tter reception they
encountered in the village.

It appears that some of the citizens in a panic of dread were all for
driving the Garlands out of town--then up rose old Hugh McClintock, big
and gray as a grizzly bear, and put himself between the leader of the
mob and its victims, and said, "You shall not lay hands upon them. Shame
on ye!" And such was the power of his mighty arm and such the menace of
his flashing eyes that no one went further with the plan of casting the
new comers into the wilderness.

Old Hugh established them in a lonely cabin on the edge of the village,
and thereafter took care of them, nursing grandfather with his own hands
until he was well. "And that's the way the McClintocks and the Garlands
first joined forces," my father often said in ending the tale. "But the
name of the man who carried your Aunt Susan in his wagon from Milwaukee
to Monticello I never knew."

I cannot understand why that sick girl did not die on that long journey
over the rough roads of Wisconsin, and what it all must have seemed to
my gentle New England grandmother I grieve to think about. Beautiful as
the land undoubtedly was, such an experience should have shaken her
faith in western men and western hospitality. But apparently it did not,
for I never heard her allude to this experience with bitterness.

In addition to his military character, Dick Garland also carried with
him the odor of the pine forest and exhibited the skill and training of
a forester, for in those early days even at the time when I began to
remember the neighborhood talk, nearly every young man who could get
away from the farm or the village went north, in November, into the pine
woods which covered the entire upper part of the State, and my father,
who had been a raftsman and timber cruiser and pilot ever since his
coming west, was deeply skilled with axe and steering oars. The
lumberman's life at that time was rough but not vicious, for the men
were nearly all of native American stock, and my father was none the
worse for his winters in camp.

His field of action as lumberman was for several years, in and around
Big Bull Falls (as it was then called), near the present town of Wausau,
and during that time he had charge of a crew of loggers in winter and in
summer piloted rafts of lumber down to Dubuque and other points where
saw mills were located. He was called at this time, "Yankee Dick, the
Pilot."

As a result of all these experiences in t