 
 chicken — and it brought to mind what had often 
 been jokingly said to us : 
 
 "Well, I don't suppose it costs you much for 
 your eating?" 
 
 Of course, it would have been unwise to resent 
 the insinuations. But one day I had a good chance 
 to get it back at a groceryman. I went into his 
 store to buy a peck of potatoes. In an off hand 
 manner, he remarked, slyly winking at a bystander : 
 
 "What's the matter? Are potatoes scarce 
 along the road?" 
 
 I waited a moment so as to let everyone get 
 
 —111— 
 
through laughing at the witty grocer 's words, then 
 clearly responded : 
 
 "There are plenty of potatoes along the road, 
 but I haven't any grocery store in which to peddle 
 them." 
 
 A couple of days after the incident of meeting 
 the tramp, we were taking our noonday nap. We 
 were lying on our cots, stretched out under a shady 
 tree by the roadside. The noise of footsteps and 
 voices awakened us. A familiar voice said: 
 
 "There they are! That's those people I read 
 about in the Richmond paper who are taking that 
 long walk." 
 
 Rousing ourselves, we saw the tramp who had 
 frightened us a few nights before. This time he 
 had three associates with him, a tall, lanky Irish- 
 man and two younger boys who did not look the 
 part that they were filling. They did not attempt 
 tolstop and talk with us, but merely nodded their 
 heads and said "Howdy-do." Thatsame afternoon, 
 we passed them in a little town, and fearing that 
 the residents of the place might think that we be- 
 longed to their party, we hurried by them as fast 
 as possible, getting several miles in advance of 
 them. As darkness came on, we decided not to 
 risk camping alone, so obtained permission to pitch 
 our tent on a farm, close to the house. We had 
 just gotten ourselves straightened around, when 
 here the tramps came, along the road, the tall 
 Irishman singing a noisy ballad at the top of his 
 voice, and the two young recruits pelting each 
 other with apples, which they had evidently taken 
 from some unsuspecting farmer's orchard. They 
 again spoke to us, but did not attempt to stop. 
 
 Eight months from the day we left home, we 
 arrived in Fredericksburg, Virginia. During the 
 «ntire trip, we had not seen a town that was so 
 
 —112— 
 
"Walking Woolfs" photographed in front of Gen. Robert 
 E. Lee's old home in Richmond, Va. 
 
quaint and old-fashioned as was Fredericksburg. 
 The houses wear a stern, austere appearance, like 
 that of a prim schoolma'am; their plain, two- 
 story walls of brick; the numerous windows with 
 their many panes of glass; the little door step in 
 front, and the wide chimneys, all made me think 
 of the days that are no more. Again I thought 
 of our forefathers — of the simplicity of their lives; 
 of the grand, lofty object of liberty that inspired 
 their valorous deeds. I thought of the time when 
 graft was unknown and fidelity and honesty were 
 the ruling principles. 
 
 We visited the house that was once the home 
 of the mother of George Washington. It seemed 
 almost sacrilegious to enter the house dedicated to 
 her memory. 
 
 Happening into a barber shop, I saw two men 
 playing checkers. It is one of my favorite games, 
 and not being able to see a game in progress, with- 
 out taking a hand, myself, I ventured to ask the 
 winner to play with me. A bystander gave me a 
 contemptuous look, as if to say: "Who are you?" 
 and then remarked: 
 
 "Well, stranger, you don't know who you are 
 tackling. That fellow is the champion of Freder- 
 icksburg." 
 
 "AH right," I said, "he won't have much to 
 do to beat me." 
 
 The first two games were mine. But I had 
 not counted on the tactics that he would employ 
 in the third game. He knew that he was losing 
 his championship and evidently did not like the 
 murmur that was going around the room, as he 
 was steadily losing. So he commenced to try to 
 take my attention from the game by saying, 
 "There's no doubt about it, a man that travels 
 
 —113— 
 
around over the country like you do is sure to 
 broaden his mind." 
 
 He continued to make similar remarks during 
 the entire game. Finally, I refused to answer him, 
 and kept my lips tightly closed and my eyes on the 
 checker-board. But he had distracted my atten- 
 tion to such an extent that he won the third game. 
 However, on the one that followed, I took my 
 time in moving, studying them closely before I 
 moved my men. He rattled along meaninglessly, 
 as he had before, and as I sat there looking at the 
 checkers, and did not make a move, he said, with 
 some irritableness of manner: 
 
 "What's the matter? Why don't you move?" 
 
 "Well, as soon as you get through with that 
 little vaudeville performance, I will move," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 At that he quieted down and we were still 
 fighting the game when Stella came in the door, 
 and with a surprised look, said : 
 
 "I've been looking all over this town for )^ou. 
 It's time that we were going." 
 
 I left with the honors all in my favor, excepting 
 the third game, which he had succeeded in talking 
 me out of. Some of the spectators informed me 
 that they were glad that a stranger could drop 
 into town and show that fellow something. 
 
 There is an old saying: "Improvement comes 
 with age," but it is not applicable to the road 
 question, especially in Virginia. We were now 
 passing through the oldest part of the United 
 States, being only a short distance from James- 
 town, the first settlement in America. The roads 
 are evidently just about the same, if not a little 
 worse, than they were at that historic date. 
 
 When we left Fredericksburg, we crossed the 
 Rappahannock River and started out on the 
 
 —114— 
 
Washington thoroughfare, which we naturally 
 supposed would be an up-to-date pike. To our 
 surprise, after we had gotten a short distance from 
 town, the road gradually turned into a guUey. I 
 had to lead Dolly down into the deep rut and let 
 the wheels take the sides where it was not washed 
 out. 
 
 Every moment it seemed as if the wheels would 
 break or the cart upset. Stella was behind the 
 cart, bracing it with all her might. We got out 
 of one difficulty, only to find ourselves in another. 
 Soon we came to a place where grading had been 
 done recently, and the dirt thrown up had been 
 rained on, and was nothing more nor less than a quag- 
 mire. Out in the middle of the mire, something 
 snapped like a pistol shot. It was a tug that had 
 broken, square off. We were in a serious predica- 
 ment out in the wilderness. Not a house was in 
 sight. The last one passed was fully three miles 
 away. I tried to fix the tug, but to no avail. 
 Darkness was coming on and a drizzling rain had 
 set in, making our situation all the worse. 
 
 Finally a happy thought came to Stella. She 
 said: 
 
 "Why can't we use the lariet rope in place of 
 the tug?" 
 
 "Why, that's right, we can," I replied, at once 
 getting the rope out and doubling it. I fastened 
 it to Dolly's collar and then to the singletree. 
 
