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CANCER-KILLING VIRUSES • DANGEROUS MELTING IN THE ARCTIC
China:
The Next
Space
Superpower
Star Clusters Born
of Galactic Collisions
The Economics
of Child Labor
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—see page 20
COPYRIGHT 2003 SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN, INC.

A S T R O N O M Y
46 The Unexpected Youth of Globular Clusters
BY STEPHEN E. ZEPF AND KEITH M. ASHMAN
Globular star clusters were thought to be the stodgy old codgers of the universe,
but many, in fact, are young.
M A T E R I A L S
52 ArtificialMuscles
BY STEVEN ASHLEY
New polymers that act like electrically controlled muscles could power robots and
prosthetic limbs, replace speaker diaphragms and literally change the shape of aviation.
E N V I R O N M E N T
60 Meltdown in the North
BY MATTHEW STURM, DONALD K. PEROVICH AND MARK C. SERREZE
Sea ice and glaciers are melting, permafrost is thawing, tundra is yielding to shrubs.
How will it all affect the Arctic—and the rest of the planet?
B I O T E C H N O L O G Y
68 Tumor-Busting Viruses
BY DIRK M. NETTELBECK AND DAVID T. CURIEL
Researchers are investigating treatments for cancer that would infect the body
with viruses lethal only to tumor cells.
H U M A N S P A C E F L I G H T
76 China’s Great Leap Upward
BY JAMES OBERG
How China hopes to become the newest space superpower.
E C O N O M I C S
84 The Economics of Child Labor
BY KAUSHIK BASU
Campaigns against child labor work
better when they combine the long
arm of the law with the invisible
hand of the marketplace.
contents
october2003
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN Volume 289 Number 4 features
www.sciam.com SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN 5
52 Robot walks using
artificial muscles

6 SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN OCTOBER 2003
departments
8 SA Perspectives
Biotechnology even Europe can love.
10 How to Contact Us
10 On the Web
12 Letters
18 50, 100 & 150 Years Ago
20 News Scan
■ Gaps in defending food against terrorism.
■ Sexuality research ducks a conservative budget ax.
■ The race to find the superconductivity state.
■ Play it again: Treating musicians’ repetitive stress.
■ Mapping the earth’s gravity.
■ Flaws in studies of hormone replacement therapy?
■ By the Numbers: Interracial marriages.
■ Data Points: Fast-cracking crust.
38 Innovations
A serendipitous discovery could provide engineers
with a dream material: inexpensive titanium.
42 Staking Claims
If the patent office needs a good, sharp kick,
this tinkerer can provide it.
44 Insights
Pekka Haavisto of the United Nations worries
about the environmental impact of Gulf War II.
92 Working Knowledge
Smart fabrics for smart athletes.
94 Technicalities
The world’s largest video arcade could fit
in your living room.
98 Reviews
Small Things Considered explores the trade-offs
that make all designs imperfect.
101
44
103
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN Volume 289 Number 4
columns
43 Skeptic BY MICHAEL SHERMER
One hundred and six billion arguments
against immortality.
101 Puzzling Adventures BY DENNIS E. SHASHA
Strategic bullying.
102 Anti Gravity BY STEVE MIRSKY
Later, ’gator.
103 Ask the Experts
What causes insomnia?
Why is the sky blue?
104 Fuzzy Logic BY ROZ CHAST
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Pekka Haavisto
Cover image by Kenn Brown;
SRI International (preceding page); Kate Brooks (left)

When President George W. Bush scolded Europe last
June for resisting genetically modified crops, he was
acting out his part in what has become one of the most
boring controversies in biotechnology. The U.S. always
plays rah-rah cheerleader to Europe’s pouty bench-
warmer. Much of the public on both sides of the At-
lantic continues to reject transgenic food despite science
and industry arguments about its benefits. Findings
that point to risks from transgenic organisms are
waved away as manageable by
biotech’s advocates; findings
that reinforce biotech’s safety
never surmount the precaution-
ary principle (do nothing new
until its safety is perfectly as-
sured). The story hasn’t pro-
gressed in years.
What a relief, then, to con-
sider an often overlooked seg-
ment of biotech that has so far
escaped the fracas. Industrial
biotechnology applies the life
sciences to manufacturing—for
instance, by using cells to syn-
thesize materials or by substituting enzymes for caus-
tic reagents.
Last April in Lyon, France, the World Life Sciences
Forum (BioVision 2003) dedicated much of its pro-
gram to the subject, which some European authorities
call “white biotechnology” to distinguish it from the
agricultural (“green”) and medical (“red”) varieties.
Similarly, at the Biotechnology Industry Organization
in Washington, D.C., in June, it was sometimes called
the “third wave of biotechnology.”
The sobriquets may be new, but the essence of in-
dustrial biotechnology is as old as bread and beer.
Yeasts, molds and other microorganisms have been
used to produce goods throughout history. Today’s
manufacturers can tweak cells in unprecedented ways,
however. The technology’s proponents argue that life-
science solutions can lower production costs, create
jobs, conserve resources and reduce pollution, to boot.
McKinsey and Company has projected that by
2010, between 10 and 20 percent of all chemical pro-
duction might involve biotechnology (up from rough-
ly 5 percent now), reflecting about $280 billion in sales
value. Such growth would require favorable circum-
stances—not the least of which, of course, is the con-
tinued avoidance of a backlash like that tormenting ge-
netic crop developers. How likely is that?
Industrial biotech’s best ace in the hole is the pub-
lic’s casual confidence in it. No one seems to protest
when industrial chemicals or other nonfood products
come from genetically modified sources, probably be-
cause the organisms are cloistered inside facilities.
Still, growth in industrial biotech may require more
exposure of altered organisms to the outside world. As
the complexity of the modified organisms rises, so, too,
might ethical objections. In 2002, when Nexia Biotech-
nologies created goats that had spider silk proteins in
their milk, the ethics of passing genes between such dis-
similar species bothered many animal welfarists. At a
more mundane level, just as claims that agricultural
biotech can feed the starving in poor countries incite
debate, the proposition that industrial biotech will help
in the developing world needs to engage criticisms that
not all biotechnologies are easily exportable.
It seems inevitable that eventually a conflict will
oblige the public to see similarities between white and
green biotech. When that happens, perhaps this new
wave of biotech will suffer. Or perhaps—here’s a wild
thought—good experiences with industrial biotech will
reassure the public over its fears of genetically modi-
fied crops. Maybe the biotech impasse will budge yet.
JAMES
HOLMES/SPL/Photo
Researchers,
Inc.
SAPerspectives
THEEDITORSeditors@sciam.com
Biotech’s Clean Slate
VATS OF CELLS grown for
industrial biotech suffer little
critical scrutiny.

