SPORT 
 
 I 
 
 KT1NDAL
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 3
 
 THOMAS MARTINUALE
 
 Sport Indeed 
 
 By 
 
 THOMAS MARTINDALE 
 
 4 . 
 
 With illustrations 
 from photographs 
 by the a.\ithor 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
 
 103-105 South Fifteenth Street
 
 Copyright, 1901 
 BY GEORGE W. JACOBS & Co
 
 . i 
 
 I 
 
 SK33 
 
 DEDICATORY 
 
 C IN this devil-may-care age the dedication of a book 
 >. can hold but little interest for the reader. The cus- 
 
 ee 
 
 5 torn has grown somewhat stale, and stale customs, 
 
 OQ 
 
 like stale things generally, are unpalatable. Never- 
 theless, it is a gratification to me to dedicate this one 
 ^ to my son James, who, in his love for the huntsman's 
 8 sport, is a nimble follower in the footsteps of his sire 
 and a promising chip of the old block. 
 
 T. M. 
 
 462380
 
 APOLOGETIC 
 
 IF it be true that " good wine needs no bush," it 
 ought to be true that a good book needs no apology. 
 " But," my reader may ask, "is your book a good one, 
 or does its goodness rest only on the modest opinion 
 of its author ? " Dear reader, I may safely say, with- 
 out stretching the bounds of modesty, that any book 
 whose aim is to lengthen and make better the life of 
 the American business man and to show him the most 
 enjoyable way to do it must be a good book. " But 
 why the American business man rather than another ? " 
 Because he is the man whose manner of life affords the 
 broadest room for improvement. He is the man who 
 in his fierce chase after the almighty dollar forgets 
 that there are such things as health and happiness and 
 personal comfort, or if he remembers them it is only to 
 see that they step aside and stand not in the way of his 
 chase. To stop for rest or for recreation would be ex- 
 travagance, especially as he knows no need of either. 
 A knowledge of the need, however, is sure to come, 
 and when it does he may thank his stars if it has'nt 
 come too late. You cannot teach an old dog new tricks 
 nor can you disentangle the habits of a lifetime from
 
 6 APOLOGETIC 
 
 their worry and care and weave the worn threads into 
 youthful toggery. 
 
 Too late ! Too late ! 
 
 I am aware of the dangers that lie in wait for the 
 book-writer. " Oh, that mine adversary had written 
 a book ! " was the burden of Job's prayer, 3,500 years 
 ago, and it is doubtful whether the roll of passing cen- 
 turies has flattened the peril. However, flattering 
 myself that I am no man's adversary, I will take 
 the risk and launch my volume, hoping for it fair 
 weather, favoring gales, and a broad harbor from 
 which to spread its wholesome freight wherever it may 
 
 do the most good. 
 
 T. M.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DEDICATORY 3 
 
 APOLOGETIC 5 
 
 MOOSEHEAD LAKE 11 
 
 CUPID IN THE WILDERNESS 19 
 
 CALLING THE MOOSE 25 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED TREAT 33 
 
 KILLING THE CARIBOU 36 
 
 MORE OF THE MOOSE 45 
 
 A LOST MAN AND A WOUNDED MOOSE 52 
 
 A CAPRICIOUS BEAST 64 
 
 MY FIRST BULL-MOOSE 74 
 
 A CARIBOU HUNT 85 
 
 A LOST MOOSE 96 
 
 THE BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 101 
 
 THE LOST WALLET 125 
 
 A CLOSE CALL 132 
 
 THE FUN OF HUNTING 149 
 
 A FlRE-AND- WATER MEDLEY 156 
 
 A DAY IN THE BIG WOODS 161 
 
 A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 174 
 
 DOG-DAY ADVICE 186 
 
 A TALE OF GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 190 
 
 A BEARDLESS SPORT 204 
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 211 
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 227 
 
 7
 
 8 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 NORTH DAKOTA 273 
 
 THE WRECKER 278 
 
 BRANT SHOOTING 284 
 
 THE QUAINT CAPE-CODDERS 290 
 
 A WARY BIRD 295 
 
 QUAIL SHOOTING IN NORTH CAROLINA 301 
 
 " TROUT TICKLING " AND AN OLD-ENGLAND BLIZZARD . . . . 310 
 
 A DANGEROUS RIDE 318 
 
 A FIGHT TO THE DEATH 326 
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE "WHITE" 332 
 
 THE LAST SHOT . 344
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THOMAS MARTINDALE Frontispiece. 
 
 PREPARING FOR THE START Page 13 
 
 A LOG LANDING ON THE BROOK " 37 
 
 His LORDSHIP ; AS GRAND A SPECIMEN AS THE SUN EVER 
 
 SHONE UPON " 41 
 
 THE DRY BOG A FAVORITE HAUNT OF THE CARIBOU . . " 53 
 
 A CAMP IN THE WILDERNESS " 61 
 
 THE CAMP IN ITS WINTER BEAUTY " 69 
 
 MY FIRST MOOSE " 81 
 
 A BIT OF MAINE FOREST PENOBSCOT RIVER IN THE 
 
 DISTANCE " 89 
 
 THE CULINARY DEPARTMENT OF A HUNTER'S CAMP ... " 107 
 
 A NEW BRUNSWICK TOTE-ROAD " 119 
 
 THE FROZEN PENOBSCOT " 129 
 
 A SCENE ON THE PENOBSCOT " 135 
 
 A TOTE-ROAD IN WINTER " 141 
 
 A BEAVER HOUSE " 163 
 
 A HUNTER'S FOREST HOME " 169 
 
 A DEAD-WATER " 179 
 
 LABORIOUS WORK " 193 
 
 THE LITTLE TOBIQUE " 201 
 
 A YOUTHFUL HUNTER " 207 
 
 PRECIOUS TROPHIES, INCLUDING THE LITTLE SPIKE HORN " 219 
 
 THE ANGLER'S PARADISE " 259 
 
 A FINE TROPHY " 313 
 
 AN EXCITING CHASE " 335 
 
 9
 
 Moosehead Lake 
 
 This way lies the game. 
 
 KING HENKY VI. 
 
 
 
 left home on a Saturday night in September, 
 by the 6:50 express, with the wilderness of Maine for 
 our destination. The night was hot, close and miser- 
 ably uncomfortable. The sleeping-car felt like an 
 oven and before we reached New York we turned into 
 our berths, as that seemed the coolest thing to do. 
 Sunday in Boston was rainy and cold, and when we ar- 
 rived at Bangor we had to put on heavy flannels and 
 get out overcoats. 
 
 It was election day in Maine ; yet, although it was 
 expected that the Republican ticket would be elected 
 by 30,000 majority, we saw no excitement along the 
 railroad in our ride from Bangor to Greenville, at the 
 head of Moosehead lake. No bands, no men with 
 badges on, pottering around polling places. An occa- 
 sional flag floated on the frosty air, but that was all. 
 Yet there was a silent, unseen something foretelling that 
 an enormous Republican vote would be polled and it 
 was. During our ride in the car a prophetic native 
 sitting behind us broke loose in this fashion : " If it 
 
 weren't for one thing, darned if I wouldn't bet a dol- 
 
 ll
 
 12 SPORT INDEED 
 
 lar to a penny doughnut that the State would go 
 u-nan-i-mus for Powers." 
 
 " What thing ? " asked his companion. 
 
 " Why, some smart cuss might hear of my bet and 
 vote for t'other fellow so as to make me lose it." 
 
 There are a number of little steamboats on Moose- 
 head Lake, which ply backwards and forwards, carry- 
 ing freight and passengers. Upon a time-card, a sort 
 of free-and-easy -go-as-you-please schedule, we were told 
 our boat would leave promptly at six in the morning. 
 So on Tuesday we were up before five o'clock in order 
 to see that our stores, baggage and hunting outfit were 
 aboard on time. Then we had breakfast in a hurry, 
 first asking the landlord to tell the captain of the boat 
 that we would be aboard at six and not to start with- 
 out us. At six we were pacing the deck of the steamer, 
 listening to the captain and pilot piling their " cuss- 
 words " on the head of the engineer for not making 
 his appearance. As the boat couldn't well go without 
 an engineer, we waited. Half-past six came and still 
 we waited. The whistle was blown repeatedly, but it 
 brought no sign of the man who handled the stop- 
 cocks. At eighteen minutes to seven we saw the stop- 
 cock knight coming down a hillside as leisurely as if he 
 were an hour ahead of time. He came aboard and we 
 made a start, crossing to another landing where we 
 took in tow a scow with four horses, a party of ladies 
 and some lumbermen. At a quarter to eight we were
 
 PH
 
 MOOSEHEAD LAKE 15 
 
 off for the Northeast Carry, where we arrived about 
 an hour and a half late, which hour and a half caused 
 us afterwards an exciting time. 
 
 Northeast Carry is so called because it is a road or 
 " carry " at the northeast end of the lake. The carry 
 is two miles long, and the other end of it lands you on 
 the banks of the Penobscot River. While we were 
 loading our canoes a party from down the river 
 reached our landing. In the centre of one of their 
 canoes a lady was seated on a throne-like chair which 
 was covered with costly Persian rugs. Luxurious air- 
 cushions supported the lady's back and formed a rest 
 for her feet. An oriental robe, tinted with all the 
 hues of the rainbow, was gracefully thrown around 
 her dainty limbs, mingling its colors with those of the 
 autumn leaves which were strung in garlands about 
 the bow of the boat. A pretty picture, indeed, but 
 yet imperfect. It needed a dusky Indian maiden, with 
 no clothes on to speak of, waving a peacock fan. Then 
 the picture might have passed, on a pinch, for 
 that of the proud Cleopatra as she sailed up the Cyd- 
 nus to tickle the fancy and ravish the heart of her 
 Antony. 
 
 Precisely at two o'clock the next day we paddled 
 away from Northeast Carry. We had a glorious run 
 to the Half- way House, ten miles down. The river 
 scene was bewitching in its beauty. The first frosts 
 had delicately colored the leaves of the maple and
 
 16 SPORT INDEED 
 
 beech, while the waving masses of ferns that fringe 
 the river's edge had changed their greens for various 
 shades of yellow and brown, and spread their dainty 
 texture along the banks as if anxious to show what 
 nature could do in the way of embroidery. 
 
 Everything looked radiant and happy save our 
 three guides who were taciturn and troubled. The 
 reason was plain. It was half-past four in the after- 
 noon when we reached the Half-way House. We had 
 stated that we desired particularly to be at Chesun- 
 cook Lake (twenty miles down the river) that night, 
 and there would have been no trouble in making the 
 journey by daylight if the steamer Comet had been 
 more prompt in starting from Greenville. Now, 
 below us, six miles down, is a great stretch of rapids 
 called the Rocky Eips, a mile and a half long. Below 
 these rapids come the Pine Stream Falls, half a mile 
 long. 
 
 Our three canoes were deeply loaded. Should we 
 risk the run or not ? It was finally decided to risk it, 
 and away we went ; but with all our lively paddling 
 it was dark when we reached the head of the Rips, 
 and we were in for it. 
 
 'Tis a beautiful sight in daylight to see the canoes 
 on these rapids rushing one after the other from shore 
 to shore, dodging this rock, sliding over that shelf, or 
 doubling around some intruding ledge, all the while 
 striving to keep in the channel which in some places is
 
 MOOSEHEAD LAKE 17 
 
 not more than four or five feet wide. At night, how- 
 ever, the sight is not quite so captivating, especially 
 if the night be a dark one and you happen to make up 
 a part of the canoe's cargo. 
 
 We got through, however, without any greater mis- 
 hap than breaking the rib of one canoe and shipping 
 some water into another. A few minutes after emerg- 
 ing from the boiling Rips we heard the roar of the falls 
 about a mile further down. The sound was grand, 
 and we thought we were going to have another excit- 
 ing run. In this we were disappointed. The guides 
 said that, in order to lighten the canoes, we sports 
 would have to get out and walk through the woods to 
 the bottom of the falls about half a mile. They then 
 rearranged the loads and started down the falls by 
 water while we went down by land ; and it was darker 
 in the woods than it was on the river. We stumbled 
 and tripped over roots and logs, while the guides 
 stumbled and tripped over rocks. We managed to get 
 through and so did they, after a fashion. One man 
 had to jump out of his canoe to save it and another 
 man brought his down leaking. Neither man seemed 
 happy. However, there is very little pure happiness in 
 this world and perhaps the adulterated article tastes 
 all the better for its mixture with a little misery. 
 
 In a few minutes the loads were changed and we 
 were off again down the river. After a run of about 
 an hour we saw the lights, of the Chesuncook House
 
 18 SPORT INDEED 
 
 looming up bright and cheery in the distance, and in 
 a little while we stood within its hospitable doors. 
 We found it full of sports and their guides, and 
 among the former was a goodly proportion of " lady 
 sports." No less than four of the short skirt variety ; 
 and these, with their little rifles, their little boots, 
 their little Jerseys, their little fishing rods and their 
 little " fellers," made the scene an interesting and we 
 might say although hanging should be the penalty 
 for such a pun an amooseing one.
 
 Cupid in the Wilderness 
 
 This love will undo us all. O, Cupid! Cupid! Cupid! 
 
 TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA. 
 
 HUMAN nature is the same the world over, and 
 Cupid, sly dog that he is, appears to know that the 
 wild woods and lakes and rivers of Maine are no ex- 
 ception to the rule. Ah, me ! if these same woods and 
 lakes and rivers had tongues and knew how to use 
 them, what queer tales they could tell and what in- 
 cidents might come to light that now slide into the 
 past unstoried and unrecorded ! 
 
 Here, in this very wilderness, hunting, fishing and 
 pleasure parties yearly congregate, and among the 
 latter is plenty of fit food for Cupid's powder young 
 and beautiful girls with enough will, skill and ingenu- 
 ity to paddle their own canoe and make love at the 
 same time, if their chaperons be sleepy enough to 
 permit the performance of such a double-barreled pro- 
 gramme. 
 
 These fishing and pleasure parties remain no longer 
 than the middle or latter part of September; but 
 while they're here, the little, winged god is up to his 
 chin in business, and to be hit with one of his arrows 
 is as common as trouble. Ah, 
 
 " Cupid is a knavish lad 
 Thus to make poor females mad." 
 19
 
 20 SPORT INDEED 
 
 But, with all due respect to William Shakespeare, I 
 would remind him that it is not from out the female 
 sex alone that Cupid chooses his candidates for the 
 madhouse. The "knavish lad" is no respecter of 
 persons or sex, as the immortal William would dis- 
 cover if his canonized bones could burst their cere- 
 ments, quit their narrow bed and visit this summer 
 habitat of the curly-headed god. 
 
 Now I come to think of it, William's bones need not 
 go to that trouble. The sad, lamenting tone of his 
 words : 
 
 " O, love's bow shoots buck and doe," 
 
 proves that he knew the ambi-sexibility of Cupid's 
 tricks quite as well as he seems to have known every- 
 thing else. 
 
 Funny indeed are some of the doings of engaged 
 couples. Here is an instance, and I hope the inter- 
 esting couple with " hearts that beat as one " will 
 pardon me for giving it away to the cold and un- 
 appreciating world. They made the sad discovery 
 that their canoe was too small to hold an embryo 
 bride and her best young man at the same time ; but 
 love, that " laughs at locksmiths," surely would not 
 cry at a less serious emergency. Its resources are 
 much too ready for that. They placed two canoes 
 side by side, bound them together with a pair of en- 
 circling arms and, with a guide to paddle in the stern 
 of each love-laden vessel, went on their way rejoicing.
 
 CUPID IN THE WILDERNESS 21 
 
 Now these guides, while they know how to paddle, 
 know quite as well how to tattle, and tattle, in truth, 
 they do 
 
 Of the doings and the wooings, 
 
 Of the billings and the cooings, 
 Of the kissings and the huggings of the pair ; 
 
 Of the lovings, of the scoldings, 
 
 Of the rapturous enfoldings 
 Oh, Paradise with lots of fun to spare ! 
 
 Of course, the guides are only mortals, and, as all 
 this takes place within their easy eye-and-ear-shot, 
 they would be more than mortals or less if they 
 didn't tattle. Bless your heart, the amount of it they 
 have retailed to me might fill a book the size of "Web- 
 ster's Unabridged. You shall have the benefit of it 
 some day, as I intend to pick out a few of the best, 
 the very best, of their stories and print them. Then, 
 look out for something rich and racy ; but not now. 
 We will first allow these turtle doves time to mate and 
 settle in their nest. 
 
 A new crowd of visitors had appeared in the Maine 
 woods and waters visitors who were bent on killing 
 the succulent deer, the solitude-loving caribou and 
 the lordly moose the noblest Eoman of them all. 
 