 We tried to get the horse to pull the cart out 
 of the mud, but she made an effort two or three 
 times and then began to shake her head and snort. 
 Then she got one of her balky spells. Darkness, 
 had now settled around us. We must do something 
 and that soon. So, taking the shovel from the cart , 
 I went to work to dig the mud away from the 
 wheels. A sudden inspiration must have seized 
 
 —115— 
 
Dolly, for she gave a terrific plunge and started 
 forward, jerking the cart out of the mire and almost 
 breaking it to pieces. She ran up the hill like 
 mad, we following the best we could, every step 
 jerking our feet out of thick mud. 
 
 Extricated from our plight by Dolly, we looked 
 for a place to camp. Finally, coming to a brook 
 at the foot of a hill, Stella said: 
 
 "Give me the water pail, I'm going to get a 
 pail of water, and when we reach the top of the 
 hill, we will camp." 
 
 But before we reached the top of the hill, we 
 had steadily climbed for over half a mile, and 
 the water was not any too light, nor was my wife's 
 temper in any too peaceable state. However, she 
 is always a good partner, and difficulties have to 
 come thick and fast before she makes any com- 
 plaint. 
 
 By the light of a blazing camp-fire, we cooked 
 and ate our supper, and being worn out by the 
 hard day's travel, we were soon sound asleep. 
 
 In the middle of the night we were awakened 
 by the cry : 
 
 "Fo' de good Lawd's sake, what's dis heah 
 white thing by de side ob de road?" and a negro's 
 voice again said, with a sound of pain: 
 
 "Take dis dog off me! Oh, take dis dog off!" 
 
 I sprang up and ran outside of the tent. Don 
 was holding to a negro's leg, and the poor creature, 
 badly frightened, was wildly beating the air with 
 his fists. I called to the dog, and he immediately 
 loosened his hold on the negro. The man fled down 
 the road so rapidly that I had no chance to learn if 
 he were badly wounded. The excitement broke 
 up our sleep for that night. As soon as daylight 
 commenced to dawn, we heard footsteps coming 
 down the road. Footsteps in that lonely, unfre- 
 
 —116— 
 
quented region were something to excite attention 
 at any time, but now, to our surprise, we beheld 
 the four tramps, one behind the other, marching 
 solemnly and in perfect time along the road to- 
 ward us. 
 
 Despite our dread of them, we had to laugh, 
 and I called out: 
 
 "Hello, boys! How are you? Where are you 
 going so early in the morning?" 
 
 This broke the ice, and the attitude of the 
 tramps at once assumed an air of sociability. 
 The leader of the four, who was the lame man 
 whom we had met some time before, said : 
 
 "We're goin' to Washington to hunt work. 
 Heard about you back in Richmond." 
 
 Stella then asked him: 
 
 "Where did you stay last night?" 
 
 He answered: 
 
 "Did you notice that old barn down the road 
 a piece? That's where we slept last night." 
 
 "Did you hear anyone last night?" said one 
 of the tramps. He continued: "About four 
 o 'clock this morning we heard a negro hollering at 
 the top of his voice, as he passed the barn: 'O, 
 Lawd save me! Save me from de ghosts and de 
 dog.' As far down the road as we could hear him, 
 he was still hollering. ' ' 
 
 We told them of our experience with the negro, 
 and they all laughed and said : 
 
 "Well, so long; I guess we're all going the same 
 direction and will meet again." 
 
 Our fear was now banished. We understood 
 that they were harmless and friendly. Little did 
 we know how lucky our meeting with them would 
 prove to be, even before many hours had passed. 
 We had walked only a couple of hours when we 
 came to a little town known as Stafford Court 
 
 —117— 
 
House. In the center of the village was an old, 
 black looking building — doubtless, the county 
 jail. It was very early in the morning, and we 
 were surprised to see the four tramps in front of 
 a little store, that had not yet opened for business. 
 Three of them were sitting on the porch of the 
 store building, whistling, singing and dangling 
 their feet to the ground, and the fourth one was out 
 in the middle of the street, bantering an old game 
 rooster, making a noise that sounded like "cockel- 
 doodel-doo," and sidling around the rooster, which 
 was spreading its wings to the ground, sticking out 
 its spurs and flopping up against the legs of its 
 tormentor, endeavoring, no doubt, to induce him 
 and his pals to get on out of town. As we got 
 near, I said: 
 
 "Hello, boys, what are you doing here! I 
 supposed that you would be miles ahead of us by 
 this time!" 
 
 The lame one spoke up: 
 
 "We're just waiting for the storekeeper to 
 come down and open up, so we can get something 
 for breakfast." 
 
 "Why, that's funny," said I, "I should think 
 by this time you wouldn't need anyone to open the 
 store — as many windows as there are." 
 
 "Well, that's right," he said," but you see 
 that black looking cage over there, don't you? It 
 looks like it would be pretty hard to get out of." 
 
 Supposing that we would pass through another 
 little village that same day, we did not lay in a sup- 
 ply of provisions, as we should have done. Again 
 we were compelled to travel over bad roads. All 
 day long we struggled with the cart to keep it 
 right side up. Suddenly we found ourselves in 
 a swamp. It was the old Telegraph road. There 
 were wires ahead, but no tracks to follow. Hav- 
 
 —118— 
 
ing no chance to turn around, we had to go on. 
 We gave Dolly the right of way, and she started 
 through the water. Don was frantically keeping 
 up with her and jumping at her head. We followed 
 as best we could, holding our breaths as one wheel 
 of the cart went up in the air and was suspended 
 there for an instant. Dolly, faithful little animal 
 that she was, pulled steadily on and finally landed 
 the cart outside of the swamp in the road beyond. 
 As for us, we were covered with mud and slime 
 from head to foot. 
 
 We had nothing to eat, but rest and dry clothes 
 were more to us than satisfying our hunger. So we 
 camped near a little stream, and made a blazing 
 fire. While drying our clothes, we heard voices 
 across the creek, but did not know that they were 
 directed to us, so did not answer. Soon, we looked 
 up and saw the four tramps coming toward us. 
 "Why, hello!" said one of them, "How did you get 
 through today?" 
 
 We told him of our trouble. 
 
 "Why didn't you take the other road?" said 
 another one. "A man told us about the swamp, 
 and how to get around it, and we thought you 
 would too." 
 
 ' ' Well, all 's well that ends well, "I said, "but it 's 
 not ended yet. We expected to pass some kind 
 of a store or farm house where we could get provis- 
 ions, but we could find no one living near the road, 
 and we have kept on. Now it's supper time, and 
 we have nothing to cook." 
 