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GIOVANNA
LAZZARI

PARTICULAR INTERESTS
Gordon Kane’s excellent piece “The
Dawn of Physics beyond the Standard
Model” ends with the suggestion that
“particle physics might increase our un-
derstanding of nature to the point where
the theory can be formulated with no in-
puts.” He uses the word “inputs” to in-
clude not only properties of fundamental
particles but also the existence of space-
time and the rules of quantum theory. Is
this really probable?
In his book Unended Quest, the late
philosopher of science Karl Popper says
that “the evolution of physics is likely to
be an endless process of correction and
better approximation. And even if one
day we should reach a stage where our
theories were no longer open to correc-
tion, since they were simply true, they
would still not be complete—and we
would know it. For [mathematician Kurt]
Gödel’s famous incompleteness theorem
would come into play: in view of the
mathematical background of physics, at
best an infinite sequence of such true the-
ories would be needed in order to answer
the problems which in any given (for-
malized) theory would be undecidable.”
Crispin Rope
Woodbridge, England
BIBLE CODE CODA
As author of The Bible Code and Bible
Code II: The Countdown, I am replying
to Michael Shermer [“Codified Clap-
trap,” Skeptic]. He states that “to be test-
ed scientifically, Bible codes would need
to predict events before they happen.
They won’t, because they can’t....”
It appears that Shermer never read
my books, or he would know that in sev-
eral cases the Bible code did predict
events before they happened. The most
dramatic was my prediction that Israeli
prime minister Yitzhak Rabin would be
assassinated. I personally warned the
prime minister a year before he was
killed.
Shermer then goes on to cite a mis-
quotation of me that appeared in News-
week: “When my critics find a message
about the assassination of a prime minis-
ter encrypted in Moby Dick, I’ll believe
them.” Newsweek left out two key words,
“in advance.” In correspondence with me,
the magazine described my prediction as
accurate and also stated that “we believe
it is clear enough in our story that the
timing of your achievement is what dis-
tinguishes it from other claims.”
I could list many examples of predic-
tions found in advance—the test Shermer
states. The exact dates of the Gulf War,
before the war started; the exact date of
impact of a comet, with its exact name,
and the planet Jupiter, found months be-
fore the impact; the outcomes of elections
in the U.S. and Israel that every poll got
wrong. But of course Shermer cannot ad-
mit the reality of things that he cannot
explain.
Michael Drosnin
New York City
“TRUTH,” WROTE AMERICAN POET RalphWaldoEmerson,“is
our element.” With a flow of queries and comments, readers es-
sayed to distill this element from nearly every topic in the June
issue of Scientific American. Some, after reading “The Dawn of
Physics beyond the Standard Model,” by Gordon Kane, ques-
tioned just how close to true a unified theory based on particles
could get. In response to the profile of a U.N. weapons inspector
[“One Last Look,” by Gary Stix, Insights], many insisted that
judgmentsaboutIraqiweaponsprogramsbebasedontangible,
verifiable evidence. Several joined resident Skeptic Michael
Shermerinchallengingwhatdoescountasactualevidence,vis-
à-vis Michael Drosnin’s book The Bible Code [“Codified Clap-
trap”]. Reactions to these and other elements in our periodical table of contents fill this column.
Letters
E DI T O R S @ S C I A M . C O M
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EXECUTIVE EDITOR: Mariette DiChristina
MANAGING EDITOR: Ricki L. Rusting
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EDITORS: Mark Alpert, Steven Ashley,
Graham P. Collins, Carol Ezzell,
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®