 These visitors, by the force of circumstances, were 
 obliged to have guides whose particular policy it is to 
 speed the parting "sport" and welcome the coming 
 one. In the various places where these guides meet 
 Greenville, Kineo, Northeast Carry, Chesuncook
 
 22 SPORT INDEED 
 
 House, Mud Carry, Eagle Lake or Churchill Lake and 
 hundreds of other places there is always a comparing 
 of notes of the many things said and the many things 
 done by the departed guests. As I have already 
 hinted, I may at some future time give you the pith 
 of a fe\v of these notes. 
 
 It was surprising how many men were already in 
 the woods for the fall hunting, which starts October 
 first, and how many more we heard of that were com- 
 ing. Every hotel register was well sprinkled with 
 names of residents of the Quaker City, more, I think, 
 than from any other place. Here is how I came in 
 contact with one of them. One of my guides hurt 
 his knee, and so much that his limb swelled to double 
 its natural size. I was considering how I could send 
 him home, and as this would require a canoe journey 
 of five days, with five more for the return of the guide 
 who took him out, the matter to me was a serious one. 
 He relieved my mind, however, by telling me he had 
 heard of a doctor who was camping at the head of a 
 bog a few miles away. I put my man at once into a 
 canoe and paddled up to the tent of the ./Esculapian 
 disciple whom I found to be an eminent one and a 
 Philadelphian. After looking at the man's damaged 
 limb he said : " Well, I am an expert, or considered 
 so, on insanity, and perhaps on one or two other of 
 nature's calamities, but I am not an expert on swelled 
 legs. However, this is what I advise you to do,"
 
 CUPID IN THE WILDERNESS 23 
 
 And he told him. The doctor's advice seems to have 
 been what a doctor's advice sometimes is not the 
 proper thing, for the leg got well. But before the 
 man could call again to thank him for his mended 
 leg, the learned leech had vanished in the depths of 
 the wilderness and we saw him no more. 
 
 The natives hereabout are, in money matters, what 
 the Scotch call canny. And some of them are canny 
 enough to give any Scotchman points and beat him 
 with ease. Listen to this. A storekeeper, "a native 
 here and to the manner born," had a mother. I don't 
 wish you to infer, however, that he differed in this 
 particular from any other storekeeper. He was a 
 dutiful son and doted on his mother, showing her 
 every mark of filial affection. This was, of course, 
 very commendable in him ; but she deserved it all, 
 for report says she was a "grand woman." In the 
 course of human events the old lady became " wor- 
 rited." Life's cares and troubles came so thick and 
 fast that they began to choke up the oil in her lamp 
 of life. It commenced to flicker and grow dim and 
 needed only a puff of apoplexy to put it out entirely. 
 When the end came the son's grief was touching, and 
 the more so as there was no place where he could obtain 
 a coffin nearer than a town three days' journey away. 
 The problem how to get there and back in time to 
 bury the old lady decently troubled his mind, for the 
 indecency of burying her in one of their common pine
 
 24 SPORT INDEED 
 
 receptacles was more shocking to his delicate sense of 
 propriety than planting her in a dry-goods box. At 
 this juncture a man who had long known and revered 
 the departed woman volunteered his services to fetch 
 a coffin. With sturdy strokes of his paddle in the 
 dead waters of the river and the deft use of the pole 
 in pushing up over the quick ones, he hurried on. 
 After reaching a carry, he ran the two miles across it 
 in order to catch the first boat to the town where 
 coffins were for sale. Making his purchase he shoul- 
 dered it and hustled his way back ; then putting the 
 coffin in his canoe he started down the river as 
 rapidly as elbow grease and paddle could drive him. 
 When he landed, the son of the old lady asked him 
 what his charge would be for the trip. The man re- 
 plied that he would make no charge, that the deceased 
 had always been kind to him, and what he had done 
 was little enough to show the good-will and respect he 
 had for her. " I am glad," he said, " to have had the 
 chance to do what I have done ; but I wouldn't mind 
 having a plug of tobacco ; mine was all used up on 
 the trip." The dutiful son handed him a plug from 
 behind the counter and in the most kind-hearted tone 
 said : " Ten cents, please." This he said and nothing 
 more.
 
 Calling the Moose 
 
 This is excellent sport, i' faith. 
 
 HENRY IV. 
 
 IN the latter days of September and the early 
 weeks of October the mammoth deer, known as the 
 moose, is mating. Then it is that the woods of 
 Maine, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick are traversed 
 by thousands of sportsmen with their guides, all in 
 search of one thing a chance to kill a bull-moose. 
 Now, the female moose, in one particular, is very like 
 some other females of the animal kingdom ; she is coy 
 and capricious, leading her lover " a merry dance o'er 
 moss and fell," through bog and swamp, and along 
 the margins of lakes, ponds and lagoons, or "logans" 
 as they are called in this region. At night she comes 
 down to the water to feed on the roots and tops of 
 the lily-pad which grows so abundantly in sluggish 
 streams. If her mate is her escort he usually stands 
 on the bank, eyeing his spouse tenderly as she feeds, 
 and ever ready to protect her from all danger, real or 
 fancied. 
 
 If the bull-moose has no cow of his own, but is 
 merely ranging and scouring the country to find a 
 
 sweetheart that fits his fancy, then is the time he is 
 
 25
 
 26 SPORT INDEED 
 
 apt to fall into a trap and a very sure one. On a still 
 night and, mind you, the night must be still around 
 every lake, pond and river where the moose frequents 
 and feeds, the bull hears the sounds of s \veetest 
 melody sounds filled with such plaintive tones and 
 such a come-to-my-arms sort of cadence that he can- 
 not resist the appeal. These sounds are termed the 
 " call," and their ascending and descending notes are 
 produced by the guides, their instrument being a 
 birch-bark horn. If the call be well made it will 
 be heard by the bull miles away. Pricking up his 
 ears he will start on the run, thrashing through the 
 brake, barking, bellowing, grunting and in his own 
 affectionate manner answering the impassioned notes 
 of his counterfeit mistress. When he reaches the edge 
 of the wood he grows wary and suspicious. He will 
 steal up and down among the bushes, listening and 
 scenting in a she-may -be-fooling-me sort of way ; and 
 sometimes it takes many nights to convince him that 
 he is the very gentleman the lady moose is "stuck 
 on," and for whom she is so lovingly calling. Alas, 
 how many a bull-moose Lothario falls a victim to his 
 own vanity and the alluring notes of a birch-bark 
 horn! 
 
 Although the bull-moose is a thoroughbred Mormon, 
 having sometimes as many as five wives in his harem, 
 yet when he has one of them specially under his pro- 
 tection he will hardly leave a bird in hand for one in
 
 CALLING THE MOOSE 27 
 
 the bush. I have myself heard him answer a call 
 while engaged in his protective duty and then make a 
 start, which in this instance was for two miles ; but 
 the loving voice of the real moose arrested the 
 wanderer and brought him back to the family bosom. 
 I heard and saw all this, saw him approach the 
 water, step into it and splash it with his feet, mean- 
 while looking cautiously around as if he scented 
 danger in the air. And there was danger, and a good 
 deal of it. In the front of a canoe sat a hunter with 
 rifle ready cocked, and heart throbbing with thumps 
 that threatened to burst the buttons off his coat. A 
 moment of breathless suspense, and then bang ! goes 
 the 45-90 cartridge, the report sounding and resound- 
 ing through the woods and over the waters for miles 
 around. There was another bang and yet another. 
 "Whether the uncertain light or the uncertainty of the 
 hunter's aim, due to his sitting for hours still as a 
 mouse and in an atmosphere with the thermometer at 
 freezing point, had anything to do with the result, T 
 can't say. But I can say that the moose escaped un- 
 harmed untouched by the bullet that might have 
 forever put an end to his midnight prowlings and Don 
 Juanish intrigues. 
 
 The sport of moose hunting is one that requires a 
 great deal of patience and perseverance from the 
 hunter, and under such trying difficulties as exposure 
 to cold and loss of sleep. But his reward is ample
 
 28 SPORT INDEED 
 
 plenty of excitement, and, if successful, a magnificent 
 an tiered head as a trophy of his prowess. 
 
 One night my guide and I set out to paddle up the 
 inlet of a little lake we were encamped upon, with the 
 intention of calling if it should be still enough to do 
 so. There was some wind on the lake, but we thought 
 there might be little or none in the forest-sheltered 
 inlet. I was tucked down in the front of the canoe 
 with blankets to keep my legs warm (for the night 
 was cold), with heavy woolen socks drawn over my 
 boots and a woolen cap down over my ears. We 
 paddled about a mile and found the wind worse than 
 it was on the lake below, and strong enough to make 
 it hard canoeing. In a big bog on the right-hand side 
 we heard a branch brake. We stopped and listened. A 
 deer, we thought, as another and another branch 
 broke. Then came the sound of heavy footfalls and 
 we knew a moose was " coming to the water." We 
 listened intently so intently that I could hear the 
 ticking of my watch, though it was buried under a 
 sweater, a coat and an overcoat ; nay, more, I heard 
 perhaps it may have been fancy the stretching of 
 my elastic suspenders as I breathed. Soon we dis- 
 tinguished through the dark of the moonless night a 
 great object, big as a hippopotamus, move down the 
 bank and step into the water. The guide pushed up 
 the canoe deftly and silently, but the wind was at its 
 worst at this time and blew the canoe diagonally
 
 CALLING THE MOOSE 29 
 
 against a tree-top sticking out of the water on the 
 other shore. This made a noise, little, it is true, but 
 yet it seemed, oh, how great ! Just then we saw an- 
 other huge object on the bank. Now, up to this time, 
 we could not make out whether the monster in the 
 water was a bull or a cow-moose, and it was rather 
 important to know which, as a fine of four months' 
 imprisonment is the penalty imposed in Maine for 
 shooting a cow. 
 
 It was so dark that I could not see whether the big 
 object had horns or not ; but the guide settled the 
 problem with : " be quick ! that's him on the bank 
 now down him ! " I raised my rifle, aimed for what 
 I believed to be his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. 
 Horror of horrors! the hammer wouldn't budge. 
 Again I sighted and pulled, and yet again, but all 
 to no purpose. My rifle was more harmless than a 
 pocket pistol loaded with Jersey applejack. The cow 
 soon took alarm, floundered up the bank and in the 
 twinkling of an eye both were gone ; he bellowing 
 and barking through the alders and crashing down 
 everything before him in his fury ; and she silently 
 stealing away in the darkness. 
 
 There were two very disgusted men that night; 
 one because the other didn't shoot and the other be- 
 cause his rifle wouldn't let him shoot. On coming 
 into camp I made an examination of the trouble and 
 found that on account of several days' steady rain the
 
 30 SPORT INDEED 
 
 lock of the rifle had become so rusty, although greased 
 every day, that it would not work. To this that bull 
 moose owed a little longer lease of life. A job also 
 awaited a gunsmith, if one could be found capable of 
 taking a rifle apart and teaching it to obey the trigger 
 at least one time out of three. 
 
 "We had been in these northern woods of Maine for 
 over three weeks. In that time there were, I think, 
 but two fine days. The rest were made up of winds, 
 rain, snow and ice ; winds from all points of the com- 
 pass ; winds that would start with the strength of a 
 gale, then soften down to the breath of a zephyr. 
 Still they were winds, and we had them of every 
 variety you see we were " moose calling," and you 
 cannot call moose successfully in windy weather ; that 
 is the reason we noticed the wind. Rains ? Yes, of all 
 degrees and conditions; soft rains and hard rains, 
 gentle rains and furious downpours one of which, at 
 the time I speak of, was having things its own way. 
 My guides were building a break-rain, break-weather, 
 break-water or whatever you may please to call it 
 of fir trees, and planning where to put the door ; but, 
 as the rain seemed to blow from everywhere, there 
 was more promised comfort in leaving out the door 
 and carrying the fir grove entirely around the camp. 
 
 During this miserable, rainy spell I watched the 
 game with some interest what little of it I had been 
 able to see to learn how they relished the damp
 
 CALLING THE MOOSE 31 
 
 humor of Jupiter Pluvius. They seemed to fancy it 
 no more than do their enemies, the human bipeds. 
 
 In my watching I observed some partridges hud- 
 dled under a big log, with feathers wet and all the 
 glory of their color and fluffy sleekness departed. 
 The cock bird looked woe-begone and cheap and 
 ragged a dripping, melancholy shadow and I thought 
 of the poet's lament : 
 
 "Shades of the mighty can it be 
 That this is all remains of thee ? ' ' 
 
 Once I started a deer from out a clump of young 
 pines where he had been sheltering himself. Again, I 
 came across an old doe standing under a couple of big 
 cedar trees, and after she had " lit out " I stepped 
 into her arbor and sat down. Although the rain was 
 falling in streams, yet none fell on me and I spent there 
 a couple of happy hours watching the capers of the only 
 living things that had the courage to brave the storm 
 the red squirrels. They w r ere busily occupied in 
 laying up their winter stores, which seemingly were to 
 consist of pine cones, as each had one of these in his 
 mouth. I noticed they took good care to run along 
 the ground under the logs, and not on top of them. 
 
 We took the weather philosophically, because we 
 were w r ell prepared for it. We had plenty of dry 
 clothes, a big camp to shelter us, a roaring fire, an 
 abundance of the finest game in the world to eat, 
 clear, mineral-spring water to drink, good appetites,
 
 32 SPORT INDEED 
 
 and rugged strength to take a daily tramp whether 
 the weather was what it ought to be or whether it 
 wasn't. 
 
 It was said that at least fifteen hundred sportsmen 
 were then in the Maine woods. If so, they required 
 fully two thousand guides, making an army of say 
 three thousand five hundred people, many of them 
 with only a week or ten days' time at their disposal, 
 and some of them accompanied by ladies. While 
 the weather-look was bad for us, it was worse for " the 
 other fellers," whose short supply of time wouldn't 
 allow them to wait for the glad sunshine to come. 
 
 So, after comparing situations, we concluded we 
 had much the better, and good-humoredly pocketing 
 complaint we waited patiently till the sun thought fit 
 to give us the light of his countenance.
 
 An Unexpected Treat 
 
 Who comes here ? My doe ? 
 
 MEBRY WIVES. 
 
 ON one of our evenings in the wilderness we had a 
 quiet spell for a few hours, and my guide and I started 
 out moose calling. We pushed our canoe lightly and 
 very cautiously up the inlet of the little lake on which 
 we were camped, stopping frequently to listen, while 
 we peered with expectant eyes into every bunch of 
 alders, every clump of young pines, hoping against 
 hope that we might see a moose " coming to water." 
 It was about five o'clock in the afternoon. The air 
 was still, not a breath was stirring, and the scenery 
 along the brook was clothed in beauty beyond the 
 reach of poet's pen or painter's art. Th brown and 
 green tints of the frosted and unfrosted ferns ; the 
 tufts of waving grasses with their blades tipped with 
 yellow; the alders just beginning to put on their 
 autumn brown ; the red maple, the yellow birch, the 
 dark green pines, the stately juniper, the sad cypress 
 all mirrored in the tawny stream that flowed lazily 
 beneath, without a ripple to disturb their sembled 
 beauty or a murmur to interrupt the reigning silence. 
 
 33
 
 34 SPORT INDEED 
 
 Silence ? Yes ! Nature seemed to be up to her neck 
 in the depths of the hush. The guide now shoved 
 our canoe on a pine root to anchor it, and then took up 
 his birch-bark horn and gave the three calls of the 
 cow moose. First, the short, tremulous wail ; then 
 the more urgent and commanding one, and, lastly, 
 the long resonant, loving, coaxing, imploring appeal, 
 which no bull-moose with any bowels of compassion 
 can resist. To produce this call the guide winds the 
 horn around in continued circles, the motion giving 
 the sound, that trembling, undulating effect which the 
 genuine article always has. 
 
 Immediately after the call we heard a branch break 
 in the woods to the right of us, perhaps a hundred 
 yards away. I took up my field-glass and watched 
 until I saw a couple of bewitching eyes, a pair of ears 
 erect and vigilant, and the peculiarly graceful neck 
 which I knew could belong only to the doe deer. She 
 stood between two cedars and for awhile watched us 
 intently, then stole carefully up the stream to where 
 it turned sharp to the left and where a bank covered 
 with marsh grass made a pretty foreground for the 
 picture. Here she planted herself, rigid, with nostrils 
 dilated, ears standing straight up, eyes fixed on us, 
 and with every other indication that we were the only 
 target that occupied her attention and curiosity. The 
 guide gave the moose calls every few minutes and 
 they could be heard miles away, yet there she stood,
 
 AN UNEXPECTED TREAT 35 
 
 " a thing of beauty " that charmed our eyes and rap- 
 tured our conceit. 
 