 The lame fellow looked at the rest inquiringly, 
 and then back at us: 
 
 "We are as bad off as you are. There wasn't 
 a house along the road that we could hit for a hand 
 out, and all we've got is some coffee," and then 
 he pulled out of his pocket a greasy looking paper 
 
 —119— 
 
containing some ground coffee. "Here's my coffee 
 pot, too," he said, producing a blackened tin can 
 from the other pocket. "Come on, boys!" he call- 
 ed, and turning to me: "We are going across on 
 the other side of the creek. I think I saw a house 
 over there. If they won't donate anything to the 
 cause, we'll find something." And the four tramps 
 disappeared down the road. 
 
 We had almost given up their coming back, 
 and were about to retire with empty stomachs, 
 when we heard them coming. They were laughing 
 and talking. 
 
 "Hold that dog, friend," said one of them, 
 "we're loaded down and can't run as fast as that 
 nigger did the other night." 
 
 I jumped up and got Don by the collar. He 
 was growling and trying to get away, but upon 
 recognizing the friendly voices of the tramps, he 
 went up to them, wagging his tail and barking for 
 joy, as he seemed to realize that there was some- 
 thing to eat at hand. 
 
 The men unloaded. The lame one was carry- 
 ing a big, fat rooster. Another man had potatoes, 
 turnips and various other things, and a third had 
 bread and milk, which he set carefully on the 
 ground. 
 
 "How does this look for a blow-out?" the lame 
 fellow said. "We'll get together now and have a 
 real 'Mulligan stew,' like you've read about." 
 
 Stella did not stand back, this time, but hur- 
 ried around getting ready the vessels in which to 
 cook the stew, and I hastily threw a lot of brush 
 and wood on the fire, which burned up brightl)'^, 
 and made everything as clear as day. 
 
 Each one set to work to do his part. The 
 rooster was scalded, picked, and prepared for the 
 stew. Stella got the Dutch oven out of the cart 
 
 —120— 
 
"Walking Woolfs" caught for a picture in front of 
 Washington's Monument while in Richmond, Va. 
 
and set it over the fire with plenty of water in it; 
 and our old black coffee pot had its place over the 
 blazing coals. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when the famous stew 
 was ready to serve. During the whole evening, 
 we were kept laughing at the jokes and anecdotes 
 of the four. 
 
 As we encircled the campfire, each with a pan 
 of the savory stew on his lap and a large hunk of 
 bread and cup of coffee in his hands, I could not 
 help but think of the strange meeting with these 
 tramps, and wonder what had been the cause of 
 their following their present lives. I asked the 
 lame one how long he had been on the road. He 
 said: 
 
 "I've been a hobo since I was nine years old, 
 and I'm now forty -four." 
 
 Thinking that by this time I knew him well 
 enough to ask another question, I said: 
 
 "There's an old saying that you must not 
 look a gift horse in the mouth, but I just want to 
 ask you one more question, if you don't mind: 
 Where did you get that old rooster that we have 
 got in the stew?" 
 
 At this he burst out into a laugh: 
 
 "You saw that old rooster back at Stafford 
 Court House, when I was bantering him, didn't 
 you? Well, that's the boy. After you left us, 
 no one else being around, I just took out this sling 
 shot (producing one from his pocket) and popped 
 him over and then wrapped him up in my coat. I 
 feared that before the day was over we might all 
 get hungry." 
 
 This capped the climax. We were in debt to 
 him for supper. I sat there, thinking over 
 the situation, and seeing all these generous, friendly 
 faces before us. Weird as the situation was, Stella 
 
 —121— 
 
and I turned to each other and remarked: "This* 
 is great; a friend in need is a friend, indeed." Why 
 could we not have been as big-hearted and generous 
 as was this poor fellow. Instead, we had shown 
 suspicion and turned him away the night of the 
 storm. We spoke about it, but he said: 
 
 "Oh, don't let that bother you. You were 
 just a little afraid of me, and I knew it. That often 
 happens to tramps, but really we are a harmless 
 lot, and pretty good fellows when we have a 
 chance." 
 
 It was nearly morning when the odd-looking 
 group dispersed, the tramps going to an old, vacant 
 barn across the creek, which place they had chosen 
 for lodgings, when they happened to hear our 
 voices and came to our assistance. 
 
 The next morning we did not get up very 
 early, and our appetites were greatly tempted by 
 the sight of delicious looking red cherries, with 
 which the trees — just inside the fence — along the 
 road were loaded down. Stella wanted me to go 
 up to the house and buy some, but we had gotten 
 such a late start that I felt that we must not 
 lose any more time, not even for cherries. We 
 had gone only a short distance, when we began to 
 see sprigs of the cherry trees strewn all along the 
 road. Just as we came to the top of a hill, we saw 
 our tramp friends a few yards ahead of us. Every 
 one of them was loaded down with cherry branches. 
 
 "Here, we have some cherries," said the big 
 Irishman, "We've had more than we can eat," and 
 they loaded us down with the branches filled with 
 cherries. "We saw them, and just took them," 
 said one. "We believe in helping ourselves when 
 we see something good." 
 
 We were now close to the parting of the ways. 
 The boys had told us that they were going to enter 
 
 —122— 
 
Washington that evening, and we intended to 
 wait over, arriving at the city the next day. After 
 a few friendly words and a hand-clasp all around, 
 we bade the four tramps good-bye, as this, no 
 doubt, would be our last meeting. They disap- 
 peared down the road, waving their red and blue 
 bandana handkerchiefs. A little homely philoso- 
 phy may be appropriate in connection with the 
 incident of the tramps. What a pity it is that 
 everybody cannot be as kind and generous as were 
 those four unfortunates. 
 
 One night, while we were asleep, we were 
 awakened by something being thrown into the 
 tent, hitting against the cots. Frightened by the 
 noise, and thinking that something must have fallen 
 from the trees, we sat up. Just then a man's 
 voice said: 
 
 "Hey, there, come out and have a drink!" 
 
 It dawned upon us that the man was drunk 
 and that he might do us some harm, so I put my 
 head out, cautiously, and said: 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "Come out of there and be friendly and drink 
 with me," he called, with an oath. 
 
 By moonlight, I could see that he was on horse- 
 back. He was evidently getting home late Satur- 
 day night. I told him to wait a minute and I 
 would come out. But I did not drink any of the 
 contents of the bottle which he offered to me. I 
 pretended to, allowing it to run down on the ground. 
 The drunken intruder was satisfied, and soon left 
 us without further molestation. 
 
 For many months we had lived in close com- 
 munion with nature. The trees and sky had been 
 our canopy. The brooks had quenched our thirst, 
 and wild berries and vegetation had been to some 
 extent, our sustenance. 
 