THE EDITORS REPLY: Newsweek has never
published a clarification of Drosnin’s quote
from 1997 or acknowledged having mis-
quoted him.
Shermer overgeneralized in saying that
allDrosnin’spredictionswerereallyafter-the-
fact “postdictions”; Drosnin did send Rabin a
warning before he was assassinated. Sher-
mer and other critics nonetheless maintain
that Drosnin’s predictions are less than they
seem. For example, according to The Bible
Code,DrosninpredictedtheJuly1994comet
strike on Jupiter two months before the im-
pact, but astronomers had announced the
calculateddateofthatcollisionbymid-1993.
ScientificevaluationsofDrosnin’sproph-
etic abilities must be based on all his predic-
tions—not just the ones that came true but
alsotheonesthatwerewrong,anddiscount-
ing those that are post hoc, imprecise or ex-
plainable as lucky guesses.
Thanks to Michael Shermer for another
wonderful Skeptic column. His work is
comforting to many of us exposed to the
everyday mentality.
Gary Smith
via e-mail
SIGNING OFF
As the parent of two girls with cochlear
implants, I was encouraged to see this
wonderful technology getting needed ex-
posure in your magazine [“To Hear
Again,” by Mark Fischetti, Working
Knowledge]. But I was discouraged to see
you print the statement of the National
Association of the Deaf. The association
discourages such implants in children
born deaf “because, even with the tech-
nology, it is very hard for them to devel-
op the cognition for spoken language,”
and the children often aren’t taught sign
language early enough as a result, caus-
ing “developmental delays that can be
extremely difficult to reverse.”
Both my daughters were born deaf
and received cochlear implants at very
young ages. Neither has ever learned, or
needed, sign language. Both girls hear so
well that they can converse on the phone
with ease. In fact, I would counter the as-
sociation’s statement by saying that
learning how to sign would have hin-
dered the development of my daughters’
spoken language.
Melissa K. Chaikof
Atlanta, Ga.
STILL LOOKING
In Insights, “One Last Look,” by Gary
Stix, U.N. weapons inspector Rocco
Casagrande remarks that Iraq “wasn’t
behaving like a country that doesn’t have
biological weapons.” How would Iraqis
behave if they did not possess chemical or
biological weapons, had significant in-
formation or technology but no weap-
ons, or technology whose true purpose
they did not know? What if orders were
simply to reveal nothing and to be as ob-
structive as possible? Beyond this, the
language and culture of Iraq would be
unfamiliar to many inspectors. People
living in the surreal atmosphere of a ruth-
less, secretive, repressive, deeply suspi-
cious and no doubt extremely resentful
regime seem likely to behave in ways that
others might regard as unusual.
Rather than speculating about the
state of weapons based on behavior, in-
spectors’ conclusions—not to mention
decisions about war—should be based on
real information.
Howard Eaton
New Westminster, B.C.
RULING THE ROOT
In “Chain Letters and Evolutionary His-
tories,” by Charles H. Bennett, Ming Li
and Bin Ma, a diagram suggests that man
descended from the chicken and is ac-
companied by the disclaimer that “obvi-
ously the mammals did not evolve from
the chicken.” Then why does the chick-
en occupy the root position of the tree? I
think the tree is a setback for evolution-
ary theory and will provide creationists
with yet another object of ridicule.
Thomas J. Kelanic
Turtle Creek, Pa.
BENNETT, LI AND MA REPLY: A standard
practice in constructing a phylogeny for a
group of present-day organisms, such as
mammals, is to use a present-day unrelated
organismasastand-inforthegroup’sextinct
common ancestor, which is generally not
available for study. Thus, we used the chick-
en as a stand-in for the unavailable common
ancestor of all mammals and birds. Confus-
ingly, phylogenies are often drawn with the
outgroup as the root, even though everyone
knows it is not an ancestor of the other or-
ganisms.Weregretthatwefollowedthiscus-
tom in our diagram.
ERRATA In “The Unearthly Landscapes of
Mars,”byArdenL.Albee,thescalebaronpage
45shouldhaveread“80meters,”not“10me-
ters.”Thecaptionshouldhavesaidthatcross-
ing the area shown in the image would take
about “half an hour,” not “five minutes.”
“Chain Letters and Evolutionary Histo-
ries,” by Charles H. Bennett, Ming Li and Bin
Ma, omitted mentioning Gregory Chaitin’s
contributions to the foundations of algorith-
mic information theory.
The opening artwork for “Self-Repairing
Computers,” by Armando Fox and David Pat-
terson,shouldhavebeencreditedtoFrankIp-
polito, not Slim Films.
HUSSEIN
MALLA
AP
Photo
Letters
JUST OIL? U.N. weapons inspector Rocco
Casagrande examines dilapidated oil barrels in
Juwesma, Iraq, in January.