 The day waned, the sun dropped behind the hills, 
 twilight came and went, yet there she stood, motion- 
 less, entranced, and silhouetted against the evening 
 sky like a graceful statue. Her eyes were still fast- 
 ened on us, and when the cloak of night shut us from 
 her sight her curiosity seemed to become uncontrolla- 
 ble. "We heard her cross the brook softly, then steal 
 down the left bank, picking her way daintily behind 
 the alders and cedar trees until she was abreast of us. 
 Then she stopped, and in the silence we imagined her 
 letting loose her wild inquisitiveness : " Who can 
 these mortals be ? Poor things ! How can they sit 
 so long on the water and keep so still? What do 
 they want here anyway ? And where did that heav- 
 enly music come from ? " 
 
 Perhaps she thought all this if she did not speak it. 
 Then she stepped out in the open and came so close to the 
 canoe that we could almost have hit her with a paddle. 
 Did we shoot ? No, sir ! 'No thought had we of kill- 
 ing the soft-eyed, unsuspicious creature whose beauty 
 and grace of form and pose had, for an hour, regaled 
 our sense with such an unexpected treat of loveliness. 
 Yenison ? Why, we would have gone without the 
 dainty dish for many a day rather than have had it 
 through the foul murder of that gentle, gazelle-like 
 doe of Chesuncook Lake.
 
 Killing the Caribou 
 
 Here's sport indeed ! 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 had been semi-prisoners for about three weeks, 
 and wearied with rains and high winds which effec- 
 tually prevented the successful bunting of big game in 
 the location of our camp. 
 
 Early one morning in October my guide said to me 
 " Suppose we go and try to find that dam." We had 
 heard a great many stories about a dam at the head 
 of the stream which forms the inlet to our little lake, 
 but were inclined to think some of these stories Mun- 
 chausenish. None of our guides had ever seen the 
 dam and had only hearsay for its location and dis- 
 tance. One maintained it was but five miles away ; 
 another six, and the third vowed it was a good eight 
 miles off; besides, there are two branches to the 
 stream, and no one knew on which of them the dam 
 was placed. So the guide and I started in light hunt- 
 ing order, with a few bouillon capsules which were to 
 serve us for dinner and supper, and possibly breakfast, 
 if we shouldn't get back that night. We found a 
 spotted path through the woods that led to an old 
 tote-road up which we went splashing through the 
 
 36
 
 w 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 H 
 
 fc 
 O
 
 KILLING THE CARIBOU 39 
 
 water accumulated by weeks of rain ; up to our very 
 knees in mud sometimes, slipping, falling and stum- 
 bling over cedar roots, climbing over and under wind- 
 falls, until we reached an old lumber camp, which the 
 guide thought it his duty to investigate. No Maine 
 guide can pass an old camp for the first time without 
 taking a look in to see if anything has been left that 
 he can make use of. Before he reached the buildings 
 three deer, one of them a big buck, jumped out- of 
 some raspberry bushes and bounded away over the 
 creek and into the woods beyond. 
 
 I started for them and stalked them for nearly an 
 hour, until I came within shooting distance of the 
 does ; but although I heard the buck I could not get 
 my eyes upon him, and the does I did not want ; so I 
 returned to the road. We now had a journey of three 
 and a half miles over a road probably as bad as could 
 be found anywhere ; that is, if mud, water, alders, 
 alder roots, cedar roots, windfalls and slippery rocks 
 could make it so. There's an end to all things, how- 
 ever, and the road finally led us to a landing on the 
 brook where a large number of logs were left high 
 and dry from the last drive. Some of them, in fact, 
 looked as if they had been there for years. There 
 were probably half a million feet in and near this 
 spot. "We crossed the brook and found a logging road 
 which we followed for a mile or more, but saw no 
 signs of a dam. We heard an occasional deer crack- 
 
 4G238O
 
 40 SPORT INDEED 
 
 ing a dry limb in the dense wood or thicket of small 
 pines which bordered the roadway on either side, but 
 could not get a sight of him. Here the guide said we 
 had better turn back, as we were going in the wrong 
 direction ; but I proposed walking, at any rate half a 
 mile further, and probably we might find something 
 worth shooting at. We made one turn in the road 
 when we heard a branch break in front of us. We 
 stopped to listen, and soon a calf caribou came out 
 from the right hand side. 
 
 It looked up and down, saw us, then moved into 
 the forest which was here open and filled with stunted 
 spruce trees, growing in a thick bed of moss. The 
 calf was followed a minute later by a cow. The 
 guide whispered, " Now look out for horns ! " Then 
 another cow came out and crossed the road followed 
 by a sight I shall never forget. A pair of monster 
 antlers pushed slowly out into the road, and then 
 came the head and neck of a caribou bull. A second 
 later and the animal came into full view, as grand a 
 specimen of his tribe as the sun ever shone upon. 
 
 The guide whispered, " Hit him in the shoulder ; be 
 steady and sure." And I was sure, for when I fired 
 my 45-90 rifle, the caribou dropped in his tracks al- 
 most at the same instant. He hadn't moved an inch 
 after being hit. The ball had passed through his left 
 shoulder and out at the neck. We soon covered the 
 hundred yards or more of distance which separated us
 
 His LORDSHIP; AS GRAND A SPECIMEN AS THE SUN EVER 
 SHONE UPON
 
 KILLING THE CARIBOU 43 
 
 from his lordship, whom we found down on his knees 
 unable to rise. And then a battle royal started be- 
 tween the guide and the bull. The guide wanted to 
 finish him with the back of the axe, and in order to 
 do so he would angle around him, trying to get in a 
 blow on the forehead. The caribou, however, although 
 unable to raise himself to his feet, could and did swing 
 his great head and antlers around in every direction 
 with vicious and lightning-like quickness. Had he 
 caught the guide with his antlers it would have been 
 a sorry day for that personage. Another shot from 
 my rifle, however, settled the matter. To keep the 
 caribou in good shape we elevated his head and shoul- 
 ders upon some skids that were in the road, and then 
 tramped back to our camp, a walk of fully six miles. 
 Next day our three guides with my son and myself 
 went back, taking a camera with us, and although the 
 morning was rainy and squally we obtained a fairly 
 good picture of him. As he was frozen pretty stiff, 
 the men raised him up on his feet and fastened a rope^ 
 from each antler to a couple of trees, one on either 
 side of the road. These held up his head and steadied 
 his carcass so that my son was enabled to photograph 
 him in a standing position. 
 
 The guides skinned him, but took off his head 
 unskinned. The next day, in order to incur no risk 
 of having the head spoiled by the wet weather or care- 
 less skinning, I sent a guide with it to Greenville, a
 
 44 SPORT INDEED 
 
 three days' journey there and back. The bull was 
 fourteen years old. The antlers are thirty-two inches 
 long from the base of skull to the tips, and have 
 thirteen points on each side. The taxidermist to 
 whom the head was sent said it was the finest he had 
 seen and the largest, from that locality, of which he 
 had any record. 
 
 On the night of our caribou victory, although very 
 tired and badly used up with our frightfully hard 
 walk, neither the guide nor myself slept much. The 
 big animal would haunt our sleep. We could see him 
 almost every minute of the night ; and even now the 
 memory of the scene is fresh and vivid in my mind 
 and doubtless will be for many a moon to come.
 
 More of the Moose 
 
 The Paragon of Animals. 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 ON the morning of the caribou hunt, we left the old 
 bull lying in the road, and about eleven o'clock 
 tramped back upon our tracks to prosecute our search 
 for the dam which we had originally started out to 
 find. Upon reaching the brook we followed it up- 
 wards some distance, until the guide, who was quite 
 " done up," said he would make a fire and boil some hot 
 water in a tin dipper for my dinner. I decided, how- 
 ever, to push on until I found that dam, telling him to 
 stay where he was until my return. 
 
 The stream here was choked up with cut logs, which 
 made it nice and easy walking, or easy jumping, from 
 one to another. Twenty minutes of this sort of travel 
 and I reached the long-looked-for dam. Climbing on 
 top of it my eye caught the view of as lovely a spot 
 for big game to feed in as could well be imagined. 
 The water had been drawn off during the late spring, 
 and a luxurious growth of swale grass, cranberry 
 bushes, and young alder shoots, had sprung up in wild 
 and wanton profusion. 
 
 I sat down on the dam and let my senses wallow 
 
 45
 
 46 SPORT INDEED 
 
 in the sight. A stiff breeze was blowing, swaying the 
 tall grasses into waves of graceful motion and bring- 
 ing to my ear a gentle rustling sound a twittering 
 pianissimo, as it were, in one of Nature's pastorales, 
 and one which all lovers of her rural melodies would 
 have recognized and appreciated. 
 
 After my fancy had played awhile it ran up against 
 the thought : " What a tempting sanctuary is this 
 for big game ! Surely it won't be long without its 
 antlered heads and arched necks." Instinctively I 
 crept behind some bushes and watched and waited. 
 Fifteen or twenty minutes passed without my ex- 
 pectations being fulfilled. Then I thought of my tin 
 cup of bouillon and, fearing it would be spoiled, 
 reluctantly left the enticing spot and traveled back 
 over the logs to where the guide was waiting for me. 
 
 After drinking my bouillon I told the guide how 
 near the dam was and what an attractive spot for 
 game it must be ; then I directed him to take my rifle 
 and go up and look at some moose tracks which I had 
 found, and I would boil another cup of water for his 
 dinner while he was gone. The fire had burned down 
 low. I put on more wood and sat and watched the 
 roaring blaze, and whistled, while supreme content- 
 ment oozed out of me from every pore. My reverie 
 lasted till broken by the guide who rushed in with 
 hardly enough wind left to shape his words. He told 
 me that just as he got to the dam a young bull-moose
 
 MORE OF THE MOOSE 47 
 
 and a monstrously big cow-moose had come out of the 
 woods and were feeding in the open, close to the dam. 
 We jumped like gymnasts across the logs and made 
 some leaps that might have caused the kangaroo to 
 blush and hide her head in her pouch. 
 
 As we approached the dam our steps grew cautious 
 and when we reached it we peered over its edge and 
 in the open space beyond. The bull was not in sight 
 and the cow was more than five hundred yards away. 
 No doubt they had scented the smoke from our fire, 
 although the wind was almost directly in our favor. 
 But we soon saw that the cow was uneasy and sus- 
 picious. She would stop her feeding, raise her mane, 
 lift her head in the air, holding it there for a minute or 
 so, and then resume her feeding. After repeating this 
 program three times she gave a call that was quickly 
 answered by the bull. A moment later he rushed out 
 of the woods, at the back and to the right of her, 
 while she ran to meet him. Then they wheeled about, 
 threw up their great heads, and with dilating nostrils 
 both sniffed the suspicious scent which had alarmed 
 the cow so much. They were at this moment fully six 
 to seven hundred yards off. Every moment seemed to 
 increase their alarm and it was evident they would 
 soon dash for the woods. 
 
 I said to the guide : " "What do you think ? Can I 
 down that bull at this distance ? " 
 
 " I don't think you can, but there's no telling what
 
 48 SPORT INDEED 
 
 a 45-90 rifle can do. If you're going to try it you'd 
 better begin. They'll soon be off." 
 
 I decided to try the shot, and from under the edge 
 of the dam I aimed for the bull's shoulder and fired. 
 My shot was a clean miss. Then we saw a scene 
 plainly illustrating the amount of human nature that 
 underlies the instinct of the moose. As the report of 
 the rifle rang out and echoed around the edges of the 
 forest encircling the open space, the cow-moose ran 
 here and there in every direction. Fear seemed to 
 have dethroned her courage and prudence. But the 
 bull stood still, rigid, erect, his mane up, while every 
 hair on his body bristled defiance. 
 
 I fired cartridge No. 2, making another miss. Then 
 came a repetition of the scene just described, the bull 
 standing still as ever. I reasoned that the strong, 
 quartering wind to the right was deflecting the bullets; 
 so I aimed a little more to the left the third time and 
 fired. 
 
 And then followed a strange sight. The bullet had 
 reached the bull and he started with a rush and a crash 
 like a locomotive off the rails. Away he went, 
 straight for the woods to the left. The guide and I 
 then sprang upon the top of the dam and watched the 
 cow who was still running about in the open, and 
 thoroughly panic-struck. A couple of minutes elapsed 
 and then the wounded bull ran back from his strong- 
 hold of timber to get the cow away from danger.
 
 MORE OF THE MOOSE 49 
 
 This gave me a chance to fire three more shots at 
 him. While he was circling around the cow and try- 
 ing to lead her into the safety of the woods, he seemed 
 to say : " You can shoot at me if you like and kill me 
 if you can, but I'll save my frau or perish in the 
 attempt ! " 
 
 And just as soon as he had her headed and started 
 right, then he got away also, both entering the woods 
 to the left. 
 
 Then the question came : What shall we do ? The 
 guide said : " Let's go back to camp and give him a 
 chance to lie down. If he's mortally wounded we'll 
 find him, but I fear you've given him only a flesh 
 wound." We stopped at our fire for the guide to 
 drink his bouillon and then commenced our eight-mile 
 journey to our tent. On the road down, and before 
 we reached the logging camp where we had started 
 the buck deer and the two does the day before, I crept 
 along very cautiously, hoping to catch a sight of the 
 big buck. The road that led by the old camp had a 
 path in which were several long logs leading length- 
 wise from the road right to the camp, and walking on 
 these logs with rubber boots made no noise at all. 
 Suddenly I came upon six deer feeding in and around 
 a lot of raspberry bushes. Four of them were so 
 bunched that I could have placed a bullet which 
 would have gone, possibly, through the whole four, 
 certainly through three of them. But they were all
 
 50 SPORT INDEED 
 
 does ; the buck was not there and I stole back to the 
 tote-road without even alarming them. 
 
 It was dark when we reached camp, and we were 
 tired ; yet the excitement of the day had been so great 
 that, wearied as we were, we could not sleep. The 
 caribou and the moose and the six deer kept marching 
 through our minds in company with the queries : 
 " Will we find the moose ? Is he killed ? Will any- 
 thing get at the caribou during the night and mutilate 
 him ? " In our mind's eye we saw the old fellow 
 dropping in his tracks ; and again we saw the bull- 
 moose rushing from the woods to coax the wife of his 
 bosom back from the reach of bullets and into a place 
 of safety. 
 
 Thus the day's adventures would be vividly reen- 
 acted till daylight broke. Then ready and eager to 
 solve our caribou queries, the guides, my son and my- 
 self breakfasted, shouldered camera, axes, rifles and 
 ropes and started off with the intention first to photo- 
 graph and skin the caribou and secure his head, and 
 then to trail the wounded moose. It was half-past 
 one when we reached the dam, and in a few minutes 
 we found the trail of the bull by discovering a pool of 
 blood in the swale grass and another considerable pool 
 on the edge of the woods. After that the trails of the 
 cow-moose and the bull were so intertwined that it was 
 hard to unravel them. But there were five of us and 
 each would discover a trace every minute or two ; some-
 
 MORE OF THE MOOSE 51 
 
 times a splash of blood on the side of a tree, or a drop 
 on a leaf, or a streak of it on some deadfall the wounded 
 moose had stepped over. At one place he had passed 
 between two trees, evidently a tight fit, as it showed 
 the blood from the left hip, where he was struck, down 
 his leg as far as the knee. At another place he had 
 stopped and quite a circle of blood was formed. But 
 nowhere was there any sign that he had lain down. 
 Nowhere was there blood enough to show that he had 
 been mortally hit. We followed his trail for over two 
 hours and then reluctantly concluded that our moose 
 would live and prosper perhaps for many a year to 
 come, as he would be duly careful in the future to keep 
 as far away from the range of a rifle as his haunts and 
 habits would permit. At all events, he would never 
 again feed in a meadow in daylight during the open 
 season for a moose needs to be shot at but once to 
 make him forever after the most cautious animal that 
 roams the wild woods.
 
 A Lost Man and a Wounded Moose 
 
 I have lost my way. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 IT is the unexpected that always happens in hunt- 
 ing. When you most desire and look for your game, 
 then is the time you don't see it ; and when and where 
 you don't look for it, then and there you are apt to 
 run against it. 
 
 My guides had told me marvellous tales of the hunt- 
 ing opportunities that flourished around a certain pond 
 or small lake, a couple of days' journey from our camp- 
 ing ground. To find out whether these tales were 
 true or not, I thought it worth while to go there, 
 especially as one of the guides had spent the previous 
 winter in a lumber camp near by, and was familiar, 
 or ought to have been, with the country. There was 
 a very large bog, five miles long and about a mile 
 broad, which was a favorite haunt of the caribou, 
 moose and deer, and they found in it enough rich food 
 for sustenance without resorting to any other locality. 
 