 —123— 
 
We were now about to cross the boundary 
 line that would separate us from the simple life, 
 into an artificial existence in a great city. As we 
 realized this, our hearts sank. We were like child- 
 ren, emerging into maturity, and soon to leave 
 the faithful mother who had watched over our 
 development, knowing the time was near at hand 
 when her care would be no longer needed. 
 
 Crossing the Potomac River, we realized the 
 situation fully, and both felt like shedding tears, 
 for we knew that beyond, on the other bank, lay 
 the strenuous life that we would soon enter, and 
 that it would continue for the greater part of our 
 journey. Beautiful, secluded camping spots would 
 be few and far between. We were leaving the 
 woods and streams of Dixieland behind us. In 
 their place would be advanced civilization with 
 all of its limitations. 
 
 When we were in Washington, a gentleman, 
 seeing the rope that we were still using instead of 
 the broken tug, asked me if I would be offended 
 if he made me a present. I told him no, and soon 
 afterward he came up to the cart, holding a pair 
 of new hames and tugs. 
 
 "Now," he said, "all I ask of you is to give 
 me the old pieces of your harness for a souvenir." 
 
 Out of Washington, we got on the wrong road, 
 and spent the first night in the suburb of Benning. 
 A queer old lady came to see us, telling us that she 
 had noticed our little camp over among the trees; 
 that she had traveled in a wagon, years ago and 
 had enjoyed it so much that she could not resist 
 paying us a visit. 
 
 The Baltimore pike seems to be a favorite 
 resort of tramps. We saw them everywhere along 
 the road; lying at full length on the grass under 
 the trees, or going in all directions. A woman with 
 
 V —124— 
 
whom we talked about it told us that when she 
 did her weekly baking, she always baked several 
 extra loaves of bread for the tramps. A jovial 
 farmer pointed out to us a tramp house which he 
 had built for the accommodation of the "Buddies," 
 as he termed them. He said that for many years 
 he had been bothered by tramps wanting to sleep 
 in his barn, that he finally fenced off a little corner 
 of his farm and built a genuine house with every 
 convenience in it for cooking and sleeping. He 
 said that the building was seldom vacant, and 
 rooms had to be engaged in advance; that the 
 tramps were not bad fellows, and that he always 
 got plenty of work out of them and made good 
 friends of them. 
 
 "Why, I 've seen some of the boys for the last 
 thirty years," he said. "They just start out from 
 New York and walk to Washington, and then start 
 out again from Washington and walk back to New 
 York. I used to beat around the world a good deal 
 myself, before I settled down, and I walked too, but 
 in those days we were called tramps. Now, anyone 
 that walks is a pedestrian," and he laughed heart- 
 ily at his own wit. 
 
 In Baltimore, we were met with extreme cor- 
 diality by both the police and the people. As we 
 stopped, several big, fine policemen came to us with 
 a salute, and said: 
 
 "Welcome to our city. We've heard all about 
 you, and knew, from the Washington papers, that 
 you were coming." 
 
 Poor Don had a very sore foot, caused by 
 Dolly's backing the cart over it and taking off two 
 of his toe nails. A very sympathetic man in the 
 crowd stepped forward when he saw the accident, 
 and handed Stella a bottle and some absorbent 
 cotton, telling her to doctor the poor dog's foot 
 
 —125— 
 
right away. She washed the foot, bathed it witk 
 the medicine and wrapped it in absorbent cotton, 
 and from that time it seemed to us that all Baltimore 
 was asking questions about how Don got his foot 
 hurt, and all the humane officers in town got after 
 us. However, they did not have much of a case, 
 as Don was well taken care of. One little boy 
 insisted on getting him some bones, another got 
 him a drink, and others stood around patting and 
 telling him what a fine dog he was, until it is a 
 wonder that his head was not turned by so much 
 attention and flattery. 
 
 One of the novel features of our trip, and one 
 that seemed to attract Baltimore people was the 
 number of business cards and visiting cards tacked 
 to the cart. We found a new one, different from 
 all others, which was put on in Baltimore, evidently 
 by some of the always present and appreciative 
 little newsboys. On a scrap of paper tacked to 
 the cart, these words were scribbled: 
 "This man and this lady is true 
 And so is Don, the traveling dog, too." 
 It touched our hearts, for we knew that it came 
 from the depths of some small boy's innermost 
 feelings. 
 
 The first night that we were in Baltimore, a 
 gentleman came up to us on the street and asked 
 what our route would be, and howfar we were going. 
 I replied that we were going to Boston. He im- 
 mediately said: 
 
 "You'd better not go there. You will find 
 Boston people cold and unfriendly — not a bit like 
 the people of the South. Why, if you or your par- 
 ents or some of your people didn't graduate from 
 Harvard, they wouldn't condescend to give you 
 a second glance." 
 
 — 12i— 
 
Just then a very pleasant-faced man stepped 
 from the crowd, and said: 
 
 "Please pardon me, gentlemen, for intruding, 
 but I am a native of Boston. You just come up 
 to Boston, and you will be treated all right." 
 
 Quite a controversy was started in regard to 
 the hospitality of their respective sections of the 
 country, and I left them still talking, but first ac- 
 cepted the proffered card of the latter gentleman, 
 who told me to be sure to call him by telephone 
 when we reached Boston. 
 
 From this incident grew a series of meetings 
 with the New Englander, who was a traveling 
 salesman. Our ways seemed to lie along the same 
 route, and we met him in several different cities. 
 
 —127- 
 
Tramping and Camping 
 
 IN THE 
 
 North Atlantic States. 
 
 BY DWIGHT H. WOOLF. 
 
 f """^"f EAVING Baltimore, we walked under a 
 I -w- I railroad bridge over which a train was 
 - ■ J - Ps^ssing. Dolly became frightened at 
 j -"-^ I the noise and jumped toward me. Stella, 
 ^H— ....— M^ who was walking by my side, was thrown 
 to the ground and barely escaped being run over 
 by the wheel. As it was, she was covered with 
 black grease from head to foot, and was bruised 
 by the fall. 
 
 We crossed the Susquehanna River between 
 Havre de Grace and Perryville. Dolly was almost 
 overcome with heat and we had to stop in the woods 
 and camp for the night. I rubbed her down and 
 blanketed her, but she refused to eat her supper 
 until very late. We made only fifteen miles that 
 day, as it was impossible to walk far in the sun. 
 
 In Elkton the inhabitants were afraid to come 
 to their doors. They peeked out at us from be- 
 hind screens. One lone man ventured up to the 
 cart without a body-guard. He asked a few ques- 
 tions, and then a straggler or two came along. 
 An old, long-whiskered veteran asked me who we 
 were and what we were doing, and each time that 
 I replied, he stroked his scattered beard and 
 said, "Eh-hey." 
 