OCTOBER 1953
GREENS FOR DINNER—“Many scientists
all over the world are interested in the
food possibilities of the water plants
called algae. On the basis of laboratory
experiments it is estimated that each acre
given to cultivation of Chlorella could
produce an annual yield of 20 tons of
protein and three tons of fat per acre—as-
tronomical figures compared with pres-
ent rates of production in conventional
agriculture. Whether algae can be an im-
portant contribution to the world food
supply will depend on the cost and the
yield of large-scale culture. The
production of each ton of algal
protein requires about 1.1 tons
of potassium nitrate and .75 ton
of ammonium sulfate.”
OCTOBER 1903
LANGLEY’S FAILURE—“Those
who have the interests of aerial
navigation at heart will regret the
failure of Prof. Samuel Pierpont
Langley’s last experiment, not so
much because the aerodrome re-
fused to fly, but because of the
adverse newspaper comment
which the trial has prompted.
This aerodrome of his is the re-
sult of years of arduous study
and ceaseless experimentation.
That it should have failed is to be re-
garded simply as one step in the solution
of the problem of aerial navigation, and
not altogether as an abject failure. On the
report of Prof. C. M. Manly, it appears
the clutch which held the aerodrome on
the launching ways [see illustration] and
which should have released at the instant
of the fall, was found to be injured.” [Ed-
itors’ note: The failure of this test and the
one on December 8, 1903, led to such
scathing public criticism that Langley
gave up aviation research.]
GOT A LIGHT?—“By a law of May 10,
1903, Germany forbade the use of white
phosphorus in the making of matches. A
new material, made of non-poisonous
red phosphorus and potassium chlorate,
has been bought by the government and
is to be substituted for the deleterious and
dangerous white phosphorus. In spite of
its high igniting point, the new material
may be lighted by scratching on almost
any material—sandpaper, bricks, soles of
shoes, rough clothing, etc. It is a great
gain that it does not ignite easily, impor-
tant when one is reminded of fires caused
by the ignition of white phosphorus
matches by the sun’s rays.”
SANITAS AMERICANA—“Since the Ameri-
can occupation of Cuba, yellow fever is
gradually being eradicated. This remark-
able sanitary change is due partly to the
explosion of the old superstitious beliefs
by the army surgeons and partly to a sys-
tematic extermination of the mosquito.
Dissipating the common notion that yel-
low fever is a deadly filth disease, highly
contagious, our army experts showed
that yellow fever was actually spread by
the mosquito. Attempts at the extermina-
tion of the mosquito in Cuba have borne
such fruitful results that in time the
Cuban cities will be as free from yellow
fever as our Southern ports.”
ANTS—“An unlooked-for sequence in the
drainage of New Orleans is the appear-
ance of hordes of ants, which, according
to the Iron Age, have become as threat-
ening as the plagues of Egypt. They at-
tack the woodwork of houses and speed-
ily destroy it, and make their way into
warehouses where costly goods are
stored. When the soil was saturated the
ants could not breed in it; now that it is
no longer wet they defy suppression.”
OCTOBER 1853
COAL FOR TRAINS—“With very few ex-
ceptions, wood is the only
fuel used for locomotive en-
gines. It is becoming so scarce
and dear that some substitute
must be sought. Anthracite
coal suggests itself first, be-
cause it is the cheapest and
most free from smoke and
waste. An impression, how-
ever, is that this fuel destroys
the steam firebox so quickly
that it cannot be used with
economy. Other objections
grow out of the intensity of
the heat. But all of these ob-
jections have been removed
by the Millholland engine.
There are now in daily use on
the Reading Railway, Pa.,
twenty-eight first class locomotives on
the Millholland plan; these use anthracite
coal exclusively. No engineer will run a
wood burning locomotive if he can get a
coal burning one, as they cause far less
work and also make better time.”
FASHIONS OF THE DAY—“The importa-
tion of monkey skins is an important
business in Salem. The ‘Gazette’ says:
‘Monkey skins have formed an article of
commerce for several years, and we dare
say that many a fair lady has strutted her
brief hour in all the glory of a monkey
skin muff and rat skin gloves, without
suspecting the quality of her finery.’”
Edible Algae ■ Safer Phosphorus ■ Cheap Anthracite
LANGLEY’S AIRPLANE on the catapult, 1903
50,100&150 YearsAgo
FROM SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN

Earlier this year the discovery of a single cow with
bovine spongiform encephalopathy, better known
as mad cow disease, crippled the Canadian cattle
market. In 2002 the mere rumor of foot-and-mouth dis-
ease in Kansas sent shock waves through the American
cattle industry. And the discovery of exotic Newcastle dis-
ease in southern California led to the destruction of mil-
lions of chickens and prompted many countries to ban
poultry coming from the area—and, in some cases, from
the entire U.S.
Terrorists probably had nothing to do with the inci-
dents, but agriculture and Homeland Security officials cite
these and similar events in describing the possible effects of
a bioterror attack on domestic agriculture. Officials take
such a threat seriously—the terrorist group Al Qaeda long
ago put the U.S. food supply on its list of potential targets.
The federal government is working to bolster the nation’s
readiness for an agroterror attack—and some of their as-
sessments suggest significant vulnerabilities that critics say
are not getting enough attention.
From farm crops and animals through the processing
system to the grocery store, the food supply chain provides
numerous opportunities for attack. Moreover, the system
would ensure rapid disease progression: animals are moved
often and quickly, and anticrop agents can be spread by the
wind. Since the September 11 attacks, the U.S. Department
of Agriculture has hired new inspectors and strengthened
its diagnostic capabilities around the country. The Food
and Drug Administration has bolstered food safety rules
and made it easier for investigators to trace the origins of
an outbreak. The Department of Homeland Security has
assumed responsibility for the inspection of agricultural
DEFENSE
SCAN
news
CATTLE CONCERN: A terrorist
attack with foot-and-mouth
disease would devastate the
U.S. beef industry.
FoodFears
THE THREAT OF AGRICULTURAL TERRORISM SPURS CALLS FOR MORE VIGILANCE BY DANIEL G. DUPONT

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Frank in the Woods

The Gunboat Series.
Books for Boys,
by a Gunboat Boy.
FRANK IN THE WOODS.
Porter & Coates,
PHILADELPHIA, PA.

FRANK IN THE WOODS.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,” “THE GO-AHEAD SERIES,” ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
CINCINNATI, O.:
R. W. CARROLL & CO.