 Very pretty and promising all this, but there is no 
 rose without a thorn, and this rose of ours had one in 
 the shape of a goose a goose of a sportsman who was 
 
 camped on a stream some two miles away from the 
 
 52
 
 u 
 
 H 
 
 8 
 
 H
 
 A WOUNDED MOOSE 55 
 
 pond. The goose delighted in firing a rifle that burned 
 one hundred grains of powder behind a fifty-calibre 
 bullet, and enjoyed himself hugely in loading up his 
 miniature cannon and banging away at red squirrels, 
 partridges and rabbits. He would leave his camp in 
 the morning, walk to the pond, and make the woods 
 ring for miles around with the noise of his rifle. 
 
 The unwritten law of Maine in regard to the shoot- 
 ing-rights on ponds or small lakes is that the sports- 
 man who first puts a canoe upon them is safe from 
 intrusion on the part of any other sportsman. Acting 
 upon this hint we determined to paddle up a stream 
 as far as we could, then carry our canoe to the pond 
 and take possession, thus shutting out our noisy 
 friend. So at four o'clock one morning our strongest 
 guide started with his canoe on his back, carried it for 
 a distance of two miles, placed it on the pond and re- 
 turned to camp for breakfast. Then after our morn- 
 ing meal I started with another guide and walked to 
 the pond, loaded only with a tin cup, an axe and a 
 rifle. We reached the pond at about half-past seven 
 and got into the canoe, but at the very first dip of our 
 paddle we heard the boom of the 50-100 rifle fired by 
 our goose who was cracking away at the red squirrels 
 on the other side of the pond. This was not a prom- 
 ising state of affairs for us big game, as a rule don't 
 like cannonading, nor a neighborhood that indulges in 
 it. A few minutes after the noise of the shot and its
 
 56 SPORT INDEED 
 
 echoes were sobered into silence, \ve saw a pair of 
 deer two hundred yards away. My guide suggested 
 that I try a shot at them, saying it would be a good 
 idea, even if I missed the deer, for it would let the 
 goose know that there was a canoe on the pond, that 
 the pond was mortgaged and he had better find some 
 other spot for his cannonading. The deer, however, 
 were in an awkward place to be shot at with effect. 
 However, I did shoot and missed. They wheeled like 
 a flash and bounded into the woods. The sound of 
 the shot reached the goose with the 50-100 rifle who 
 stepped out into the open, saw us, and started back 
 for his camp. 
 
 We now paddled to the other side of the pond and 
 as the sun was coming out warm we left our coats and 
 vests in the canoe, took with us a tin cup and four 
 bouillon capsules and left, feeling sure that the goose's 
 cannonading had killed all our chances of seeing any 
 more game that day. "We left the canoe exactly at 
 eight o'clock (I know, for I looked at my watch on 
 starting). Not more than five minutes later my foot 
 stumbled in the bog. Recovering my foothold and 
 looking up I saw a sight that startled me. Not a 
 hundred yards away a great bull-moose, with wide- 
 spreading antlers and dilated nostrils stood looking 
 straight at me from between two trees. The place 
 where he was standing was one where a man would 
 least expect to see him, because, by all rules of pru-
 
 A WOUNDED MOOSE 57 
 
 dence and safe moose conduct, the noise of the late 
 rifle shots should by this time have driven him miles 
 away from this locality. It appears it did not. And 
 what did I do under the circumstances ? Well, pre- 
 cisely what any other man would have done. Up 
 went my rifle and without sighting or even an attempt 
 to take careful aim, I blazed away. And the moose ? 
 Ah ! Like a ghost he came and like a ghost he dis- 
 appeared. The guide a French Canadian said: 
 " Vat you shoot at ? " "A bull-moose," I replied. 
 " Didn't you see him ? " " No, I no see him ! " 
 " Well," I said, " we'll take up his trail and see if he's 
 hit." " You no hit him," he answered disdainfully. 
 
 We tramped around trying to find his tracks but 
 without much hope of seeing them or the tell-tale 
 drops of blood ; for the bog was soft and the feet of 
 the moose thus left no mark as he ran, and the red 
 moss that covered the bog prevented the blood if 
 there was any from showing on it. We finally 
 worked out of the bog and took the ground leading 
 up to a ridge. Making careful search as we walked, 
 we found, at last, a drop of fresh, hot blood on a leaf ; 
 then a little further on, a pool of blood that would 
 have filled a bucket. This blood was mixed with the 
 pink tissue of the lungs, showing plainly that the 
 bullet had gone through that organ of his anatomy. I 
 now proposed to spot the trees so that we could find 
 the place again and then go back to camp, giving the
 
 58 SPORT INDEED 
 
 moose a chance to lie down and bleed to death. My 
 French Canadian, with a whiff of his old clay pipe, 
 gave it as his opinion that the bull was mortally 
 wounded, that we would find him in a few minutes, and 
 advised that we follow him at once. "We did so, find- 
 ing no difficulty whatever in tracking him as his trail 
 was almost a continuous stream of blood, excepting 
 when his wound had apparently become clogged with 
 a piece of the pink tissue, and then for a few yards 
 we would lose his trail ; but only for a few yards, for 
 soon the gushing blood would spurt its passage 
 through and form another pool. And thus we fol- 
 lowed on, over ridges and through swamps and bogs, 
 hoping soon to catch a sight of our expected prize. 
 Sometimes we would strike a place where the bull had 
 stopped to listen ; and again where he had gone around 
 a windfall, showing he was hard hit, if not mortally 
 wounded. How did we reach these conclusions ? 
 Simply enough. The hunter if he be anything of a 
 detective, which he should be on seeing, as we saw, 
 a plainly drawn half circle of blood, would say : 
 " Here he stopped and turned half around to listen." 
 In the second instance, if he had not been hard hit he 
 would have gone over the windfall and not around it. 
 Once we saw where he had leaned against a tree, 
 either to rest or listen, or both, but nowhere was there 
 any evidence that he had lain down. Twice in our 
 pursuit we heard him crashing through the brush
 
 A WOUNDED MOOSE 59 
 
 ahead of us, but at neither time were we fortunate 
 enough to catch a glimpse of him. 
 
 Our brain befuddled with the chase, 
 We took no note of time or space; 
 
 and before we were aware of it the morning hours 
 had gone and we found ourselves on the borders of 
 another lake, miles away from our canoe and our 
 camp. 
 
 About three o'clock in the afternoon we built a 
 little fire, heated some water in our tin cup and boiled 
 a bouillon capsule for each of us, which we drank. 
 Then came the question : " "What shall we do now ? " 
 The guide said we were about four and a half miles 
 from the canoe, and that in following the twists and 
 turns of the wounded bull we had covered a distance 
 of about eighteen miles. His advice was that we 
 should start at once for our canoe after spotting the 
 trees with the axe to enable us to take up the bull's 
 trail again and track him to his deathbed. So at 
 half-past three we started back, the guide assuring me 
 that he knew the way perfectly well. Maybe he did, 
 but coming events left a shadow of doubt on my mind. 
 He first led through an alder swamp that only needed 
 a Bengal tiger or two to rival an Indian jungle. 
 Lathered with perspiration we finally got through 
 this and faced a high ridge covered with numerous 
 windfalls. After scaling the ridge and getting down
 
 60 SPORT INDEED 
 
 on the other side of it we found ourselves in a dense 
 cedar swamp, wandering here and there and perspir- 
 ing at every pore with the labor of climbing over and 
 under logs and jumping windfalls. Then came the 
 pleasant conviction : " We are lost ! " 
 
 The weather had turned cold and suggested that 
 we lose no time in getting some wood together and 
 starting a fire. We were certainly in an unpleasant 
 predicament ; without coat or vest, or blanket, or tent, 
 with nothing to eat and nothing to drink. Could we 
 have found water our remaining two bouillon capsules 
 would have made us a good supper ; but there was no 
 water and consequently no supper. The best and only 
 thing to do now, I did. I pulled off my hip rubber 
 boots, intending to use them for a pillow, dried my few 
 clothes, wet from perspiration, and kept close to the fire 
 to avoid catching cold from the bare ground and freez- 
 ing air. My purpose was not to sleep, but keep awake. 
 " Tired Nature," however, would not be denied her 
 " sweet restorer," and soon I was in a slumber that 
 lasted till eleven o'clock. Then I awoke to find the 
 cold intense. Piling more wood on the fire, I threw 
 myself again on Mother Earth's bosom and slept till 
 two, when the frost, settling on rrn T face like sharp 
 needles, aroused me. Again I replenished the fire 
 and again slept till five. Then I awoke and just in 
 time to catch Aurora at her morning task of decorat- 
 ing the eastern sky. And I watched her w r ith the
 
 a 
 u 
 <
 
 A WOUNDED MOOSE 63 
 
 greatest satisfaction, for never in my recollection was 
 daylight so welcome to me. 
 
 Our search now was for water, but we succeeded in 
 finding none. We did find, however, a thin sheet of 
 ice under an upturned cedar root. This we broke 
 and melted in our tin cup over the fire and then 
 cooked our capsules in it. Such was our breakfast, 
 and I am rather sure the Roman, glutton, Lucullus 
 never experienced greater satisfaction over one of his 
 ten-thousand-dollar dinners than we did over that 
 simple meal of bouillon. 
 
 After our breakfast we found a lumber road and 
 followed it for about three miles to a great. marsh or 
 meadow. Here we obtained our bearings, discover- 
 ing that we were about five miles from camp, which 
 we reached at eleven o'clock that forenoon, thankful 
 and happy to see once more our white tent and the 
 guide we had left behind, whose anxious face told 
 plainly of his alarm at our absence. He had been 
 firing shots at frequent intervals during the night, but 
 the distance between us prevented our hearing them. 
 We had been tramping around an ever-widening circle, 
 until night compelled us to stop. My French Cana- 
 dian guide, who was one of the " I-know-it-all " men, 
 had nothing to say in extenuation but this : " I don't 
 compre' how it all did happen. I did know ze way 
 sure, and then I didn't. I feel much sorry, but ze 
 nex' time I go by ze compass, not by ze knows how."
 
 A Capricious Beast 
 
 You are a pair of strange ones. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 THE moose is a strange animal in many respects. 
 In his outside make-up this strangeness is strongly 
 marked by his large, truncated antlers, his " bell " a 
 tuft of nerves, muscles and hair, hanging from his 
 neck his great mane, his high shoulders, his retreat- 
 ing hips and his stumpy bit of a tail. His " inside," 
 or, so to speak, his mental make-up is quite as strange. 
 He is full of suspicion, ever on the alert for danger, 
 and governed by a disposition stuffed with caprice. 
 What you most expect him to do, when you are after 
 him, he is apt not to do at all ; and what your experi- 
 ence tells you he will never do, he often astonishes 
 you by doing in the most provoking manner. He is 
 an enormous eater, a great traveller, and something 
 of a Lothario in his relish for courtship. He usually 
 feeds in the early morning, rests during the day, 
 and does all his travelling and courting at night; 
 although the whim sometimes seizes him to venture 
 a visit to his sweetheart in the daytime; but it is 
 a perilous venture and one which he often has cause 
 
 to regret. 
 
 64
 
 A CAPRICIOUS BEAST 65 
 
 Like the rest of the deer tribe the moose is afraid of 
 fire and smoke ; and yet I have known a bull, when 
 wild with passion, to charge into a camp where a log 
 fire was burning and a French Canadian cook was 
 busy washing his dishes in front of it. 
 
 The sudden entrance of the bull created considerable 
 excitement and for awhile he made it warm enough in 
 that camp to dispense with any other sort of fire. 
 Without any ceremony, further than bending his head, 
 he went for the cook and chased him out to the water, 
 where the astonished dishwasher jumped into a canoe 
 and paddled hastily from the shore, shouting to the 
 irate moose : " Sacre, mon dieu ! It is a meestake I 
 did not make ze call ! " 
 
 During the mating season there is no denying the 
 heroism of the bull-moose, nor the courageous care 
 with which he watches over the welfare of his mistress. 
 But when his passion is on the wane, his courage, like 
 that of Bob Acres, oozes out and leaves him with the 
 heart of a chicken. At these times, if he happens to be 
 out on a promenade with his lady, he politely asks her 
 to walk in front of him. Of course such a request 
 would be commendable were it not for the ugly sus- 
 picion that something else than politeness lurks behind 
 it. He is always brimming with caution, and who 
 can say that he is not aware of the hundred-dollar 
 fine and four-months' imprisonment that await the 
 slayer of his mistress ? If he is, then, as " self-preser-
 
 66 SPORT INDEED 
 
 vation is the first law of nature," his instinct may 
 possibly tell him that the surest way to preserve him- 
 self is to walk behind his lady-love. There is no doubt 
 that his bravery, at times, resembles that of the 
 pigeon-hearted Falstaff; and, as life is probably as 
 precious to him as it was to the fat knight, perhaps 
 he is excusable in taking the same care of it. 
 
 If two or more bulls meet during the mating season, 
 there is likely to be trouble, and much of it, especially 
 if one of their lady-loves should chance to be in the 
 neighborhood. Here is an instance, however, where 
 they smothered their jealousy a proof of what I have 
 said about their capriciousness in not doing what you 
 expect them to do. A young man who acted as cook 
 for a party, of which I was one, had a strong desire 
 to learn the art of moose-calling. One night the youth 
 went out with a sportsman, in the absence of the regular 
 moose-caller, for the purpose of trying his hand at it. 
 After three or four calls he was delighted with an an- 
 swer. He waited a little while and then heard the bull 
 coming down through the alders that fringed the stream 
 and cautiously steal up and down through them. Now 
 and then the youth could hear him strike his antlers 
 against the alders and break a branch, but further 
 than this the hopes of the young moose-caller were 
 not gratified. All his piping failed to coax the bull 
 to show himself. Disappointed, disheartened, weary, 
 and shivering with cold, the sportsman and his young
 
 A CAPRICIOUS BEAST 67 
 
 caller returned to their camp and slept until daylight. 
 They were soon up and paddling their canoe to the 
 place of last night's seance. They approached the 
 spot cautiously and saw plenty of moose tracks along 
 the water's edge, but nothing of the animals that made 
 them. The youth, however, took up his moose horn, 
 gave a call, and almost instantly came an answer, and 
 \vith it a sight that made his eyes bulge with wonder. 
 A rush, and a cracking through the alders, and then, 
 not one, but three big bulls stepped quickly into view, 
 gazing inquisitively at the canoe and its contents. 
 The sportsman brought his rifle to his shoulder and 
 picking out the biggest moose of the three for his aim, 
 banged away at him, but well, the youth declares 
 that any man who couldn't hit one bull in a three-ply 
 bunch, in broad daylight, and not more than forty 
 yards away, should swap his rifle for a gatling gun. 
 The trio had escaped, unharmed. 
 
 Now the point to which I wish to draw attention is 
 not the somewhat queer anomaly that a " sport " 
 should be guilty of missing the big head of a bull at 
 forty yards, but to the fact that three male moose 
 were bunched together in the mating season, and in a 
 sociable Avay, with 
 
 No leer of battle in their eye ; 
 
 No clash of antlers in their thought. 
 
 Speaking of the bull-moose's eccentricities, the cow,
 
 68 SPORT INDEED 
 
 too, has hers, and they are no less marked. The 
 senses of hearing and smell are believed to be keener 
 in the moose tribe than in any other animal, and yet I 
 have stood within a few feet of a cow-moose, seemingly 
 without her being aware of it. She was coming to- 
 ward me at the time, with her head down, and in a 
 careless sort of way that betokened unconsciousness 
 of danger. I stepped behind a tree. She stopped and 
 listened, drawing in volumes of air through her big 
 nostrils. I waited for a while and then pushed out from 
 my hiding-place and into her full view. She showed 
 neither fright nor surprise, but eyed me inquisitively 
 for a minute or two and then turned her steps leisurely 
 into the woods. Such demure equanimity, however, is 
 but an intermittent characteristic. In the mating 
 season all her artless composure seems to desert her, 
 and then, like her lord and master, with nostrils di- 
 lated and ears erect, she is ever on the qui vive for 
 danger. 
 
 The instinct of the moose approaches closely to 
 human reason a fact which may be illustrated by an 
 incident that occurred during a violent October snow- 
 storm. A pair of moose were found standing in a 
 clearing near an old lumber camp, and by their tracks 
 it was noticed they had not stirred from the vicinity 
 of the camp since the storm started, on the day pre- 
 vious. Evidently they had been afraid of the falling 
 trees in the woods, which, from the weight of the
 
 < 
 
 u
 
 A CAPRICIOUS BEAST 71 
 
 snow upon them, were crashing and breaking in every 
 direction. 
 