 —128— 
 
Just before our departure, a man asked if he 
 might put one of his cards on our cart. I replied : 
 
 "Certainly. I should like to have a card of 
 one of the deadest towns that I ever saw." 
 
 He seemed to take exception to the remark, 
 and just as he was about to say something, I con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "What's become of the horse-shoe pegs that 
 used to be out there in the street?" 
 
 At this, he flushed up and said: 
 
 "We hain't never had no horse-shoe pegs in 
 the street." 
 
 "Well, then, what do you people do for 
 amusement, anyway", I said. "Just sit around 
 and look at one another?" 
 
 Then he collected his wits and replied: 
 
 "Oh, we just sit around and watch for such 
 as you to come through." 
 
 Down in front of the postoffice, a man in- 
 quired : 
 
 "Do you ever feed the horse?" looking all 
 the time at a large bag of grain strapped on top of 
 the cart. I replied: 
 
 "No, mister, we never feed the horse, we just 
 let her run around loose at the mercy of the public." 
 
 "Well, what's that you've got up there? 
 if it ain't feed, what is it?" he said. 
 
 "Oh, that's just a bag of fertilizer that we 
 picked up down the road, to make us strong,"! 
 answered. 
 
 He grunted and walked away, and a bystander 
 began to laugh, saying: 
 
 "You fellows, can't you see he's just kiddin' 
 ye?" 
 
 All through this section of the country the 
 roads are piked and fenced off, which makes it 
 hard to find natural camping spots. Beautiful 
 
 —129— 
 
places there are, but they are just over the wire 
 fence. 
 
 The evening before we arrived at Wilmington, 
 Delaware, we passed an orchard of cherry trees, 
 full of luscious fruit. I went to the house and asked 
 the gentleman who came to the door if he owned 
 the cherries across the road. He replied that he 
 did and told me to help myself. When I asked 
 if he had a place where we could camp for the 
 night, he answered courteously that he had, and 
 showed me a fine, grassy pasture, only a short dis- 
 tance from the residence. There was no stock in 
 the pasture except an old horse, twenty-five years 
 old. The owner said that the horse would not 
 bother us as it was blind in one eye and so stiff 
 that it couldn't run. That night we were awaken- 
 ed by something running at full speed toward the 
 tent, snorting and puffing, and the next thing our 
 tent was torn from top to bottom. The horse had 
 run into the ropes. The next morning we mended 
 the tent as best we could and made it do until we 
 could get another one. 
 
 At Wilmington we were the guests of Eastern 
 people who had lived in California for some time. 
 They had absorbed much of the whole-souled West- 
 ern spirit, and our visit with them was a delightful 
 one. 
 
 It was now the very hottest summer weather. 
 We started on our walk very early in the mornings, 
 but by nine thirty o 'clock it became so intensely hot 
 that the sun was unbearable. We were forced to 
 rest in the middle of the day and walk from five 
 to ten A. M. and from three to seven P. M. Just 
 before reaching Philadelphia, we experienced the 
 worst heat. 
 
 The residents of Philadelphia were rather 
 more conservative than those of the majority of 
 
 —130— 
 
the cities which we visited, but when they^ became 
 interested in us, they proved to be very friendly 
 and liberal-minded. 
 
 We spent many hours in the renowned old 
 Independence Hall, looking through the rooms 
 and seeing the relics of early days. A photo- 
 graph of us was taken in front of the building. It 
 showed the horse and cart and a large crowd of 
 spectators. 
 
 Camden was the first city in New Jersey that 
 we visited. The state holds the record for mos- 
 quitoes, not excepting Southeastern Texas, nor 
 Louisiana. Near New Brunswick we were com- 
 pelled to pack up our belongings and walk through 
 the night to keep from being devoured by the pests. 
 Dolly and Don were frantic. Dolly rolled and 
 pawed the air so that there was danger of her 
 breaking away. 
 
 In the vicinity of Newark, a big New Found- 
 land dog jumped at Don, and the strange dog's 
 master, who was looking on, did nothing to prevent 
 it. I used my stick to drive the Newfoundland 
 away, and his master then sicced him on me. My 
 hands were full, when Stella called out to the man 
 that if he didn't take his dog off she would shoot 
 it. At that the old man called the big animal off 
 at once. Don is very peaceable and never molests 
 another canine, as we have always endeavored to 
 avoid trouble of that kind. We therefore feel per- 
 fectly justified in defending Don. Newark is be- 
 hind the times in some respects. At any rate it 
 has its limitations — and its cranks. We had an 
 altercation with a humane officer before we could 
 persuade him that Dolly was well treated and well 
 fed. The proprietor of the restaurant where we 
 took our meals while in the city was a peculiar 
 character. He was a Dutchman, and in ordinary 
 
 — LSI— 
 
conversation was so excitable that he seemed to 
 be angry, but on inquiry we learned that it was 
 only his way of being agreeable. 
 
 Just as we were leaving Newark, a man who 
 was driving a pie wagon hailed us. We stopped, 
 and he came running toward us with a huge 
 blackberry pie in his hand, saying: 
 
 "I have heard a great deal about you, and the 
 long trip you are taking, and I want to give you 
 this pie in token of my appreciation of your nerve 
 and pluck. It takes westerners to do such things. 
 Just fancy Eastern women taking off their high heels 
 and false hair, and putting on such clothes as your 
 wife wears, and doing a stunt like this. Well, they 
 just couldn't if they wanted to; they've been 
 brought up too much in doors." 
 
 Our treatment by the members of the Elks' 
 Club in Newark and elsewhere was all that could 
 be desired. We carried the cards advertising the 
 yearly reunion of the Elks until the sun and the 
 rain, beating upon the cart, obliterated the print- 
 ing. 
 
 On July 19th, 1911, not quite a year from the 
 date upon which we ended our two thousand mile 
 walk from Kansas City to New York, we again 
 entered the Metropolis, crossing the Hudson river 
 at the twenty-third Street ferry from Jersey City. 
 After a visit with the New York World, we walked 
 across the Brooklyn Bridge and obtained accom- 
 modations where we had stayed during our previous 
 visit to the city. 
 
 At the livery barn where Dolly and Don had 
 been kept for a month on the former trip, Dolly 
 turned and made her way to the incline which 
 led to the stalls above. Don capered about and 
 barked, smelling everything, and showing very 
 plainly that he remembered the place. The dog 
 
 —132— 
 
refused to go to our room with us. He went back 
 to the barn and could not be persuaded to leave 
 the cart. 
 