Contents.
chapter i. The Encampment 7
chapter ii. An Unpleasant Companion 15
chapter iii. An Indian Hunt 27
chapter iv. The “Ole Settler” 47
chapter v. The Fight in the Woods 52
chapter vi. The White Buck 76
chapter vii. A Midnight Attack 90
chapter viii. A Couple of New Pets 101
chapter ix. Close Quarters with a Grizzly 116
chapter x. A Beaver Hunt 132
chapter xi. Breaking up a Moose-Pen 143
chapter xii. The Moose Shows His Qualities 152
chapter xiii. The Black Mustang 169
chapter xiv. A Brush with the Greasers 180
chapter xv. Caught at Last 194
chapter xvi. The Lost Wagon-Train 204
chapter xvii. The Struggle in the Cave 216
chapter xviii.End of the Trapper and Black Mustang227
chapter xix. The Indians Again 236
chapter xx. The Journey Homeward 251

CHAPTER I.
The Encampment.
UR scene opens in the swamp that stretches away for
miles north of Lawrence.
It was a cold, dreary night. The wind moaned
and whistled through the leafless branches of the
trees, sending the snow in fitful gusts through every
nook and corner of the forest. On the banks of a
small lake, that lay hemmed in on all sides by tall
trees, which bowed to every gust of the winter’s storm, was an
encampment. A rude hut—built, however, after the most approved
hunter fashion, with its back to the wind, and its front open to a
cheerful fire—stood in a little grove of evergreens, ready to receive
beneath its friendly shelter four boys, whom you could easily
recognize as our old friends of the sailing and fishing frolics
described in “The Young Naturalist.” We left them, after a hard day’s
work at fox-hunting—Archie asleep on the bed, and Frank seated in
his easy chair, reading one of his favorite authors; while George and
Harry, who had a quarter of a mile to go before they reached home,
were walking slowly along the road, so weary that they could
scarcely drag one foot after the other. To enable the reader to
understand how we come to find them here in the woods, twenty
miles from any human habitation, we must conduct him back to
Lawrence, and relate a few incidents with which he is not
acquainted.
On the day following the one on which the foxhunt took place,
the boys were too lame to tramp about, and they passed most of
their time in the shop. Frank commenced to prepare the fox-skin for
mounting in the museum, and Archie busied himself in putting his
traps in working order. While thus engaged, Frank exclaimed:
“Archie, let’s go and make Uncle Joe a visit. What do you say?”

“I should like to go very much,” said Archie; “but you know it’s a
mean journey to make in winter. I don’t like the idea of carrying my
baggage on”——
“We need not carry any thing,” interrupted Frank. “I have been
thinking it all over, and I don’t see why we can’t do as the Canadian
trappers do—drag our baggage after us on sleds.”
The village boys had always been in the habit of visiting Uncle
Joe in the summer; the journey could then be made with scarcely
any inconvenience, for Glen’s Creek ran within a few feet of the old
hunter’s cabin; but in winter the traveling was much more difficult,
for the boys were obliged to carry their provisions, blankets, and
other needful articles, on their backs. But Frank’s plan obviated this
difficulty. The creek was frozen over, and using it as a highway, they
could accomplish the journey to Uncle Joe’s almost as easily as with
a boat.
“That’s a first-rate idea,” said Archie. “I wonder why we did not
think of it before! Let us go right to work and make the sled.”
“We had better wait until we find out whether mother will let us
go or not,” said Frank; “besides, we want Harry and George to go
with us.”
“I think Aunt Mary will give her consent,” said Archie, laying
aside his traps. “Let’s go in and ask her.”
The boys readily answered all Mrs. Nelson’s objections—such as
being lost in the woods and eaten up by bears—by assuring her that
they were well acquainted with the road to Uncle Joe’s, for they had
traveled it several times before; besides, they had a compass, and it
was impossible to get lost; and, as to the bears, there were very few
of them in the woods, and no bear that ever lived was a match for
four boys, all good marksmen, armed with double-barrel shot-guns,
and assisted by three good dogs. So Mrs. Nelson was obliged to
consent, and the boys started off to see George and Harry. The
latter easily obtained their parents’ permission, and the boys
adjourned to the kitchen to talk over their plans. It was decided that
two sleds would carry all their baggage, and that every thing should
be ready for the start early on Monday morning; it was then Friday.
After making all their arrangements, Frank and his cousin returned

home, and immediately commenced working on their sled. A stout
hickory sapling, which they had used in stretching and curing the
skin of the deer they killed in the lake, was sawed in twain for the
runners, and bent into shape by steaming. The braces were then put
in, and before dark the body of the sled was completed. It was light
and very strong, and Archie dragged it about the shop in high glee.
“It’s all done but the box,” said he.
“We don’t want any box,” said his cousin. “It would only make
the sled heavy, without doing any good. We will get an old quilt or
blanket from mother, and that will do better than a box.”
This article was soon obtained, and fastened to the sled in such
a manner that it could be strapped around the baggage; and just as
Hannah called them to supper, the sled was pronounced ready for
the journey.
The next day Hannah was kept busy baking biscuit and other
provisions sufficient to last until they reached Uncle Joe’s; while the
boys busied themselves in cleaning their guns, sharpening their
knives and axes, and getting every thing ready for the start.
Time seemed to move on laggard wings, so impatient were they
to be off; but Monday morning came at length, and the boys were
stirring long before daylight. As soon as they had eaten breakfast,
the sled was brought out of the shop, and their baggage—which
consisted of a change of clothes, blankets, ammunition, axes, and
provisions—was strapped on securely. Just as they completed their
preparations, George and Harry came along. Bidding Mrs. Nelson
and Julia good-by, they all started off; and, after a hard day’s tramp,
encamped at the place where we now find them.
After they had finished carrying their baggage into the hut, a
lively scene was presented. Harry sat before the fire, cutting a pair
of leggins out of a finely-dressed deer-skin, which he had spread on
the floor of the hut; George was engaged in arranging their beds;
Archie was in front of the hut, chopping the evening’s supply of fire-
wood; and Frank was superintending the cooking of their supper.
The dogs lay stretched out on a blanket, enjoying a quiet nap.
“There,” said Archie, at length, leaning on his ax, and surveying
the pile of wood he had cut; “I guess that will last us through the