 A bull-moose in a passion is not a pleasant fellow 
 to run against, as a lumber operator once discovered. 
 He was taking a gang of men into the woods and 
 jogging along a mile or so ahead of them, with an axe 
 on his shoulder. Hearing a slight noise he looked up, 
 and directly in front of him stood an angry bull. 
 Whether the red shirt the lumberman wore had any- 
 thing to do with the moose's anger I can't say ; but 
 whether it had or not, the bull made a vicious rush 
 for him, giving him barely time to dodge behind a 
 tree. This place of refuge, however, didn't seem to 
 satisfy the lumberman. The bull became so fierce 
 and determined in his attacks that the man decided 
 the top of the tree, and not the bottom, was the only 
 proper place. It required a little finessing to carry 
 out his decision, but he finally succeeded in climbing 
 beyond the reach of the bull who stood at the bottom 
 keeping a sharp eye lest his contemplated victim 
 should escape. He kept up his sentry work until the 
 lumberman's gang came along ; then, at the sight of 
 them, his bullship turned sullenly around and re- 
 treated into the woods. 
 
 They are sometimes very hard to kill, and then 
 again are killed with more ease than a small deer. A 
 moose was hit at close range by a 40-82 ball, which 
 tore his liver and lungs into fragments, but off he
 
 72 SPORT INDEED 
 
 went as if he hadn't been touched. A second ball 
 pierced his heart and yet he traveled over sixty yards 
 before he fell. 
 
 Yes, they are the most uncertain animal to hunt 
 and kill that can be found, and it is partly on account 
 of this uncertainty that the hunting of them is so ex- 
 citing and captivating. The unexpected is always 
 happening in moose territory, and therefore your ex- 
 pectancy is constantly kept on a wire edge. You 
 look at their tracks which, maybe, are very fresh, 
 or, perhaps, very old and say to yourself, " What if 
 he would show himself behind that bend in the road, 
 or on that bit of open bog, or in that bunch of alders, 
 or standing in among those lily-pads ? " Then you 
 think how many hours it was since he passed, and 
 debate in your mind whether it was in the night or 
 early in the morning. You are not sure of anything 
 that relates to him. The water where he planted his 
 big feet as he walked in this muddy spot is roily, but 
 it doesn't follow that the fellow did not make the 
 tracks last night, instead of this morning, as some 
 water takes longer to settle and clear than other. 
 You cannot be exactly certain of the hour that he 
 passed, even by his tracks. I am speaking now of 
 really "fresh" tracks and signs, so called, which 
 keep the hunter continually keyed up to the 
 sharpest pitch of nervous tension, that is, if he 
 is really hunting in earnest, and not killing time
 
 A CAPRICIOUS BEAST 73 
 
 in examining signs ; or if he be not too lazy 
 to get up in the morning when the frost is sharp and 
 keen and he thinks it too cold to leave his warm and 
 snug bed, to say nothing about going miles away and 
 sitting for hours shivering in a canoe and waiting for 
 an answer to his call. All this he should get used to 
 and must, if he aspires to bear the hunter's " blushing 
 honors thick upon him."
 
 My First Bull-Moose 
 
 But if thou needs will hunt, be ruled by me. 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 I HAVE been asked to narrate the killing of my 
 first bull-moose. I will try to do so, yet it is no easy 
 task. Others with a like experience in moose killing, 
 I think, will agree with me when I say that the anx- 
 iety, the exposure, the suspense, a hunter must un- 
 dergo, and the cunning skill and perseverance he must 
 use in luring the suspicious creature to the water and 
 then killing him are hardly within the power of an 
 ordinary pen to describe. I have known a hunter, 
 who was said to be an expert, to spend nine nights 
 and as many mornings before he could coax his bull 
 to come from shelter ; and when he did show himself, 
 a rifle shot rang out on the air, of course, but with 
 what result ? A dead moose lay there not a " giant 
 of the Maine woods " as the hunter had so fondly 
 hoped but only a four-year-old " spike horn." 
 
 The difficulties surrounding my first bull-moose ad- 
 venture, while not so great as those which this partic- 
 ular hunter had encountered, were quite great enough 
 to satisfy my appetite for difficulties. 
 
 And now for a bit of my own experience. 
 
 On a calm, frosty night while the October moon 
 
 74
 
 MY FIRST BULL-MOOSE 75 
 
 was yet young, my guide and myself paddled noise- 
 lessly out of the lake, on which we were camped, and 
 into the twisting and beautiful stretch of dead-water 
 that feeds the lake and which is about two miles long. 
 The guide took up his birch-bark horn and ran a little 
 water through it, following up this preliminary by 
 spitting vigorously first on the one side of the canoe 
 and then on the other. I didn't then, nor do I now 
 see the necessity for the expectorating part of his pro- 
 gram, but I hear that all professional moose-callers 
 invariably go through it and therefore I suppose it 
 must be a necessary part of the performance. This 
 prelude being over, the guide put the horn to his lips 
 and gave the famous moose call so often described 
 and yet never described. We sat listening to its 
 tremulous notes quivering on the air and when they 
 died away in the silence we waited impatiently for an 
 answer. Our waiting was fruitless. Save the hoot- 
 ing of an owl or the splash of a muskrat, there came 
 no sound to break the grave-like stillness. Again the 
 guide gave the call and again we waited. Hark ! a 
 crackling of alders now greeted our ears. The sound 
 came from a long distance up stream and told us that 
 a creature of some sort was approaching. A little 
 later we heard a crashing on our left, but no grunting, 
 no barking to indicate that a bull-moose was any- 
 where in the neighborhood. We strained our ears for 
 a sound that would give us a cue to the sort of animal
 
 76 SPORT INDEED 
 
 that was breaking the bushes and whose tread was 
 not heavy enough for a moose and yet too heavy for 
 a deer. Then we heard a splash and then another. 
 " They're in the water ; we'll soon see what they are," 
 said the guide. "We pushed the canoe softly up the 
 stream, but the creatures, whatever they were, had 
 heard us and left the water. The stream was narrow, 
 not more than twenty feet wide, with high alders on 
 each bank, and on either side of us was some animal, 
 we knew not what, that probably had its eyes and 
 ears open for our every motion, watching us suspi- 
 ciously as though we were freebooters and had no 
 right to be filibustering in its domain. 
 
 The guide now whispered to me, " If they are moose, 
 you will find the one on the right hand is the bull." 
 
 We could see nothing, yet we sat there for fully 
 an hour straining our eyes through the darkness and 
 opening our ears for a clue that would tell us at least 
 what sort of creatures they were. 
 
 The night was getting colder and my teeth began 
 to rattle like a pair of castanets. It was quite nat- 
 ural therefore that I should be anxious for our sus- 
 pense to come to an end of some sort; and it did. 
 With a snort or, rather, two snorts the animals 
 bounded away, and in a twinkling both were gone. 
 
 They were deer, not moose as we had hoped. Dis- 
 appointed, and chilled to the bone, we paddled sadly 
 back to our camp and turned in, as it seemed unlikely
 
 MY FIRST BULL-MOOSE . 77 
 
 we should have further use for moose-calling that 
 night. 
 
 Next morning we were out at half-past four, but 
 we received no answer to our calls. In the evening 
 of the second day we went up the stream as early 
 as five o'clock, running the nose of the canoe into a 
 bunch of swale grass near to the mouth of an old 
 lumber road. This night, like the last, was clear and 
 very cold and the water was freezing in the shallow, 
 quiet parts of the stream, making a turn of the canoe 
 in some places a noisy performance. After the first 
 call had echoed and reechoed around the ridges on our 
 right and left, we were rejoiced to get an answer. 
 At first it was only a smothered grunt ; then followed 
 a hoarse, well-defined bark that seemed to be miles 
 away. Louder and louder and more frequent grew 
 the barking as the bull came nearer for bull it was 
 and it seemed as if each step of his approach was 
 accompanied with a grunt or a bark. To our dismay 
 he came down the very road of which we were nearly 
 in front. When almost at its mouth, he stopped, 
 listened for a moment and then moved up and down 
 the banks, crashing and breaking the alders and listen- 
 ing at every step, as if to catch another whisper from 
 his mistress. Yet he took the best of care not to 
 show himself. In the meanwhile the guide was busy 
 pawing the water with his birch-bark horn or letting 
 some of it pour from the narrow end of the instru-
 
 y8 SPORT INDEED 
 
 ment. These manoeuvres were intended to imitate the 
 motions of the impatient cow and were expressly for 
 the bull's information, telling him that his lady-love, 
 whose voice he had heard and for whose embraces he 
 was longing, was now feeding in the water on lily- 
 pads and almost under the nose of his majesty. But 
 his majesty was cautious. He was most eager, of 
 course, to meet his inamorata and have an embrace 
 or two, but he was not disposed to let his eagerness 
 get the better of his prudence. He evidently scented 
 treachery in the air and was so shy that all the guide's 
 ingenuity failed to coax him to come from out the 
 alders and show himself. Though we could catch no 
 glimpse of him, doubtless he had all the glimpses he 
 wanted of us, and pipe as we might he was in no 
 humor to dance to our music. So we left him, re- 
 turned to camp and turned in, with our brain-pan 
 brimming with visions of a bull-moose with an ounce 
 of lead in his vitals. 
 
 The morning of the third day found us dressed and 
 in the canoe. It was then three o'clock and as dark 
 as Cimmerian pitch. A swift paddle to the head of 
 the lake, then a silent push up the stream and our 
 calling spot was reached. We gave our first call at 
 four o'clock and then waited fifteen minutes for an 
 answer which didn't come. Then we gave another 
 series of calls and again waited. The guide now 
 leaned towards me and whispered : " Listen ! is that a
 
 MY FIRST BULL-MOOSE 79 
 
 moose or an owl 'way off there ? " " Can't say yet," 
 I replied ; " it sounds a little like both." "We then 
 gave a third call, and after a rapt silence we again 
 heard the unknown sound. We listened and distinctly 
 heard the breaking of a branch a long distance away. 
 Again we strained our ears, and this time they were 
 rewarded with a decided answer from a bull-moose. 
 He was surely coming, but not with the tearing rush 
 so characteristic of these fellows when they're on their 
 way to their sweetheart. He was taking his own time 
 and approaching very leisurely. Probably he felt 
 sure of the fair one who had so lovingly called him and 
 therefore there was no need of hurry. She could wait. 
 And now the day was breaking. Kosy tints were 
 lighting up the sky and shimmering on the alders, the 
 cranberry bushes and the hazels all freshly clothed 
 in a suit of night frost. It might have seemed to a 
 casual observer that both the guide and myself were 
 clothed in a like manner, for we sat there with a chat- 
 ter of teeth and a shiver of limbs that our blankets, 
 our overcoats, and our heavy gloves could not put a 
 stop to. We kept perfectly still otherwise ; fearing 
 almost to breathe, lest it might create some sound 
 that would reach the sharp ears of the bull. Yet at 
 this critical time my teeth started up a fresh and vig- 
 orous chatter, which the guide's molars and incisors 
 promptly took up, and with the liveliest sort of a 
 staccato movement. Now, I am quite sure that if the
 
 80 SPORT INDEED 
 
 bull had been within hearing and had an ear for music 
 of that sort, our chatter duet must have been highly 
 entertaining to him. But he either had no musical 
 ear or was too far away to take in our duet, for he 
 continued on his way through the alders at his former 
 slow and dignified gait. At one time he stopped to 
 reconnoitre. Then he passed up and down through 
 the bushes, listened a moment to the guide's pawing 
 of the water, cocked up his ears and suddenly came 
 to the conclusion that he had been fooled. He at 
 once let loose his disappointment with a roar of rage 
 and revenge that might have been heard miles away. 
 The bare thought of being tricked filled him with in- 
 dignation and a strong desire to get away from such 
 a treacherous spot. The guide kept quiet until the 
 angry bull had gotten about a quarter of a mile away 
 from the canoe. Then picking up his horn he gave a 
 low, tremulous and loving call. The moose immedi- 
 ately wheeled about and walked back, answering the 
 call between his steps, and in the most affectionate 
 and apologetic tones. They spoke as plainly as the 
 tongue of a moose knows how to speak : " Forgive 
 me, darling ; I've been fooled so often. I'll soon be 
 with you, pet ! " When he reached the alders he 
 stopped for a minute, and the guide took advantage 
 of that minute to imitate the sounds made by a feed- 
 ing cow. They soon reached the alert ears of the 
 bull and seemed to satisfy and fill him with the
 
 MY FIRST BULL-MOOSE 83 
 
 thought : " There's no mistake this time. Here she 
 is ! " I don't know whether he thought this or not, 
 but certain it is that he plunged into the water and 
 commenced wading down the stream, which at this 
 place followed the land around a point that formed a 
 long, narrow elbow. We first thought he would burst 
 through the fringe of alders on the thinnest part of 
 this elbow, and therefore pushed in our canoe. How- 
 ever, he passed that point, still wading in the water, 
 and we were compelled to back out of this little cove 
 and into the stream. 
 
 The guide now shoved the canoe directly towards 
 him, as swiftly as he could, whispering to me " Be 
 steady now ! Don't lose him." Meanwhile I had 
 my rifle to my shoulder, expecting each moment 
 would give me my opportunity to use it. It was now 
 daylight, exactly half-past five ; the bull was coming 
 down the stream and we were going up. My mind 
 was full of what I expected would happen, and I was 
 saying to myself " failure is impossible," when the 
 canoe rounded a sharp point of the elbow, and behold, 
 there stood his majesty ! His head, topped by his 
 grand antlers, was thrown proudly back, while his 
 whole attitude was one of confident expectancy as he 
 marched to meet his pseudo-mistress. He saw me 
 and made a quick movement to the right, bringing 
 his head sideways to me. This was my chance and I 
 fired instantly, aiming at a point an inch or two
 
 84 SPORT INDEED 
 
 below the base of his antlers. After the shot he 
 whirled around, giving me a broadside chance which 
 I was quick to take advantage of. The next instant 
 a dead bull toppled over into the water. He hadn't 
 moved a step after my first shot, and the whole 
 performance was over in less than half a minute. 
 The first ball had entered just below the ear, and this 
 it was, no doubt, that caused him to whirl. It was 
 in fact the fatal shot. The second one had penetrated 
 his loins. 
 
 The guide now shoved the canoe up to the shore 
 and we both got out and danced and jumped to warm 
 ourselves. We also did a little dancing for joy at the 
 sight of the great beast lying in the water, with the 
 blades of his antlers showing one half above the sur- 
 face of the stream. We forgot all about our exposure, 
 our suspense, our loss of sleep, and our many disap- 
 pointments, and with one loud hurra we paddled back 
 to camp, and there, over the breakfast-table, we told 
 to our companions hoAV I killed my first bull-moose. 
 
 Was I proud ? Well, rather ; 
 
 No chit, in his first pair of breeches ; 
 No swain, in a '* yes " from his loved one ; 
 No spouter, with audience captured ; 
 No General, with victory won - 
 
 ever felt prouder than did I, as I stood in the Wilds 
 of Maine and over the prostrate carcass of that 
 " Giant of the Northern Forests. "
 
 A Caribou Hunt 
 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 A BRIGHT morning in one September found me on 
 my way for a caribou hunt in the pine woods of 
 Maine. The train had reached Boston and I was 
 about stepping from the sleeper when a sudden kink 
 in my back warned me that there was trouble ahead 
 for Thomas. In plainer words, I felt it in my bones, 
 or rather muscles, that my ~bete noire, the lumbago, 
 was about to pay me a visit. In one respect that 
 wily disease resembles the rattle-snake it doesn't 
 use its fangs without warning ; but it is very unlike 
 the rattler in another respect ; when its warning 
 does come, its fangs are sure to come with it. 
 
 From Boston to Greenville, Maine, towards which 
 we were traveling, is a ride of nine hours, and during 
 that time the lumbago had been grinding its fangs 
 into my lumbar regions and twisting my backbone 
 till its owner's contour looked something like the 
 letter S. 
 
 On reaching Greenville I decided that I must adopt 
 some heroic measure, and do it quickly, or the bottom 
 would be knocked out of my caribou hunt. Expe- 
 
 85
 
 86 SPORT INDEED 
 
 rience told me that exercise was the most effective 
 physic for the complaint and I was not long in 
 thinking of something that would give me plenty 
 of it. 
 
 I asked the landlord of the hotel at which I stopped 
 if he had a bicycle in the house. He said he had, but 
 it was one of the female gender. 
 
 " All the better," I replied. " Let me have it." 
 
 How I mounted that bicycle I leave to the imagi- 
 nation of the reader ; but if he has never seen a man 
 with the lumbago, in the act of mounting the silent 
 steed, his imagination will be of little use to him. 
 To get on the saddle, usually the work of an instant, 
 now consumed many of them, and if " the steed " had 
 been a diamond frame, instead of the female sort, I 
 can't say that I ever would have got there. 
 