 We remained in New York only a few days, as 
 we were anxious to see new territory. Leaving 
 Brooklyn, we walked out Atlantic Avenue, pass- 
 ing through that portion of the city in which there 
 is a large foreign population. There were thous- 
 ands of poor, dirty children, whose only play- 
 ground were the streets. The little ones appeared 
 underfed, and were badly clothed, and through 
 their filth hardly looked human. It was impossi- 
 ble to get a good picture of the mob that followed 
 us, for the strange people did not keep quiet long 
 enough to be photographed. 
 
 Our tent was pitched in the evening at Rich- 
 mond Hill, a suburb. Visitors swarmed around 
 us until a late hour, and we finally had to ex- 
 cuse ourselves and bid them goodnight. 
 
 The next morning, I arose early and was out- 
 side the tent preparing breakfast, when a young 
 woman caller arrived. She approached me, say- 
 ing: 
 
 "Oh, I would like to make just such a trip! 
 I would like to travel with you." 
 
 I informed her that I had a wife inside the 
 tent; that she was a great big woman. At that 
 the young lady said: 
 
 "Oh! have you? I guess I'd better go now." 
 
 At Freeport, Long Island, I delivered a lecture 
 in the Airdome Theatre, having Dolly and Don 
 with the cart on exhibition there. 
 
 The following night our camp was pitched 
 close to Oyster Bay. Our object in going by way 
 of Oyster Bay was to see Colonel Roosevelt, as 
 we had made an appointment with him through 
 his secretary in New York. 
 
 —133— 
 
At Sagamore Hill, the former president greeted 
 us with hearty handshakes and a smile. He seem- 
 ed to be greatly interested in our undertaking, and 
 highly complimented Stella for what she had done. 
 He wanted to know what all the cards were for on 
 the cart, and asked a number of other questions. 
 
 Inquiring about our parentage, and being 
 informed that we were of English and German 
 stock, he said: 
 
 "That's good stock, both of them; that's what 
 it takes to make success in life." 
 
 As we passed Centreport, Long Island, two 
 gentlemen hailed us from the door of a country 
 hotel, inviting us to stop and have refreshments. 
 We became acquainted with some of the finest peo- 
 ple whom it has ever been our good fortune to 
 meet, and were entertained with music by an ex- 
 cellent orchestra that played both classical and 
 popular selections, and by a lady comedian of well 
 known theatrical fame. It was a gala night— one 
 long to be remembered. 
 
 At Northport and other places our reception 
 was all that could be desired. Reaching Port 
 Jefferson at nine o'clock, we put up for the night, 
 and crossed Long Island Sound to Bridgeport, 
 Connecticut, the next morning. On Long Island 
 we saw the most magnificent homes that we have 
 ever seen anywhere. It seemed that every house 
 was a mansion. Many of them belonged to mil- 
 lionaires. The grounds and buildings where aero- 
 planes are constructed were of great interest. 
 
 The trip across Long Island Sound was a most 
 delightful one. It was a clear day and we could 
 see in the distance the shore of Connecticut from 
 the time that the boat left Port Jefferson. 
 
 In Bridgeport we were subjected to several 
 impertinent remarks, but managed to keep even 
 
 —134— 
 
with those who challenged us. The Superintendent 
 of Police gave us a personal letter to the Chief of 
 Police of Kansas City. 
 
 All the way to New Haven, we walked close 
 to the shore of Long Island Sound. There were 
 many summer resorts along the route, a number 
 of which we visited. 
 
 Connecticut is a "blue law" state, and we soon 
 discovered that some of its cities are still managed 
 — or governed — according to ideas that were sup- 
 posed to be right hundreds of years ago. New 
 Haven was friendly, but Hartford and Meriden 
 were controlled by officials who were narrow-mind- 
 ed and prejudiced against anything like an inno- 
 vation. The Mayor of Hartford was the kind of 
 a man who looked at everything from his own re- 
 stricted point of view, and his views evidently 
 dated back to the times when the blue laws were 
 framed. One could not help thinking what a 
 conspicuous figure he would have made in the days of 
 witchcraft, when superstition ran riot and public 
 officials openly employed their power to further 
 their own selfish ends, using the ignorance of the 
 people as a cloak to cover their misdeeds; when 
 every stranger was regarded with suspicion; but 
 now when the masses of the people have reached a 
 high degree of intelligence — even in the blue law 
 states — such narrowness as that exhibited by the 
 Mayor of Hartford and his subordinates is com- 
 mented on and rebuked by the press. 
 
 After we left the city, the Hartford Daily 
 Courant — August 15, 1911 — published the follow- 
 ing, under the heading: "HAVE WALKED 
 6,000 MILES TO FIND IT OUT. COULDN'T 
 GET PERMIT TO SELL POST CARDS ON 
 MAIN STREET. CITY BLACKLISTED IN 
 "TRAMPING AND CAMPING." 
 
 D. H. Woolf and his wife have not as high an 
 
 — 135— 
 
opinion of Hartford as they had when they got 
 into town Sunday. They are taking a little walk 
 from Kansas City to Boston, a matter of more than 
 6,000 miles by the route they are going. They are 
 walking for their health, and making their living 
 on the way by selling postal cards, bearing pictures 
 of themselves and their camping outfit. They 
 wanted to get a permit to sell these cards on the 
 street from a little wagon which carries their bag- 
 gage. Chief of Police William F. Gunn would not 
 give the permit for any place except Windsor and 
 Village streets. They did not find the class of people 
 there they cared to cater to, and asked for permission 
 to sell the cards on Main Street, and were turned 
 down. They appealed, or rather Mr. Woolf did, 
 to Mayor Edward L. Smith, and he declined to 
 over-rule Chief Gunn, consequently, Mr. Woolf 
 said they would say goodbye to Hartford. 
 
 Mr. Woolf, a clean-cut, plain-spoken young 
 man, had a long talk with the mayor in an effort to 
 make his share of traveling expenses in Hartford. 
 He is a musician, and was an orchestra leader in 
 his home city, Kansas City, until his health failed, 
 and he became a nervous wreck. The doctor told 
 him that the only cure was open air, and lots of it. 
 That, at first, did not seem an easy prescription to 
 fill, until Mrs. Woolf suggested walking, and they 
 have been walking ever since, a matter of two years. 
 Mr. Woolf is regaining his health and expects when 
 his walking is done, to be in better physical con- 
 dition than he ever was before. ***=!=** 
 Eventually they (Mr. and Mrs. Woolf) will write 
 a book entitled 'Tramping and Camping.' In 
 this book they will describe the country as they 
 found it. ************ 
 
 The outfit consists of Dolly, the horse, and 
 Don, their dog. The Woolfs carry their tents and 
 cooking utensils with them, and always sleep in the 
 
 —136— 
 
2 "S 
 
 « o 
 
open, seldom stopping at hotels. They are dressed 
 in khaki, and their clothes are made for walking. 
 Last summer they walked from Kansas City to the 
 Atlantic Coast, and returned by train. They 
 started their 8,000 mile jaunt on October 15th, last 
 year, and went through the states of Kansas, Okla- 
 homa, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, 
 Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, 
 Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, 
 and New York, stopping at Sagamore Hill, Oyster 
 Bay, long enough to get an opportunity to shake 
 hands with Colonel Roosevelt. * * * * * " 
 
 We now began to see a great many foreigners. 
 The population of some towns was composed 
 almost entirely of foreigners. They are brought 
 to America to do factory work in the East, as their 
 labor is cheap. 
 