night.”
“Yes, that’s a plenty,” said Frank. “Come, boys, supper is ready!”
Archie accordingly entered the hut, and, after depositing his ax
in a corner, picked out a warm place by the fire, and commenced
helping himself to the eatables. The meal consisted of squirrels,
which had been roasted on spits before the fire, coffee, and bread
and butter. Their long tramp—they had made about twenty miles
since morning—had sharpened their appetites, and the supper
rapidly disappeared. But there was enough left for the dogs, and
after they had been bountifully fed, and the supper dishes washed,
the boys stretched themselves out on their blankets before the fire.
Each seemed to be occupied with his own thoughts. The sifting of
the snow over the roof of the hut, the crackling of the fire, and an
occasional howl of a wolf, were the only sounds that broke the
stillness. At length, Harry said:
“Now, boys, this is the kind of a life I enjoy. Doesn’t it make a
fellow feel comfortable, to lie here and listen to the storm, and know
that he is securely sheltered? For my part, I don’t see how a person
can live cooped up in a city all his life.”
“It is a difficult matter,” answered Archie; “for I have tried it,
and profess to know something about it. How many times I have sat
in school, when I had a hard lesson to get, and looked out of the
window, and wished that I was off in the woods somewhere!”
“Well, you’re here at last,” said George; “but the only way to
pass a long winter evening is in listening to a good story. Come,
Frank, give us one.”
“Yes,” chimed in Harry, “give us something exciting.”
“A hunting adventure,” said Archie, “or a fight with the Indians.”
“O, you will hear plenty of such stories when we get to Uncle
Joe’s,” said Frank. “But I will tell you of an adventure which
happened to my uncle, who was a young lawyer at the time, settled
in St. Louis;” and Frank, after rearranging his blanket commenced as
follows:

CHAPTER II.
An Unpleasant Companion.
T was one bright evening, in the fall of 18—,” said my
uncle, “while I was traveling on horseback through
the northern part of Missouri, that I reined up before
a pleasant little tavern, where I purposed to stop for
the night. The landlord, a bustling little Englishman,
soon had supper ready for me, and as I had not
eaten a mouthful since morning, I sat down to it with
a most ravenous appetite, and ate until I began to feel ashamed of
myself, and finally stopped, not because I was satisfied, but because
I had eaten every thing on the table, and did not wish to call for
more. As I was rising from the table, the hostler entered the room,
and said:
“‘What be the matter with your ’orse, sir? He be so lame he can
’ardly walk?’
“‘The matter with my horse!’ I repeated; ‘there was nothing the
matter with him when I gave him into your charge;’ and, in no
amiable mood, I started for the stable.
“My horse, which was the gift of a deceased friend, was one of
the finest animals I ever saw. I had owned him for more than six
years, during which he had been my almost constant companion;
and as I had neither wife nor child to love, it is no wonder that my
affections clustered around him. I found that he was indeed lame;
one of his legs was swollen to twice its usual size, and it was with
great difficulty that he could move. I was for some time entirely at a
loss how to account for it, and felt very much like giving the hostler,
who stood at a little distance, eyeing me as though he expected a
kicking, a piece of my mind, when I happened to remember that, as
I was that afternoon descending a steep hill, my horse had stepped
upon a rolling stone, and almost thrown me from the saddle; and I

noticed that he limped a little afterward; but I thought it was
nothing serious, and had almost forgotten the circumstance. This I
explained, in a few words, to the hostler, who drew a long breath, as
if a mighty load had been removed from his breast. After rubbing
the animal’s leg with some liniment, which I had brought with me, I
saw him plentifully fed and bedded down, and returned to the
tavern. After spending an hour listening to the ‘yarns’ of the
occupants of the bar-room, I went up to bed, and was soon fast
asleep. Near the middle of the night, I was aroused by loud voices
under my window; and, as soon as I was fairly awake, I found that
something unusual was going on. The shrill, frightened voices of the
females mingled with the hoarse ejaculations of the men, and every
thing appeared to be in the greatest confusion. I sprang out of bed,
and after hastily drawing on my clothes, ran down into the bar-
room.
“‘What’s the matter, landlord?’ I inquired of my host, as he
hurried by me, pale and almost breathless with excitement.
“‘Matter!’ he repeated. ‘Come and see. Giles Barlow has been
around again, and there is one poor fellow less in the world, I’m
afraid.’
“He led the way to a small bed-room, which opened off the bar-
room, where I found several persons crowded around a bed, on
which lay the form of a man, and a surgeon was engaged in
bandaging an ugly-looking wound, which he had received in his
breast. As soon as the operation was completed, he informed us, in
reply to an inquiry of one of the bystanders, that the wound was
dangerous, but that by careful nursing the man might recover; and
ended by requesting us to leave the room, as much depended on his
being kept quiet. We moved back into the bar-room, and I inquired
of one of the men who Giles Barlow was.
“‘Why, don’t you know?’ he asked, in surprise. ‘I thought
everybody had heard of him! I guess you are a stranger in these
parts, ain’t you?’
“I replied in the affirmative.
“‘You must live a good piece from here,’ said the man, ‘or you
would certainly have heard of Giles Barlow. He is a highwayman,