 Once mounted I took a hard ride of a few miles, 
 with plenty of stiff hills to climb. "When I got back 
 I was in a profuse perspiration. Then I sent for the 
 village doctor ; not that I had more faith in a village 
 doctor than any other sort, but because " any other 
 sort " was out of the question. He came, bringing 
 with him an electric battery and a big bottle of 
 iodine. Then baring my back for operations he soon 
 had the battery to work, and it played around my 
 lumbar regions and kept up its tingling sensations for 
 fifteen minutes. After this he painted my entire back 
 with the iodine and left me with the assurance that I
 
 A CARIBOU HUNT 87 
 
 would soon feel the effect of his treatment ; and I 
 did a little sooner and a little more unpleasantly 
 than I wished. The iodine seemed to be ripping the 
 skin from my back and in so savage a manner that 
 the pain of it kept me awake till four o'clock next 
 morning. By that time the iodine had finished its 
 work. In a few days the scorched cuticle began to 
 peel and continued its peeling until my back was as 
 bare as a skinned catfish. Then I wondered how 
 long it would be before I could boast of a new suit of 
 skin. (I might say in parenthesis that although my 
 back had worn the old one for fifty years it was 
 still a good deal better than none at all.) 
 
 However, " Everything comes to him who waits " 
 and the new suit reached me as the old one left. I 
 had no fault to find with its fit and it will probably 
 wear me the remainder of my days, unless I should 
 again tumble into the iodine bottle of a village doctor. 
 
 How about the lumbago? Ah ! I am sorry to say 
 it still lingered and seemed to be in no hurry to 
 leave. But it did leave finally and in this way. I 
 had been out hunting on a caribou bog for six days, 
 jumping from log to log, climbing over " dead-falls " 
 and dodging the branches of the juniper and spruce 
 trees. The motions attendant upon these athletics 
 caused me much discomfort, as my lumbago kinks 
 followed one another with a rapidity and an energy 
 that threatened to throw me off my pins. However,
 
 88 SPORT INDEED 
 
 I weathered through the exercise, but the lumbago 
 didn't. It soon became disgusted at my stubbornness 
 and left me as suddenly as it came. Whither it went 
 I know not, unless in search for the lumbar districts 
 of some passive victim, where it may get in its work 
 undisturbed. 
 
 My trip down the Penobscot Kiver consisted of a 
 glorious run of twenty-one miles. We left the carry 
 at one thirty and reached Chesuncook Lake at eight 
 o'clock. 
 
 Running through Rocky Rips on our way down, 
 we heard two moose wading in the water near the 
 shore. The moon was shining, but the shore was 
 darker where they were than if there had been no 
 moon ; so we couldn't catch even a glimpse of them. 
 Below Pine Stream Falls we heard another of the 
 same sort feeding in the water. We paddled swiftly 
 to where she was feeding (it was a cow-moose), but 
 she heard us and got out of the water in double-quick 
 time, rushing through the woods and crashing through 
 the alders, at the same time giving vent to her alarm 
 in loud trumpetings. 
 
 At Pine Stream Falls it is customary for the 
 " sport " to get out of the canoe and walk through 
 the woods along a well-defined path which follows the 
 stream. I had brought with me a new invention 
 which is something like a music roll in shape and size 
 and fitted with a powerful lens at one end and a
 
 A CARIBOU HUNT 91 
 
 dry electric battery at the other. By pressing a 
 ring a fair sized light is produced. Carrying this in 
 one hand to light my path, and with my rifle in the 
 other, I walked leisurely along. As I approached a 
 clump of high swale grass that lay ahead of me, my 
 light flashed along the path and lit upon a deer that 
 stood in the middle of the clump. She straightened 
 herself up and gazed at the light with wondering 
 eyes, as if the unwonted sight had hypnotized her. 
 She allowed me to approach witnin a few feet of her, 
 and as she looked in awe at the light, I looked in 
 wonder at its mystic reflection from her orbs of 
 vision a green, weird glow that fascinated me. 
 Thus we stood gazing at each other for five minutes 
 or more ; then shifting the hypnotizing rays from her 
 eyes I bade her a loving good-night, and, with a 
 laugh at the quickness with which she bounded into 
 the darkness, I trudged on my way. 
 
 When Thoreau, the naturalist, came down this 
 piece of river in 1853, he found two Indians near the 
 North East Carry camping out and drying and 
 smoking moose meat for their winter's food. He 
 spent a night with them. They had killed twenty 
 moose, mostly cows, and were curing the hides as 
 well as smoking and drying the meat. In his trip 
 down the river he saw one moose, which his com- 
 panion killed, but no deer. He passed down again in 
 1857, taking the Allagash River and lake in his trip,
 
 92 SPORT INDEED 
 
 and again his companion killed a moose, and again 
 they saw no deer. It is only of recent years that the 
 latter have become so numerous as to excite little 
 comment, and I firmly believe that the moose also are 
 increasing in numbers ; but the caribou are becoming 
 extinct, or perhaps are leaving because their food 
 the black moss which grows on the juniper trees is 
 becoming scarcer as the years go by. Some lumber- 
 men claim that a disease is killing the juniper trees in 
 Maine. If this be so, the caribou will probably wend 
 his way to the maritime provinces of Canada where 
 he can find moss in abundance. 
 
 I spent one week on a caribou bog, traversing it 
 from centre to circumference and becoming familiar 
 with all its nooks and crannies, its alleyways and its 
 main rendezvous. Frequently did I sit watching the 
 caribou cows and beautiful they are, too, and as sleek 
 and fat as thoroughbred Jerseys. On one occasion I 
 met one of them face to face, and she was not more 
 than twenty feet from me. She looked at me earnestly 
 for some minutes and then turned slowly about and 
 walked away. Twice she repeated these movements 
 but at neither time did she show the slightest fear or 
 any alarm. 
 
 I devoted the most of my six days in searching for 
 the " King of the Bog" a fellow with a royal pair of 
 antlers. I picked up what I presumed was the set he 
 had discarded in the previous spring. They Avere
 
 A CARIBOU HUNT 93 
 
 somewhat eaten away by the mice, but there was still 
 enough regal beauty left to entitle them to an honored 
 place in my collection where they now hang. If I 
 was right in my supposition that they were worn by 
 his highness the year before, their number of points 
 told his age to be twelve. My son and his guide had 
 succeeded in getting a glimpse of him, some two weeks 
 before ; and I, after six days of watching and stalking, 
 sitting and standing and lying down, also got a 
 glimpse. 
 
 But it was a stingy one. In stepping through the 
 bog I had carelessly broken a twig with my foot. 
 Then I heard a snort away off to my right, and look- 
 ing in that direction I saw a cow bounding away with 
 the gentleman I was after in front of her. I recog- 
 nized the big fellow as he passed between two trees, 
 and that was all. 
 
 I have heard of a negro melody entitled " Hesitate, 
 Mr. Nigger, Hesitate ! " and possibly his imperial 
 highness had heard of it, too. A dozen times or more 
 had my ears been tickled with the racket he made in 
 rushing through the growth of spruce that borders 
 the bog, and striking his antlers against the trees. Yet 
 he wouldn't step out into the open and show himself. 
 When it seemed certain that he was about to do so, he 
 would hesitate, as if he were listening to the darky 
 melody and deemed it provident to follow its advice. 
 He was wise. " Hesitate, Mr. Nigger " succeeded in
 
 94 SPORT INDEED 
 
 saving his lordship's bacon at least for a while, for I 
 decided to give the bog a rest for a few days and 
 move to another camp about eight miles away. 
 
 My week upon this bog that I left was one of the 
 happiest I ever spent in hunting. Two days of it I 
 was in my shirt-sleeves, two days with a vest on, and 
 two with a coat. This tells the story of the weather 
 it was fine. The distance from the camp was a 
 little short of two miles, and, as I took the tramp 
 morning, noon and evening, it made about twelve 
 miles of steady walking. 
 
 The bog is a " dry bog," its dryness being readily 
 accounted for. The spaces between the trees are filled 
 with a wanton growth of blueberry bushes, whose de- 
 caying leaves, year after year, have helped to raise the 
 surface of the ground so that no water rests upon it. 
 
 The place teems with all manner of life, except the 
 human variety. The fox hunts his breakfast there, 
 and the bear dines and sups sumptuously on its ripe 
 blueberries. It is the home of the red squirrel, the 
 mole and the field-mouse, and they may be seen dart- 
 ing hither and yon, busily employed in getting their 
 living among the medley of vegetable growth. 
 
 Here, in this garden spot, I would sit by the hour, 
 secluded from the world and forgetful of its cares and 
 perplexities ; resting both mind and body, and with a 
 species of rest unknown to the busy city man and 
 which, by the way, he will never know, unless he
 
 A CARIBOU HUNT 95 
 
 will occasionally drop his treadmill work and try it. 
 
 Doubtless there are some who will think me insane 
 to call the seclusion of a bog restful, or to recommend 
 such an occupation as caribou hunting as a sovereign 
 remedy for the ills of the body and soul. Or they 
 may consider it the essence of absurdity to spend a 
 whole week in tramping over bogs in search of that 
 animal, and then, like a hermit, solitary and alone, to 
 sit down on a log, and meditate. 
 
 Alone, my friend ? You make a mistake. I was 
 not alone. It must be a man of little soul and less 
 sentiment who thinks himself alone when he has 
 Nature at his elbow. And she was at mine, opening, 
 as it were, a drama before me, and for my express edi- 
 fication. I looked upon it and wondered at the sight ; 
 wondered at the wealth of her life her plant life, and 
 her strange animal life, whose strangeness is so no- 
 tably marked in her caribou. Alone my friend ? No. 
 It is true I was the only mortal among her audience 
 the only human " looker on in Vienna " ; and I will say 
 that no stage representation ever enchained my at- 
 tention so tightly or afforded me more food for 
 thought and study. Alone ? Oh, no ! These " goodly 
 creatures " of the bog were to me more genial com- 
 pany than would have been that of men and women, 
 with nerves and temper and energy and strength jaded 
 and worn by the fantastic fads and customs of civilized 
 life. No, reader ; I was not alone.
 
 A Lost Moose 
 
 Sheathe thy impatience. 
 
 MERKY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 OUT in the Maine wilderness and some eight miles 
 from where we had located our cabin is an old logging 
 camp which is rapidly tumbling to the ground. In 
 the days of its prime it had housed nearly sixty men, 
 but now it is merely a harbor for hedgehogs and 
 legions of field-mice. The portion of the structure 
 which was used for sleeping berths is stripped of the 
 roof, every passing guide and hunter taking a share of 
 the cedar splits to build a fire or sheathe his little 
 cabin. The ends and sides of the building still stand, 
 but they are all that remain to give one an inkling of 
 its former glory. 
 
 Within its walls the weary choppers, drivers and 
 sawyers were used to take their rest, smoke their pipes, 
 tell their yarns, sing songs, and dry their wet clothes. 
 The shanty, when I saw it last, was damp and mouldy, 
 and smelt very loudly of rotten wood, old clothes and 
 dilapidated rubber boots. A collection of empty 
 medicine bottles and salve boxes had been left in the 
 bunks, telling most plainly that the lumbermen had 
 not escaped their share of the pains and aches and 
 
 96
 
 A LOST MOOSE 97 
 
 bruises and inflammations that the rest of the world is 
 heir to. 
 
 A party of gum-pickers were the last occupants, and 
 to keep out the rain and make the place tolerably hab- 
 itable they had patched up a corner of the roof. 
 Under this portion they built a couple of bunks in 
 which they slept at night and sometimes rested during 
 the day when wearied by their toilsome work. A 
 rude table stands in the middle of the floor, and in its 
 decaying wood the gum-pickers had cut their names 
 and told their occupation. The latter was hardly 
 necessary, as the quantity of worthless gum scattered 
 upon the floor should have saved them that trouble. 
 The road that passed by the lumber camp was much 
 traveled by a pair of moose, and runs near a bog 
 where I oftentimes found caribou. Now it struck me 
 that it would be a good idea to spend a night or two 
 in this camp, first fixing up a place on the front part 
 where I could sit at night and watch for passing game. 
 My mind was really bent on getting a shot at the 
 moose whose footprints showed his daily wanderings 
 up and down the road and to the stream, for the pur- 
 pose of feeding along its banks at night. I said to 
 myself " "What an easy thing it will be to sit at the 
 opening in the front of the camp, and when these big 
 fellows come along, put out the muzzle of my rifle and 
 bang away." Of course my plan had nothing to do 
 with the cow-moose, only the bull ; and he must be a
 
 98 SPORT INDEED 
 
 big one at that. But alas for my program, and for 
 all human speculations when a bull-moose is at the 
 bottom of them ! 
 
 I directed one of the guides to carry up my bed- 
 ding, a few slices of deer meat, some bread and a large 
 onion ; this he did and then left me to my cogita- 
 tions. These were full of the moose and caribou, and 
 spiced with the thought that, like Selkirk, I was 
 " monarch of all I surveyed." 
 
 I spent the afternoon on the bog, my heart swelling 
 with a hunter's hope and pumping its valves so 
 fiercely that a caribou might have heard the throb- 
 bings had he been near enough. But he was too 
 wary to venture so close. It is true there were many 
 of them in the bog, and they came near enough to get 
 a scent of me ; but when they got it, it seemed to be 
 all they wanted, for their stay on or around that bog 
 was cut off very short. In a word, they skipped away 
 without my getting even a glimpse of them. 
 
 As I was stealthily picking my way back again, 
 however, a cow-moose dodged through the trees in 
 front of me. I stopped for several minutes and then 
 crept forward a few feet until a new vista opened up 
 in the spruces. I looked and listened for sounds of 
 any kind, but heard none. Presently a noise came 
 from what appeared at first to be a forked branch 
 away off to my right, and I finally made out that it 
 was a cow-moose. I thought she might have her
 
 A LOST MOOSE 99 
 
 beau with her, and therefore kept perfectly still so as 
 not to alarm either of them. If the bull wasn't with 
 her he might be somewhere within her call and per- 
 haps would join her. 
 
 It was half-past three in the afternoon when her 
 form was first fully outlined. I stood motionless and 
 she did the same save once in a while her great ears 
 would be moved a little to catch any strange sounds. 
 The seconds ran into minutes, the minutes into nearly 
 an hour, yet there she stood and in the same pose. It 
 was now so dark that her head, ears and shoulders 
 formed simply a dark, undefined spot. I was com- 
 pletely fagged out and stole softly away. As I left 
 her, she showed no movement of a muscle, and for 
 aught I know, she may be standing there yet. 
 
 With a sigh of relief I hurried back to mount my 
 point of observation because I felt sure that the pair 
 of " wanderers " I was after would pass my way early 
 in the evening. The guide had fixed up a sort of a 
 platform by laying a door across two boxes on top of 
 the sleeping bunks, and this would bring my shoulders 
 upon a level with the sill of the square window in 
 the gable. Mounting the platform, I sat down to 
 await events. They were not long in coming. I 
 soon heard the sounds of heavy " breaking " down the 
 road, intermingled with the tender tones that char- 
 acterize moose courtship. I now moved a little, to 
 bring my left shoulder clear of the opening, and
 
 ioo SPORT INDEED 
 
 cocked my rifle. The click of the cocking was not 
 loud but it stopped the advancing pair of moose lovers 
 as if they had run up against a stone wall. They 
 stood there for a second or two, and then wheeled 
 about, started for the woods, and got away. This 
 was my last moose experience, so far as they were 
 concerned, and it taught me a lesson. Had I but 
 waited until they were directly in front of me, one 
 good shot and that bull lover of hers would have been 
 " settled for life." 
 
 It is needless to say that my pride was sadly bruised 
 by the result of my impatience. Every hunter, as 
 you may surmise, is blessed with plenty of pride, and 
 it is so thin-skinned and so easily bruised that if a 
 moose should escape him without, at least, a damaged 
 limb he never forgets his faux-pas nor forgives him- 
 self. Therefore, ye sports, I will hatch a precept for 
 the use of him who may need it, and it would be 
 well for him to paste it in his hat : " Sheathe thy 
 impatience" and you'll miss a multitude of disap- 
 pointments.
 
 The Big Moose of Little Tobique 
 
 A couquest for a prince to boast of. 
 
 HENRY IV. 
 
 BOASTING is the badge of the fool. No dyed-in- 
 the-wool sportsman will use it, for he knows too well 
 that his exploits are not due solely to his skill. It is 
 true that the writer succeeded, where other ambitious 
 " sports " had failed, in capturing the " Big Moose of 
 Little Tobique," but this was not because they had 
 been less expert, but for the reason that he had more 
 luck and perseverance. Luck is a potent factor in 
 the hunter's success, and none knows the fact better 
 than himself. 
 