 It seemed to us that the states of Connecticut 
 and Massachusetts would better revise their blue 
 laws and give their own countrymen a chance to 
 earn an honest living, and ship these aliens back' 
 to their own countries, or hustle them out of the 
 cities and put them on some of the vacant land 
 scattered around over the United States. Then 
 there might be an opportunity to make American 
 citizens of them. As long as they are huddled to- 
 gether, eight or ten in one squalid room, living 
 like dogs, there is little hope of their becoming civ- 
 ilized. In the East, foreigners are doing the work 
 and native born citizens are becoming street loafers. 
 
 But there is one thing that we must give the 
 blue law states credit for, and that is good roads. 
 The roads could not be excelled in any locality, as 
 they are like boulevards. 
 
 Springfield proved to be very unlike Hartford 
 and Meriden, and our stay was an exceedingly 
 pleasant one. Just out of Springfield, we met a 
 man on a motor cycle, who had made a cross country 
 
 — 137— 
 
ride from San l rancisco to New York. It seems 
 that he had taken the trip several times by different 
 routes. He showed the effects of out door life, as 
 he had a very ruddy complexion and a stalwart 
 form. 
 
 Near Sudbury, Massachusetts, we visited the 
 old Wayside Inn, made famous by Longfellow's 
 poem. For a great many years the building was 
 unoccupied and the grounds were grown up with 
 weeds. Finally someone conceived the idea of 
 purchasing the place and restoring it to its former 
 condition. The main part of the building remains 
 the same as in the days of Longfellow, except that 
 it has been painted and repaired. An addition 
 was built for the accommodation of guests. We 
 were shown through the old house and everything 
 of interest was pointed out to us and explained. 
 The old bar-room, in the front of the house, is long 
 and narrow with a low ceiling. The kitchen and 
 big fireplace are just the same as in the early days. 
 On the wall is a pine board, into which the cork 
 puller was screwed, and the board showed the fre- 
 quent usage, as it was perforated with numer- 
 ous holes. Everything in the house is of the antique 
 style. The large, old-fashioned four pillared bed- 
 steads nearly fill the little bedrooms. We were 
 shown the room where Longfellow used to sleep, 
 and also the apartment occupied by La Fayette, 
 and the little alcove adjoining, which was the place 
 allotted to his valet. 
 
 The grounds are kept in nice condition, and 
 the Inn is well patronized by a wealthy class of 
 people from Boston and the surrounding cities. 
 
 Probably if Longfellow could return he would 
 hardly recognize some parts of the building with 
 its modern improvements. Where the stables used 
 to be, there is now a fine garage. Over the door 
 of the inn, there is an old red sign with a horse 
 
 —138— 
 
painted on it, and the words: "The Red Horse 
 Tavern." 
 
 On the pike, just before we arrived in Boston, 
 a leading merchant of that city interviewed us. 
 Later, we saw him again, at Syracuse, New York, 
 where he had just come down from a trip in a flying 
 machine. He said that he was seventy years of 
 age, but it seemed to us that he was far more pro- 
 gressive than many younger persons. 
 
 On August 23rd, we reached Boston. The 
 Boston Globe described the first occurrence after 
 our arrival as follows: 
 
 "They (referring to us) are full of reminiscences 
 of their trip, but probably no more humorous in- 
 cident happened during all their journey than right 
 here in Boston, after they had been in the city less 
 than thirty minutes. After visiting the Globe 
 and being requested to prevent the congestion of 
 travel as much as possible, Mr. and Mrs. Woolf and 
 their outfit proceeded to Broad Street, where Mr. 
 Woolf made a call. 
 
 While in the Broad Street building they looked 
 out of the window and saw a stranger sitting upon 
 the box and driving Dolly away. It was one of 
 the few times a human being had sat upon the 
 vehicle and Dolly did not know just what to make 
 of it. The stranger proved to be a thoroughly 
 happy 'souse' who conceived the idea of doing 
 some tramping and hiking on his own hook. 
 
 But he only got a little way, for when Mr. and 
 Mrs. Woolf rushed from the building they found 
 that a policeman of Division Two had already 
 intercepted the cart and the driver. The latter 
 was walked to a stable on Custom House Street 
 where the patrol wagon of Division Two is housed, 
 and without more ado, the inebriated person was 
 taken to the Court Square police station." 
 
 Boston was our Eastern destination, and the 
 
 —139— 
 
turning point for home. We had intended to 
 spend some time in the city, but a rain set in and 
 most of the three days we were there was spent in 
 doors. However, we managed to see several points 
 of interest, among them Faneuil Hall and the Old 
 State House. Many of the students at Harvard 
 College congratulated us on the success of our long 
 trip. Along the roadsides, all over Massachusetts, 
 were places marked by inscriptions, giving dates 
 and incidents of Revolutionary days. 
 
 The roads were rough going from Boston to 
 Lowell, Athol, Fitchburg and Greenfield. Then 
 we entered the Berkshire Hills. The Hoosac Moun- 
 tain was a very high hill, through which the rail- 
 road tunnels, but the wagon road goes over the 
 top of it. Getting up this long, steep hill was hard 
 for Dolly. We had to stop every few feet and put 
 a stone under the wheel to keep the cart from 
 slipping back, while Dolly was resting. It required 
 a whole day to climb the mountain. When we 
 reached the summit, we took a picture of the scen- 
 ery, which was fine. There were hills in every di- 
 rection, and the river looked like a ribbon of silver. 
 
 We pitched our tent upon the top of the moun- 
 tain, and the heavy dew and the cold air made us 
 think of winter days, although it was only the latter 
 part of August. 
 
 The next morning we walked down the moun- 
 tain side and entered the manufacturing town of 
 North Adams, Massachusetts. In this state we 
 noticed that the houses, barns and all out-buildings 
 are usually placed in a long row. Probably they 
 are connected by inside doors. It must be that 
 the winters are very cold, and farmers are thus 
 saved from exposure during storms, when they do 
 their chores and feed stock. There is a great con- 
 trast between the barns of the North and those of 
 the far South. In the South we saw nothing except 
 
 —140— 
 
tumble-down sheds with poles over the tops and 
 roofs made of straw. 
 
