. Goodsil
to finish my gun which he did and in plenty of time. After I got my
gun the days seemed like weeks and the weeks like months. I was
constantly in fear that Mr. Harris would not come. But promptly at
the time set, in the evening just before sundown, a man with a one
horse wagon loaded with bear traps and other traps of smaller size
and with one of the worst old rack-of-bones of a horse that I had
ever seen, drove up to father's place, stopped and inquired if Mr.
Woodcock lived there. I immediately asked if he was Mr. Harris, as I
had already guessed who the man was. He replied that he was and said
that he took it that I was the lad who was going with him.

Mr. Harris said that "often an old horse and a colt" worked well
together and that we would make a good team. While we were putting
his horses away I asked him what he intended to do with the old horse
and he replied that he brought him along so that if we got stuck he
could hitch him on and help out. The other horse was a fine horse and
I was at a loss to know what Mr. Harris meant.

During the evening I thought father and Mr. Harris talked on every
other subject rather than hunting but I managed to put in a few
questions now and again as to what we were to do when we arrived at
the great Black Forest.

Mr. Harris was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a long beard nearly
as white as snow. We were up early the next morning and on our way
before daylight. Our route was over the road known as the Jersey
Shore turnpike but after the first four miles we went through an
unbroken wilderness for twenty miles, save only one house, then known
as the Edcomb Place, now called Cherry Springs. The next place, ten
miles farther on, was a group of four or five shacks called Carter
Camp, but known now as Newbergen. This was in the year 1863 and the
conditions over this road are the same today only the large timber
has been mostly cut away and there is no one living at Cherry
Springs. Five miles farther on we came to Oleana, where there was a
hotel and store, owned by Henry Anderson, a Norwegian, who came to
this country as the private secretary of Ole Bull, the great
violinist, and it was here where the much talked of Ole Bull Castle
was built.

Beg pardon, I guess I am getting off the trap line. We stopped at the
hotel for the night and the next morning purchased supplies
sufficient to last during the entire campaign, consisting of lard,
pork, flour, corn meal, tea, c