 And now, in the words of the crook-back Richard, 
 " I will retail my conquest won " and as briefly as its 
 attending incidents will permit. 
 
 The Tobique River flows into the St. Johns River 
 about a hundred miles from the mouth of the latter at 
 the city of St. Johns, New Brunswick, Canada. The 
 Tobique has four branches and these unite at " The 
 Forks," sixty miles from its mouth, and are named the 
 "Serpentine," the "Sisson," the "Right-hand branch" 
 and the "Left-hand branch" or "Little Tobique." 
 
 The latter rises in the two Nictau Lakes and these get 
 
 101
 
 102 SPORT INDEED 
 
 their life from a great spring at the base of Bald 
 Mountain the tallest, broadest and longest in the 
 Province, being 2,700 feet high, five miles long, three 
 broad, and surmounted by an almost level plateau. 
 The spring bubbles up volumes of water, so cold that 
 a hand placed in its gush soon becomes numbed ; and 
 so clear that the trout can be seen darting and turn- 
 ing up their speckled sides at the bottom. 
 
 Whence comes the supply for this inexhaustible 
 spring ? Probably the rainfall on the broad surface 
 of the Bald's top, instead of running off in streams, 
 filters through the mass of earth and rock, to feed a 
 subterranean reservoir, whence through some syphonic 
 power it is forced up to the base of the mountain. 
 
 For thirty-two miles along the river above the 
 Forks, the country is almost a virgin wilderness. 
 The chopper's axe has not as yet invaded the Nictau 
 Lake region ; and its broad stretches of land give the 
 moose and the caribou all the food they require and 
 the seclusion they covet. The lakes themselves and 
 the " dead-waters " on the small streams are fringed 
 with lily-pads and other aquatic growths that please 
 the palates of these strange animals. Here they may 
 nibble their breakfast, and drink, and attend to their 
 courtship, secluded and undisturbed unless some 
 " Peeping Tom," in the shape of a hunter, should up- 
 set their program. And he often does. 
 
 During the open season, September 15th to De-
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 103 
 
 ceraber 31st, hunters of all stripes and from almost 
 every civilized nation resort to this region and with 
 one purpose to kill a bull-moose or a bull-caribou. 
 But all are not successful. If they were, the pride of 
 the expert would soon lead his sporting into a more 
 uncertain channel. Uncertainty is the charm that 
 captivates the hunter, and he finds all he wants of it 
 in the chase of the moose and caribou. If he suc- 
 ceeds, he considers himself lucky. If he fails in 
 securing his antlered trophy, he swallows his disap- 
 pointment, and without the sauce of excuse. Mind 
 you, I speak now of the expert hunter. From the lips 
 of the other sort excuses will fall " thick as autumnal 
 leaves that strew the brooks in Yallombrosa." By 
 the way, this quotation from Milton is not a happy 
 one, for the blind poet seems to have " put his foot in 
 it " when he created the simile. The forests of Yal- 
 lombrosa are made up of pines whose foliage is not 
 deciduous ; therefore the brooks can never be strewn 
 with thick autumnal leaves. 
 
 To return to my story. I arrived at " The Forks " 
 on September 19th, and here my guide and cook met 
 me. They said my son was camped some five miles 
 away from the river and near two little mud lakes. 
 On the margin of one the} 7 saw the tracks of a moose, 
 and from their great size were convinced that none 
 other than the Big Moose of Little Tobique could have 
 made them.
 
 104 SPORT INDEED 
 
 We had some eight miles to paddle up the river be- 
 fore reaching the road that led to the camp, and dur- 
 ing the trip the " big fellow " was the main, topic of 
 our talk. The guide described his enormous tracks, 
 and told of the many places where they were seen. 
 There could be no mistake, for the foot of no ordinary 
 moose would fit them. The shores of many lakes, the 
 dead-waters and the soft places in old roads all bore 
 evidence that he must have been a great stroller, a 
 tramp, the "Weary Willie" of his tribe. All this 
 tramping was, of course, done in his search of some 
 fair one that would listen to his tale of love. Whether 
 he found her or whether the " fair ones " all preferred 
 the fate of a young bull's slave to that of an old one's 
 darling is a question whose answer I will leave to 
 zoological wise-heads. 
 
 On the river we met my son and his guide. The 
 former had killed a couple of bears a few hours be- 
 fore, and was full of bear-talk rather than moose-talk. 
 But he did take time to corroborate all the marvelous 
 stories of the " big fellow " and his tracks. On our 
 way we passed a lake, reported to be one of his 
 haunts, and we stopped to look for a trace of him. 
 Tracks we found indeed, but I thought they were not 
 made by the fellow we were after. They seemed too 
 long and the hoofs spread too far apart. Moreover, 
 the animal's dew-claws had made a plain impression in 
 the mud, therefore I presumed it to be the footprint of
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 105 
 
 a giant caribou. Unlike the moose's, the caribou's dew- 
 claws are almost on a level with his hoof, and com- 
 bined with the wide opening of the latter they enable 
 him to travel over the snow as glibly and tirelessly as 
 if shod with snow-shoes. The hunter may, and often 
 does, run down the moose in the snow, but if he at- 
 tempts it with the caribou well, in the pithy vernac- 
 ular of the street Arab, he will bite off considerably 
 " more than he can chaw." 
 
 As we reached camp the sky overclouded and the 
 rain began to fall, and for four days and as many 
 nights it kept on falling. I can assure the reader that 
 when it does rain in this " blue-nosed " region it makes 
 a business of it and does nothing else. I say Uue- 
 nosed, for 'twould be hard to find a New Brunswick 
 man with a nose of any other color. Funny ? Not at 
 all. The nose, as every one knows who has a nose, is 
 the most sensitive of all meteorologic instruments. It 
 is the "poor man's weather-glass" and 'twould be 
 funny indeed if the uninterrupted cold rains and chilly 
 fogs didn't have the effect of changing the color of 
 its tip. 
 
 During the four days of rain the growth of fungi, 
 edible and inedible, was wonderful. Mushrooms 
 galore, of all shapes, sizes and colors sprang through 
 the earth's crust and so hurriedly that a poet might 
 imagine they had been roused from their embryonic 
 nap by the wand of a magician and were fearful of
 
 io6 SPORT INDEED 
 
 being late to breakfast. However, I am no mushroom 
 crank. My acquaintance with the Basideomyces tribe 
 is slim much too slim to risk my stomach's welfare 
 in their keeping. In other words, I am always in 
 doubt whether Innocence or Death lies hidden under 
 their kid-like caps. 
 
 But wet weather and mushrooms have nothing to 
 do with the " Big Moose," and so we'll get back on 
 his track. On our first afternoon in camp my guide 
 made the birch-bark horn with which he hoped to lure 
 the old fellow within rifle-reach. Accoutred with this, 
 together with rubber blankets, a lantern and a rifle, 
 we started for the lake, reaching it a few minutes 
 before the daylight vanished into night and the 
 blackest one within my memory. We called and 
 listened and strained our eyeballs trying to peer 
 through the dense pall that hung around us. A pair 
 of moose did come to the water and as their foot- 
 prints indicated next day came very near us. But 
 we didn't see them, and probably would not have seen 
 them had they stepped over us. However, we knew 
 they were there, and fearing they would get on our 
 scent if we stayed through the night, at ten o'clock 
 we groped our way back to camp. Next morning at 
 four o'clock we started again for the lake. The walk 
 was not a pleasant one for the rain was still splashing 
 the road and dripping from the trees. At a quarter to 
 five we reached our " sanctuary " of the night before,
 
 u
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 109 
 
 but were too late. The two moose-lovers had de- 
 parted in search of " woods and pastures new." How- 
 ever, they left their tracks behind. One was a young 
 cow-moose ; the other a bull of ordinary size, and we 
 wanted neither of them. Our heart was fixed on big 
 "Weary "Willie" and he had not been in their 
 company. 
 
 The following night we changed our position to a 
 clump of cedars that stood on a point jutting out into 
 the lake. During the day I had walked twelve miles 
 to reach an old beaver pond and meadow, said to be a 
 haunt of the caribou, and during my absence the 
 guide had " swamped out " a path from the road to 
 the cedar point above mentioned. This enabled us to 
 reach or retire from it silently an impossibility by 
 the old way, as it led through a cedar swamp full of 
 dead branches and rotting wood. 
 
 About four o'clock the guide, who was alone, heard 
 a branch crack on the edge of the lake, and turning 
 his eyes in the direction of the sound, got his first 
 glimpse of the big fellow upon whose capture we were 
 so eagerly bent. The man had no rifle with him, 
 nothing but his axe, which he laid noiselessly down 
 and crept back to the camp, where he awaited my re- 
 turn. "When I did get back, we started at once for 
 the cedar point, and during our walk, he edified me 
 with a glowing description of the Big Moose-tramp, 
 his marvelous size, his dignified walk, his shape, etc.
 
 no SPORT INDEED 
 
 We reached our hiding-place at the point only to find 
 that "Willie" had left for parts unknown. The 
 guide tried his birch-bark horn, but the dying echoes 
 of its notes were the only reward for his trouble. 
 Once we fancied that the big fellow was listening in 
 the fringe of the woods on the other side of the lake, 
 and when we heard the sound of antlers striking 
 against the branches, we were sure of it. But alas 
 for the certainty of a hunter's calculations ! Antlers 
 they were, but not the antlers we were after. They 
 belonged to one of the lovers that came so near step- 
 ping over us in the darkness of the night before. 
 After we discovered this, we left them to their billing 
 and cooing and returned to camp. 
 
 The next morning we rose at half-past three. It 
 was still raining, and after a cup of tea and a biscuit 
 we tramped once more to the lake. The moose-lovers 
 were not in sight, but we could hear them as they 
 walked leisurely up the slope of the ridge in front of 
 us. My son had seen this same couple a few days 
 previous and described them to me. " The bull," he 
 said, " has the queerest head I ever saw. The antlers 
 shoot straight up like two half-opened fans standing 
 on end and showing their flat sides to the front. The 
 lady-moose is very tall, graceful and sleek-looking and 
 seemingly without a spark of timidity." 
 
 I had spent the better part of a day Friday in 
 tramping over a ridge and visiting another pond.
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 1 1 1 
 
 The tramp covered perhaps twenty miles, and when 
 again I reached our clump of cedars, tired nature 
 cried for a rest. As our plan was to lie out all night, 
 we had brought blankets with us, also a steamer rug, 
 but had left the latter under the butt of a fallen tree 
 further down the lake. After the guide had cut a 
 few spruce boughs to make a mattress, I sent him 
 back for the rug and then threw my tired limbs upon 
 the spruce boughs. Twenty minutes or more passed 
 and the guide not returning I thought he might have 
 seen a moose on his way back and feared he might 
 scare him by returning in a direct way to the cedars. 
 Eaising myself slowly from the spruce boughs, I 
 looked around me, and felt convinced that I was right 
 in my conjecture. A hundred and fifty yards away, 
 and directly within the line of trees on the far side of 
 the cove and to my left, I was sure I saw the young 
 bull with the upright antlers. He stood " head on " 
 with his body shielded by the trees, leaving his head 
 and neck alone visible. To shoot or not to shoot was 
 the question, and I had to decide quickly, for the scant 
 daylight was fast melting away in the coming night. 
 A moment of doubt, and then, after careful aim, I 
 fired. I looked, expecting to see the fellow drop. But 
 he didn't drop. This rather astonished me, but there 
 was more astonishment in store he hadn't moved. 
 Putting in another cartridge, again I fired and again 
 I looked. The upright antlers were still there in
 
 112 SPORT INDEED 
 
 statu quo. " Thomas," I said to myself, " is thee daft 
 or dreaming ? " The question was not an unreason- 
 able one and to satisfy myself whether I was either 
 or both, again I loaded up and again banged away. 
 Before I had time to note the result of the last shot, 
 the guide rushed in out of breath. 
 
 " What are you shooting at ? " he asked. 
 
 " A bull-moose ; there he stands ; don't you see his 
 head sticking out from behind that tree ? " 
 
 "With a loud laugh he replied, " Yes, I see it ; I saw 
 it this morning ; and I would advise you to waste no 
 more of your cartridges on the turned-up root of an 
 old cedar stump." 
 
 A cedar stump 1 Shades of the mighty Nimrod, 
 had it come to this ? Could it be possible that my 
 eyes could see no difference 'twixt a moose's head and 
 a cedar stump ? The guide's pill was a bitter one, yet 
 I swallowed it, and then asked him if he had found 
 the rug. He said no ; that he had looked under the 
 butt of every fallen tree, but couldn't find it. " Well," 
 I said, " I will go and get the rug, and in the mean- 
 time you keep your eye on that root and tell me if it 
 moves." I then left him mumbling something to him- 
 self about the probability of a cedar stump moving. 
 , On my return, I decided that he should go to the 
 lower end of the lake and " call," for if the pair of 
 moose did come in they would be likely to visit the 
 cove. After he left, I looked for the cedar root and it
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 1 13 
 
 wasn't there. The stump, or whatever it was, had van- 
 ished. Here was a mystery, and not a pleasant one 
 for a sport to ponder on, especially if he prides him- 
 self on being a tolerably good shot. Again I looked 
 and then rubbed my eyes in wonder. The stump was 
 back again and in the identical spot it had occupied 
 before. 
 
 Just at this moment I heard the guide give a " call " 
 on his birch-bark horn. ISTo echo followed it, for the 
 woods were still soaking wet ; but it sounded very like 
 the plaintive call of a disconsolate lady-moose, and its 
 effect upon the antlers of my cedar stump was mag- 
 ical. They dropped at once out of sight and in a 
 second or two reappeared. The mystery was solved. 
 It was a moose indeed, but only a cow-moose. She 
 had been standing like a statue, and what I thought 
 were antlers were only her big ears which, standing 
 straight up and thrown forward, really looked like the 
 pair of antlers my son had described. 
 
 The reason why my three shots had missed her 
 was plain enough. She had been standing between 
 two trees, with her head turned towards me almost at 
 right angles with her body, and the bullets had all 
 entered the intercepting tree which, in the uncertain 
 light, I had mistaken for the foreshoulder of a moose. 
 At the sound of the birch-bark horn she changed the 
 position of her ears, and then I had no doubt of her 
 sex. Nor was her gentleman attendant far away.
 
 114 SPORT INDEED 
 
 The male-moose, though always watchful over his 
 mistress, is very careful to keep in the background 
 if he scents danger in air. He heard the guide's 
 call, and, as he moved up and down behind the shelter 
 of the trees, gave his answer. It was not a loud one, 
 but it was loud enough to reach the ear of his frau, 
 and affectionate enough to arouse her jealousy. A 
 moose-wife is very like the human-wife in her notions of 
 conjugal propriety, and has as little toleration for her 
 husband's flirtations ; therefore, as soon as she heard 
 him answer the guide's loving call she began to scold, 
 and in a manner that told him he must stop that sort 
 of thing or she would know the reason why. I had 
 instructed the guide to call not oftener than once in 
 fifteen minutes, and this intermission gave the bull 
 time to quiet down. But her ladyship still stood there, 
 scolding away with all the vim of an Irish washer- 
 woman, when the horn sounded the second time. 
 Again the unfaithful partner of her bosom began to 
 strut about behind the cedars, breaking the branches 
 with his feet and hitting them with his antlers. 
 
 At this moment a far-away bark or rather a half- 
 bark and a half-grunt struck our ear. It was another 
 bull-moose answering the call and his answer was bold 
 and clear. The " unfaithful hubby " that had been 
 strutting so proudly heard it too, and the effect on him 
 was curious. He stopped his strutting instantly and 
 became as quiet as a lamb.
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 1 15 
 
 Again came the far-off bark, but this time much 
 nearer than before. The guide answered it with a 
 low, plaintive call intended to indicate that her coun- 
 terfeit cow ship was extremely delighted to have her 
 K. S. V. P. answered so promptly. 
 
 The birch-bark horn was now laid aside, for the bull 
 was coming with mighty strides, breaking the branches 
 under his feet and crashing his antlers against the 
 trees. In the meanwhile the lady-moose on my left 
 had stepped out into the water. Though I did not see 
 her, I could hear her drinking, and also heard her mate 
 wade in, splashing the water around him. But the 
 other chap we were so eagerly waiting for was quiet. 
 Not a sound came from his direction. He was either 
 stealing down to the water on tiptoe or standing still 
 and listening. And thus the minutes passed. The 
 pair of moose-lovers had drunk their fill, and now we 
 heard them in the darkness nibbling at the lily-pads. 
 
