READY FOR THE LOG DRIVE, KETTLE CREEK
As the days wore on, each one more delightful than its predecessor, Simon Black Chief and his sister vied with one another to plan trips to points of interest. One evening Simon asked his white friend if he had ever seen a wolf-house, the local Indian method of trapping these formidable animals.
“What was it like, and where was there one?” was Trubee’s instant reply.
“A wolf-house,” said Simon, "is a walled trap like a white man’s great, big mouse-trap, with a falling door. There is still one preserved over at the Ox Bow, at the tall, stone mansion called ‘Corydon,’ across the Pennsylvania line."
Trubee’s interest was aroused, not only in the wolf-house, but the “tall stone mansion” and its possible occupants. Simon explained to him that an English gentleman lived there, a son-in-law of one of the heads of the Holland Land Company. He had been a great hunter in his earlier days, following exclusively the methods taught him by the Indians. It was a longer trip than any yet attempted, but Trubee secured Pat Smith’s little black mare and two other horses, so that the trio departed on horseback for the distant manor house. Black Chief’s Daughter, who rode astride, was a skillful and graceful horsewoman, even though her mount was a poor excuse of horseflesh.
The trip along The Beautiful River was very enjoyable, and at length they came in sight of “Corydon” on the hill, above the river, a great, high, dark stone structure, ivy grown, standing in a group of original white pines, some of these venerable monarchs being stag-topped, while others had lost their crests in sundry tempests. There was a private rope ferry across the river, but they rode the horses through the stream, which was so deep in one place that the animals were forced to swim. They rode into the grounds, past the huge stone gate posts, up the hill, under the dark pines. As they neared the front door, the portico designed by the famous Latrobe, several dogs which looked like Scottish deerhounds rushed down from the porch and began to leap about the[the] horses’ throatlatches, barking loudly.
Trubee checked his horse, and asked Simon, who was acquainted with the family, to dismount and inquire if he might inspect the wolf-house, which stood on a heathy eminence behind the garden. Once wolves had been so plentiful and so bold that five of the monsters had been caught in the trap in the space of three months.
Before Simon Black Chief could dismount, two figures emerged from the house, a young man and a young woman. Trubee’s quick glances made mental pictures of both. The man was about thirty-five years of age, short and thickset, with blond hair parted in the middle, a small mustache and “Burnsides,” decidedly military in his bearing. The girl was of medium height, possibly twenty years of age, decidedly pretty, with Sudan brown hair, hazel eyes, clear cut features, a fair complexion and wearing a flowing Mother Hubbard gown of prune-colored brocade.
Trubee rode up to them, bowing, reining his horse, which he turned over to Simon and, dismounting, apologized for his intrusion. He explained how the Indian had told him of the curious wolf-house back of the garden and how it would help him in his researches to see it. The girl graciously offered to show it to him, but first invited the Indian girl to dismount and rest. The young man remained talking to the Indian, but the Seneca maid continued to sit on her horse, rigid and silent as a Tanagra. On the way to the wolf-house, Christian Trubee introduced himself, and, being able to mention several mutual acquaintances, which put him on an easy footing with the fair chatelaine of “Corydon”.
The charming girl told him that she was Phillis Paddingstowe, the daughter of the lord of the manor, which made Trubee feel like saying how natural it was to find Phillis at Corydon! The young military-looking man, “the little Colonel” she called him, was Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Caslow, who had served with General Huidekoper, “the hero of Gettysburg” in that immortal conflict, and was at Corydon for a few days on a trout fishing trip. The old garden through which they passed on the way to the wolf-house was full of boxwood trees, which had been brought from Bartram’s gardens in Philadelphia by wagon to Warren, and up the Ohe-yu in flat boats. They gave a spicy, aromatic odor to the summer afternoon atmosphere. The wolf-house was falling to decay, but Trubee took out his note book and sketched it and recorded its dimensions. It was surprising that wolves should come so close to a habitation, but Phillis stated that when she was a baby they had actually killed and eaten three of her father’s favorite Scotch deerhounds in one night, though they were chained to kennels at the rear of the house.