that has been about here for almost ten years, murdering folks and
stealing their money. He goes on the principle that “dead men tell no
tales.”’
“‘Why haven’t you arrested him before this time?’ I inquired.
“’O, yes,’ answered the man, ‘that’s all easy enough to talk
about. Haven’t we tried that game? We’ve hunted him with rifles,
and tracked him with blood-hounds, but you might as well try to
catch a will-o’-the-wisp.’
“‘What sort of a looking man is he?’ I asked.
“‘He’s a small man,’ answered my informant, ‘and looks like a
dried-up mullen-stalk. But, the Lord love you, he’s quick as lightning,
and he’s got an eye that can look right through a common man. And
such hair! It is long and curly, and looks like snakes stuck on his
head. I’ve seen him once, and I never want to meet him alone in the
woods, now, I tell you.’
“I felt some curiosity to know something more of this noted
robber, but before I could ask another question the man had walked
away, shrugging his shoulders, and joined a group of his
companions, who stood in one corner of the room, talking over the
matter.
“After the exciting scenes through which I had just passed,
sleep was of course out of the question; and I stretched myself out
on a bench by the fireplace, and waited impatiently for the morning.
It came at length, and, as was my usual custom, I hurried out to the
stable to look after my horse. I found him much better, but his leg
was still swollen, and I knew that he would not be in good traveling
condition for at least a week.
“‘Landlord,’ I exclaimed, as I entered the bar-room, ‘where can I
hire a horse for two or three days? I must be in Bennington by day
after to-morrow, and my horse is too lame to travel.’
“‘Well,’ said the landlord, ‘you are in a nice fix. I don’t believe
there is a horse about here you can get.’
“‘I must have one,’ I answered, ‘for I must be in Bennington as
soon as possible.’
“‘Well, I’ll see what I can do for you,’ said the landlord, and,
going to the door, he shouted to the hostler, who stood in the stable,

rubbing down my horse, ‘Tom, go over to Bill Parker’s and see if you
can get his mare. Tell him there’s a gentleman here who wants to
hire her for two or three days.’
“Tom started off immediately, but soon returned with the
information that Mr. Parker had gone off into the country to buy
cattle, and would not return in less than a week.
“What should I do? I had an important case to attend to in
Bennington, and must be there in time. I was about making up my
mind that I would start off on foot, when the landlord suddenly
exclaimed:
“‘I’ll tell you what you can do. This creek’ (pointing to a wide,
deep stream which flowed by a little distance from the tavern) ‘runs
within half a mile of where you want to go; and I guess you might
hire Jim Hilton’s boat.’
“Mr. Hilton’s dwelling was pointed out to me, and, in a few
moments, I found my man chopping wood in the yard. I made
known my wants. After rolling his quid about in his mouth, he
concluded to let me have the boat, or rather dugout, provided I
would ‘do the fair thing’ by him. To this I readily agreed. After giving
emphatic directions as to the treatment of my horse, I stepped into
the canoe, and was soon out of sight of the tavern. I used my
paddle with a will, and made good headway. When I became weary,
I would cease paddling, and allow the canoe to glide along with the
current, giving only an occasional stroke to direct its course.
“About noon, I began to grow hungry, and turned the canoe’s
head toward the shore, to eat my dinner and rest myself, for I had
become very tired from the cramped position in which I was obliged
to sit. In about an hour I made preparations to continue my journey,
and was about pushing the canoe from the shore, when a strong,
cheery voice called out:
“‘Hallo, friend! whither bound?’
“I looked up, and saw a man, dressed in the garb of a hunter,
standing on the bank above me, leaning on his rifle.
“‘I am going to Bennington,’ I replied.
“‘Are you? That’s lucky. I am traveling in the same direction.
Would you have any objections to good company?’

“‘No sir,’ I replied. ‘Come on.’
“The hunter came down the bank; depositing his rifle and
knapsack carefully in the bow of the canoe, he took up one of the
paddles, and we pulled from the shore. As soon as we got out into
the current, I turned, with some casual remark, to take a nearer look
at my passenger. Merciful Heaven! how I started! He was a small
man, considerably below the medium hight, very slim, but well
formed, and wiry as an eel, and the enormous muscles on his limbs
showed plainly with every motion he made. But his eye! How it
flashed! and when he turned it on me I felt as though he were
reading my very thoughts. And then there were the long ‘snaky’
ringlets, which the man at the tavern had described to me. My
companion was none other than Giles Barlow, the highwayman and
murderer.
“You may be sure I was not very well pleased with this
discovery, and the cold sweat started out from every pore of my
body; still I did not feel afraid, for I was accustomed to scenes of
danger, was well armed, and had the reputation of being a tough
customer to handle. But the situation in which I was placed would
have tried stronger nerves than mine. I thrust my hand into my
pocket, and felt that my revolvers were safe. I concluded that, if the
worst came to the worst, I could at least have two pulls at him
before he could reach me; and, as I was a good shot, I had little
fear of missing my mark.
“My companion was a very jolly fellow, and joked and laughed
as though he felt extremely happy, and I, of course, joined with him,
keeping a close watch on all his movements.
“The afternoon wore slowly away, and as it began to grow dark,
I became doubly watchful, for I knew that if he intended to make an
attempt upon my life, the time was approaching. About nine o’clock
my companion suddenly said, as he wound up one of his stories:
“‘There’s no need of both of us sitting up. It’s a good forty miles
to Bennington, and we shan’t reach it before morning.’
“‘Very well,’ said I, ‘you may go to sleep first, and I will call you
at midnight.’