 The day that we left North Adams, we were in 
 three states, Massachusetts, Vermont and New 
 York. Our luncheon was eaten directly on the 
 state line between Vermont and New York. 
 
 A man to whom we spoke of having been in 
 three states that day said: 
 
 "That's nothing! a walker went through here 
 a few days ago and beat you one state." 
 
 "What state was that?" I asked. 
 
 He replied: 
 
 "The state of intoxication." 
 
 On the main automobile road of New York 
 we passed through Troy, Albany, Schenectady, 
 Amsterdam, Utica, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, 
 and along Lake Erie through Fredonia and West- 
 field. 
 
 One night, while camping near Utica, we were 
 awakened by a ray of light from a lantern, and a 
 voice that said: 
 
 "Say, in there, come out! I want to talk to 
 you about raising the Maine. I've got a scheme to 
 raise the Maine, and it won't cost the government 
 hardly anything, but I can't get them to give me 
 the job." 
 
 Not knowing what to think of being accosted 
 in that manner, especially at such an hour of the 
 night, we arose and talked to the old man, whom 
 we found to be a harmless creature, just a little bit 
 off on the subject of raising the Maine. He said 
 that he lived up the road a short distance, at a 
 planing mill, and he hoped that we wouldn't get 
 up in the night and carry it away. We assured 
 him that we didn't need a planing mill, and that 
 some time he would be able to convince the govern- 
 ment that he was the proper man to raise the Maine, 
 and finally, he took his departure. 
 
 —141— 
 
In Rochester, the famous pedestrian, Mr. 
 Weston, was introduced to us. It was his cross 
 country walk in 1909, that gave us the idea of going 
 on foot to the Ozark Mountains. Many people, 
 all over the United States, owe their restored 
 health to the example set by Mr. Weston. 
 
 On our former trip through Rochester, a young 
 man accompanied us out of the city and walked 
 the rest of the day. He camped and ate supper 
 with us and then walked back to the city. We 
 again had the pleasure of his company. This 
 time he went twenty-five miles with us, and he 
 seemed to enjoy the hike, telling us, upon leaving, 
 that he was none the worse for the unwonted exer- 
 cise. 
 
 From Buffalo, the Lake Shore Road is lined 
 for many miles with beautiful country homes. The 
 immense expanse of blue water was indeed a grand 
 sight, but the cold wind blowing from it was not 
 very comfortable unless we kept up a brisk pace. 
 
 We were now in the grape growing regions, 
 and a lady whom we had seen before on our first 
 journey to the East loaded us down with the lus- 
 cious fruit. 
 
 At Erie I asked a lady for permission to camp 
 upon her property. She replied: 
 
 "Certainly, Mr. Woolf. Just go over there in 
 the orchard and camp where you did before." 
 
 At this, I gave her another look, and saw to 
 my surprise that she was the lady with whom we 
 had camped before. She had recognized us im- 
 mediately. 
 
 We felt that each day must be made to count 
 on the homeward journey, but it rained constantly 
 for a week and there were many delays. The 
 route took us through Ohio — the cities of Ashta- 
 bula and Cleveland, thence south to Columbus and 
 Dayton. 
 
 —142— 
 
In Ohio weovertook a family that wasValking 
 from New York to Texas, to take up government 
 land. The father was in ill health, and the plucky 
 little wife and five children were faithful compan- 
 ions on the long and tedious journey. They had 
 started with a push cart, the father pushing the 
 youngest three children in the cart, which also con- 
 tained the tent and camping outfit. After a few 
 miles, the father could stand the strain no longer, 
 and was almost in a nervous collapse, so they decided 
 to get a horse and wagon and let the little ones 
 ride. It had required a great amount of energy 
 for these people from the congested city of New 
 York to make such an effort to restore their wasted 
 health by out of door living. 
 
 In Springfield we met another pedestrian — a 
 young Yankee walking from Maine to California. 
 He was a genial, jolly fellow, and we spent many 
 a day laughing and joking. Our paths separated 
 at Terre Haute, Indiana, but one day after we had 
 reached home, what was our surprise when the 
 young man knocked at our door. We had a pleas- 
 ant visit with him. 
 
 Don got lost in Indianapolis. We went into 
 a restaurant, and he had not seen us enter the build- 
 ing. Stella and I hunted all of the morning for the 
 dog. We also notified the police and requested 
 that messenger boys be instructed to keep on the 
 lookout. 
 
 We had become discouraged, when Stella hap- 
 pened to go over to a large monument called "The 
 Circle." All at once something bumped against 
 her almost taking her off her feet. It was Don, 
 who was so over-joyed at finding her that he was 
 nearly crazy. 
 
 Just before we got to East St. Louis, we came 
 to a German tavern, where we decided to take din- 
 ner. The hostess informed us that she would serve 
 
 — 143— 
 
US something, but she had not much left, as dinner 
 was over. Her price for the meal was twenty-five 
 cents. 
 
 Of course, we did not expect much, and when 
 she entered the dining-room with a large bowl of 
 delicious vegetable soup ; then followed with three 
 big platters of different kinds of meats; with sweet 
 and Irish potatoes, pickles, preserves, cake, pie, 
 and last of all, but not by any means least, a big pot 
 of coffee, we could not conceal our surprise. She 
 retired to the kitchen, leaving us to help ourselves. 
 Stella looked pleased and happy as she surveyed 
 the table. It is needless to say that we did justice 
 to the meal, as there is nothing like walking to 
 give one a good appetite. 
 
 Stopping only a day in St. Louis, we resumed 
 our way across the state of Missouri. At St. 
 Charles a storm overtook us. The weather turned 
 cold suddenly, and the next day we faced a bitter 
 wind with snow and sleet under our feet. The 
 entire trip through Missouri was attended by rain 
 and bad weather. We put on our rubber coats, 
 and just plodded along. 
 
 On November 30th, Thanksgiving Day, we 
 entered our home town and were met at the city 
 limits by an escort of mounted police and news- 
 paper reporters. We delivered a letter from Mr. 
 Eugene Birmingham, Chief of Police at Bridge- 
 port, Connecticut, to Chief Griffin, at the City Hall, 
 Kansas City, and were complimented on the success 
 ful termination of our long journey around half of 
 the United States. 
 
 When this official duty was over, we were 
 photographed many times by various local news- 
 paper photographers, then, walking across the 
 Inter-city Viaduct, reached our home at 1 :30 P. M. 
 where our parents welcomed us with a fine turkey 
 dinner to which we did full justice. 
 
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