“’O, no,’ said he, ‘I’m not in the least sleepy; I will steer the
canoe, and you can lie down here in the bow, and sleep as long as
you like.’
“Of course it would not answer for me to raise any objections to
this, for I knew it would arouse his suspicions; so we changed
places, and the highwayman took his seat in the stern of the canoe.
After wrapping my cloak around me, and placing myself so that I
could see every motion he made, I drew one of my revolvers, and
waited impatiently to see what course things would take.
“For almost an hour my companion steered the boat very well,
and I began to think that perhaps I had been mistaken in my man,
when I saw him carefully draw in his paddle, muttering, as he did
so:
“‘Ah, my chicken, you little thought that you had Giles Barlow
for a passenger. I’ll just quietly douse your glim, and take what
money and other little valuables you may have, to pay your traveling
expenses to the other world.’
“As he spoke, he bent over and drew out of his knapsack a long,
shining bowie-knife, and, after trying its edge with his thumb, rose
slowly to his feet. In an instant, I threw aside my cloak, and,
supporting myself on my elbow, I raised my revolver, and took a
quick, steady aim at his breast. He uttered a cry of surprise, but
without hesitating a moment, threw himself forward. But the sharp
report of the revolver echoed through the woods, and the robber
sank back into the canoe, dead.
“I arrived at Bennington the next morning about ten o’clock,
and delivered the body to the authorities. The news spread like
wildfire, for the name of Giles Barlow was as familiar as a household
word.
“I prosecuted my case with success, and, in a week, returned to
the place where I had left my horse. He had received excellent care,
and was entirely cured of his lameness; but the landlord stubbornly
refused any remuneration. He had heard of my exploit, and that was
his way of showing his gratitude.”

CHAPTER III.
An Indian Hunt.
HE next morning, a little after daylight, Frank awoke,
and, raising himself on his elbow, he gazed about
him. The storm had ceased, and the morning was
clear and intensely cold. The fire, however, still
burned brightly, for the boys had replenished it
several times during the night. His companions,
comfortably wrapped up in their thick blankets, were
sleeping soundly; but Frank thought it was high time they were
stirring, for they had a good twenty miles to travel that day; so,
reaching over, he seized Archie by the shoulder and shook him. The
long tramp of the previous day had wearied the boys considerably;
but with several hearty shakes, Frank succeeded in getting them all
on their feet; then, after washing his hands and face in the snow, he
commenced to prepare their breakfast.
After a good deal of yawning and stretching, the others began
to bestir themselves; and while Archie cut a supply of wood, with
which to cook their breakfast, George and Harry busied themselves
in packing their baggage on the sleds. As soon as they had eaten
breakfast, they put out the fire, and renewed their journey.
The traveling was much more difficult than it had been the day
before, for the snow was piled on the ice in deep drifts, and it was
dark before they reached Uncle Joe’s cabin.
As they approached, they were welcomed by the old trapper’s
dogs, and Uncle Joe finally appeared at the door.
“Get out, you whelps!” he exclaimed. “Who’s that a comin’
there?” he continued, trying to peer through the darkness.
“Friends,” answered Frank.
“Jeroomagoot!” ejaculated the old man, who recognized Frank’s
voice. “What are you boys doin’ out in these woods this time o’

night? Come in—glad to see you any how,” and Uncle Joe seized
their hands as they came up, and shook them heartily. “What have
you got on them sleds—your plunder?”
“Yes,” answered Archie. “That’s a new way we have got of
carrying our baggage.”
“Fetch it right into the house then, boys;” and, suiting the action
to the word, Uncle Joe seized the sleds and pulled them into the
cabin.
“Bars and buffalers!” exclaimed a voice, as the boys entered.
“How de do youngsters?” and a tall, powerfully built man arose from
his chair, and, striding across the floor, approached the boys. It was
Dick Lewis—Uncle Joe’s brother.
He was a fine specimen of a North American trapper; fully six
feet in hight, with a frame that seemed capable of enduring any
amount of fatigue. Thirty years among savage beasts, and still more
savage men, had brought him in contact with almost every variety of
danger. He had hunted and trapped on every little stream between
the Rio Grande and the Great Bear Lake; had taken more than one
rough-and-tumble fight with Rocky Mountain grizzlies; was very
expert with the rifle; could throw the tomahawk with all the skill of
an Indian; and could lasso and ride the wildest horse that ever
roamed the prairie.
He was a good-natured, jovial fellow, and when stretched out
on his blanket before the cheerful camp-fire, no one delighted more
to tell stories and crack jokes than he. He used to say that there was
but one thing in the world he hated, and that was an Indian. And
good cause had he for enmity; for, if the prairie and the deep, dark
woods could speak, they could tell of many a deed of cruelty which
he had seen practiced upon the unoffending trappers.
Dick had three times been bound to the stake, once when a
mere boy, and had escaped by making use of his prodigious
strength, and almost incredible swiftness of foot, which had won for
him, from the Indians, the appellation of Big Thunder.
Of all the trappers, none was more active in punishing the
Indians, or more hated and feared than he. One night, mounted on
a powerful, well-trained mustang, he would appear, in spite of their

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Scientific American October 2003 Scientific American

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Scientific American October 2003 Scientific American