 To the right of where I was lying, and perhaps 
 fifteen feet away, was another piece of ground with 
 a wet, sticky bottom of gray clay, and in this I first 
 saw the footprints of the Big Moose of Little Tobique. 
 Turning myself to the moose-lovers on the left and 
 looking towards the right, I saw the flash of a light. 
 My first thought was that the guide had struck a 
 match to light his path toward me. But quickly as 
 the flash came, just as quickly did it disappear. I 
 laid for a moment puzzled, and then saw what puz-
 
 ii6 SPORT INDEED 
 
 zled me still more a star peeking through the trees 
 and close to the earth. While I was wondering what 
 business a star had there when there was none over- 
 head, it suddenly flickered out. In the fraction of a 
 second a double star took its place. My comprehen- 
 sion at last was master of the situation. The light of 
 the match, the star and the double star were one and 
 the same phosphorescent gleams from the eyes of 
 the big moose. He had crept stealthily down to the 
 water and was now close to me so close that his 
 breathing and he had no " bellows to mend " was 
 plainly audible. I was lying behind a log and at one 
 time fancied he might take a notion to step over it, 
 and drive me into the earth with those big feet of 
 his. But he didn't. I had my electric lamp with me 
 and turned its rays to the right and to the left of me, 
 then to my head and to my feet ; yet I saw nothing 
 around me but the ghostly, cedar branches. How- 
 ever, the three moose must have seen the illumina- 
 tion, and yet strange to say, it didn't startle them. 
 Just then I heard a whistle out on the road. It 
 mocked the note of a bird and was a signal from the 
 guide that the moose had passed him on the road to 
 the water. Ah, he little knew how near I was to the 
 big fellow ! However, there was one thing that I 
 knew it was essential that I get away, and get away 
 quickly lest some tale-bearing zephyr should inform 
 the intelligent noses of these animals that a human
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE 117 
 
 being was on their track. And yet I was afraid to 
 leave until the big fellow would step into the water. 
 This would show me that his suspicions were lulled. 
 Nor could I shoot, because I couldn't see him. Had 
 the guide been with me he might have handled the 
 electric lamp and its flash would have been sufficient 
 to direct my aim, had I been disposed to take advan- 
 tage of it which I would not have done, for such an 
 act would have been unlawful. 
 
 My hunting experience has often placed me in situ- 
 ations of intense excitement and anxiety, but none of 
 them contained as much of either as the present one. 
 I waited, it seemed to me, an age for the big fellow 
 to move. At last he made one step into the water, 
 and now came my chance. Leaving the blankets and 
 rug where they lay, and pointing the glass bulb of 
 the electric lamp to the ground, I tiptoed over logs 
 and under branches and through bits of water and 
 across bits of corduroy road, and did it all so gently 
 and quietly that none of the creatures I had left be- 
 hind heard me. If they had done so they gave no 
 evidence of it. I was glad to reach the road with the 
 conviction that my moose companions were still nib- 
 bling their lily-pads in peace and in the unconscious- 
 ness of danger. 
 
 The guide assured me that my friend the moose 
 could be none other than the Big Moose of Little 
 Tobique. " I know this," he said, " by the manner in
 
 ii8 SPORT INDEED 
 
 which he answered my call. But I didn't know you 
 had two others on your string. I was afraid you had 
 fallen asleep." 
 
 Asleep ? Hardly. If five hours of pent-up anxiety 
 and excitement five hours of close companionship 
 with three moose if this is not enough to keep a 
 hunter's eyes open, he must be drowsy indeed. It 
 was an experience I wouldn't have missed for the 
 price of my vacation ; an experience bulging with 
 events of kaleidoscopic variety. The cedar root 
 the queer antlers my three shots the first bull's 
 attempted infidelity his scolding wife the lighted 
 match the phosphorescent stars the stentorian 
 lungs of the big bull the wait for his step into the 
 water the wait to reach the road surely Queen 
 Mab might find enough material in all this to stuff 
 my dreams for months to come. 
 
 At three o'clock the following morning we were up 
 and ready for our parts in the last act of our moose 
 drama. A light breakfast, and then with our rifles 
 and electric lamp we trudged again through the mud, 
 the wet and the pitch-like darkness. 'Twas no wonder 
 that the mile-and-a-half to the lake seemed like a 
 dozen of them. Slowly and silently we trod, for we 
 were certain the moose were in the water, and the 
 noisy break of a branch or a stumble would have 
 ended our hope of getting a crack at them. As we 
 came nearer the cove, we listened and caught the
 
 A NEW BRUNSWICK TOTE-ROAD THE AUTHOR IN THE DISTANCE
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIOUE 121 
 
 welcome sound of splashing. They were there ! But 
 now the most difficult part of our journey lay before 
 us the entrance to the cedar point, and through the 
 cedar swamp. There were two paths ; one by way of 
 the cove and the other in which we would follow the 
 footsteps of our moose No. 3. We took the latter, 
 thinking that all three animals would likely be to- 
 gether in the cove. I led the way, pointing the light 
 to the ground. The guide followed, both of us tread- 
 ing carefully and shying away from every dead twig. 
 We could not have trod with more circumspection 
 had the road been paved with dynamite. Three old, 
 dead trees lay in our path. They were without bark 
 and so slippery with rain that both of us thought it 
 safer to get over them on our hands and knees. Then 
 came the soft strip of gray mud ; then a couple of 
 rotten and moss-covered spruce logs ; and then the 
 clump of cedars. To get inside of the dense cover of 
 the latter we were again forced to resort to our 
 hands and knees, and so crawled into our lair. The 
 day had not yet broke and the darkness was impene- 
 trable. There was but one thing to do or rather 
 two things wait and listen. We felt sure that if 
 the moose would remain. till dawn our victory was 
 certain. And thus in the darkness, waiting and 
 listening, we passed the anxious minutes, hoping and 
 praying for the dawn. It came at last, yet when it 
 did, and I looked into the cove, my eyes as yet saw
 
 122 SPORT INDEED 
 
 nothing they could shape into a moose. My ears, 
 however, were en-garde, telling me plainly that a 
 moose, perhaps the big fellow himself, was at the 
 bottom of all that wading and splashing. And then 
 my eyes began to get their work in. Something, that 
 in the glimmer of the breaking day they took to be 
 the top of a fallen tree, had changed its shape. 'Twas 
 not a tree now, but a moose and a monstrous one. 
 Was it a bull or a cow ? I couldn't tell for its back 
 was toward me and its head in the water. But our 
 doubt was of short duration. A few minutes, and 
 the great beast turned around and started on a walk 
 straight toward us. And now luck was at my elbow 
 ready to do her part in the capture of the big fellow. 
 Following the line of the shore he came directly 
 around the cedar point where we were waiting for 
 him. His appearance as he walked majestically 
 around the point in the light of the hazy morning 
 reminded me of the picture of a " mammoth " that 
 I had seen in my boyhood days, painted upon the 
 side of a building and used by the firm as their trade 
 mark. Some thirty years have passed, yet I haven't 
 forgotten the "mammoth." 
 
 To return to the big fellow. He seemed in no 
 hurry, but stepped along as if time were made for 
 slaves and not for a bull of his dignity. He had 
 evidently eaten his fill and was on his way to some 
 favored spot where he might rest and sleep, and so
 
 BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIOUE 123 
 
 prepare himself for another night's flirtation. But 
 alas! the best-laid plans of a moose, like those of 
 mice and men, "aft gang aglee." Leisurely he ap- 
 proached until he came quite within range. Then 
 the sharp crack of a rifle rang out on the air and the 
 flirtation days of the " Big Moose of Little Tobique " 
 were ended forever. The ball had pierced his heart 
 and he fell in his tracks a few feet from the shore. 
 
 The guide gave me a shake of the hand and a con- 
 gratulatory hug, and then jumping over the prostrate 
 quarry tried to slew him around so we might pull him 
 out of the water by his hind feet. In this we didn't 
 succeed. So I told the guide to go to the camp and 
 bring the cook a strapping big chap and also a 
 rope. Fastening the latter to one of the moose's hind 
 feet, we managed, after a deal of pulling and twisting 
 and turning, to get our prize on terra firma. Then 
 we took a good look at his tremendous size, and the 
 sight of such a mountain of moose-flesh nearly robbed 
 us of our breath. 
 
 Examination showed us that we were not the only 
 sports that had followed his big heels with murderous 
 intent, for there was a bullet hole in the left blade of 
 his antlers and two buckshot holes were in the right. 
 
 His feet were a study. Six and a half inches from 
 toe to heel was the measurement of the largest moose- 
 feet I had hitherto seen, but this fellow's covered 
 eleven and three-quarters. They were chipped and
 
 124 SPORT INDEED 
 
 ragged and worn awry under the unnumbered miles 
 of his midnight tramps. However, the chiropodistic 
 skill of the taxidermist has remedied all that. He 
 has cured and polished them and now they are quite 
 fit to adorn a room, and quite able to prove their 
 owner's right to his title : 
 
 THE BIG MOOSE OF LITTLE TOBIQUE.
 
 The Lost Wallet 
 
 Thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 MEEBY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 'Tis a slippery world that we live in so slippery, 
 indeed, that it often puzzles a man to travel its glib 
 paths and keep on his feet. Nor are its paths the 
 only slippery things. Money, for instance, has a 
 reputation that Avay, and I, for one, can vouch the 
 reputation to be deserved. 
 
 By the way, what is money? lago defined it as 
 " trash," but the oily rascal's lexigraphy, like his love 
 for the Moor, was a little lop-sided. The world's 
 definition, I think, hits nearer the mark : " Money is a 
 something that no fellow can get along without." 
 As Owen Meredith once said or rather, neglected to 
 say: 
 
 We may live without wisdom, may live without wit ; 
 We may live without pluck, or the thing we call grit ; 
 We may live without brains if we've plenty of gall 
 We may live without using our noddle at all ; 
 We may live without sweets, without sugar and honey, 
 But where is the fellow can live without money ? 
 
 No ; the man who lacks it finds himself in what he 
 calls " trouble," and his friends, though willing 
 enough to acknowledge his strait, are not always so 
 
 willing to help him out of it. 
 
 125
 
 126 SPORT INDEED 
 
 As for the "gay sport," I believe he is seldom 
 afflicted in that way ; although he is thought to be, and 
 probably is, less cautious than other people in his care 
 of the cash. The latter has a go-easy manner of get- 
 ting away from him, but he doesn't care a continental 
 how easy it goes, provided it leave behind its quid 
 pro quo in the shape of his enjoyment. There may 
 be times, however, when a little financial care on his 
 part would be advisable. If, for instance, he happen 
 to be in the wilds of a forest, hundreds of miles away 
 from his bank account, and with all his available 
 funds lying in a wallet in his inside pocket. At such 
 a time prudence should dictate that he keep his 
 mind's eye on the leathern receptacle and not let it 
 get beyond his reach at least, without his knowledge 
 and consent. 
 
 Now, to a man who " travels on his shape " the ab- 
 sence of a stuffed wallet may be of little consequence. 
 But " the sport " is not built that way. His stock of 
 " shape " is limited, and even if it were not, his man- 
 hood would probably rebel against getting through the 
 world in such a questionable manner. He is in the 
 habit of paying for what he gets, and I speak 
 feelingly sometimes for what he doesn't get. 
 
 But to return to my mutton, otherwise my wallet, 
 I will relate how that leathern receptacle did get be- 
 yond my reach and without either my knowledge or 
 consent.
 
 THE LOST WALLET 127 
 
 It was a part of my hunting luck to spend a couple 
 of nights in a series of old camps, one of which was 
 without any roof and the others with only a bit of 
 one large enough to cover a corner. I was alone, so 
 far as the company of mortals was concerned, but of 
 the other sort I had plenty. I was surrounded by 
 wild neighbors whose tracks showed they were in the 
 habit of frequenting the camp yard to eat of the 
 grass that grew upon a pile of camp refuse and 
 manure, and also to take a lick or a nibble at the old 
 salt-pork barrels which lay bleaching and rotting in 
 the sun and rain. 
 
 The camp wherein I made my bunk was damp and 
 smelt as foul as an old cellar. The rain had free ac- 
 cess to it, but the sun hadn't, therefore it was not 
 strange that the floor should be dank and green with 
 mould. Old boots, and rubbers and discarded clothes 
 were scattered profusely about acting like so many 
 sponges to catch and hold the moisture. At night 
 when I passed from one camp building to the other I 
 carried an electric lamp. This was imperative in 
 order that I might not lose my way or break my neck 
 in winding through the labyrinth of empty butter and 
 nail kegs, old tin cans, etc., etc. 
 
 During the early part of my first night there I had 
 been watching for a moose from behind an opening in the 
 gable of one of the buildings and had taken my wallet 
 from the inside pocket of my vest. This was a matter
 
 128 SPORT INDEED 
 
 of precaution, for, with every breath I took, the wallet 
 would give a creak ; not much of a noise, to be sure, 
 but enough to catch the ear of the moose I was ex- 
 pecting to pass that way. When the night became so 
 dark that I could no longer see, I put the wallet in 
 the hip pocket of my trousers and returned to the 
 other building containing my bunk. Then I un- 
 dressed, crawled into my sleeping bag, and was soon 
 in the land of oblivion. About one o'clock I was 
 aroused by the whistling and stamping of a deer close 
 to the camp. During my nap the night had grown so 
 very cold that I reached for my trousers and sweater 
 and, putting them on, crawled again into my sleeping 
 bag and slept till sunrise. My sleep, however, had 
 been troubled by a dream in which my wallet played 
 a conspicuous part. Now I am not posted in the phi- 
 losophy of dreams, but those who profess to be as- 
 sert that these mysterious visions are sure foretellers 
 of coming events. In my case the dream was not out 
 of the way regarding the loss of my wallet, but it 
 slipped up a little on the manner of the loss. I cer- 
 tainly had no hole in my trousers' pocket, which the 
 dream said I had ; nor did the wallet keep me busy in 
 picking it up and replacing it a dozen times before I 
 discovered there was a hole. But these were trivial 
 errors. Suffice it to say the dream was vivid enough 
 to make me jump up, as soon as my eyes opened, and 
 thrust my hand into my trousers' pocket. There was
 
 w 
 W 
 H
 
 THE LOST WALLET 129 
 
 no hole there, neither was there any wallet. There 
 could be no more doubt about my having put the wal- 
 let in that pocket the night before, than there was a 
 certainty now that it was somewhere else. But 
 where ? Could I have dropped it on the bog ? This 
 seemed probable and I started at once on the search. 
 When I tell the reader that there was $135.00 in it 
 for me, he may not wonder that I did my best to suc- 
 ceed. It is true, $135.00 is not a fortune, but it is a 
 good deal better than nothing ; and nothing was sure 
 to be the something I would have if I didn't find that 
 wallet. Therefore. eagerly did I search, following my 
 tracks of the previous day, tramping on them back 
 and forth and examining every place to which they 
 led. But all to no purpose. No wallet was to be 
 seen. Somewhat out of temper I returned to the 
 camp, took off the spruce boughs from the bunk, and 
 shook out the blankets with the hope that the wallet 
 might turn up. But it didn't. Then I went outside 
 and sat me on a log, and I will venture to say that 
 there was more solid thinking done on the top of that 
 log at that time than will ever be done there again. 
 At one end of the log there was a soft piece of ground 
 in which I saw tracks that looked to me like those of 
 the porcupine. Instantly my wits began to work and 
 in detective fashion : " If those are a porcupine's foot- 
 prints his home is probably somewhere under this very 
 camp. If so, may not my wallet have fallen from the
 
 130 SPORT INDEED 
 
 bunk while I was asleep and have been picked up and 
 carried off by this prickly thief?" The thought 
 started me back to the old camp to examine the floor. 
 It was made of long thin logs, the surfaces of which 
 were chopped off with an axe. Between two of these 
 logs was a space just wide enough to allow the wallet 
 to drop through that is, if it were dropped directly 
 over the crack. But the logs were laid at right angles 
 to the bunk, so that if the wallet had fallen over the 
 side, it must have reversed itself in order to slide down 
 the narrow slit. This seemed improbable, but not 
 enough so to dampen my hopes. I determined to pry 
 up the logs, and with an old axe that was lying in the 
 corner I soon made a wooden crowbar for the purpose. 
 One of the logs had a bend in one end which caused 
 the opening I have referred to. I placed my bar un- 
 der this log, ripped it from its place, and found, as I 
 had expected, that the ground underneath had been 
 well furrowed with porcupines. Striking a match I 
 looked down into the hole. The dim light showed me 
 no wallet, and I struck another match with a like re- 
 sult. Then I tried the electric lamp, and its light en- 
 abled me to explore thoroughly all the nooks and cran- 
 nies of a porcupine's home. And there in one of these 
 nooks, and totally unconscious of the anxiety it had 
 cost its owner, lay my green wallet. It was un- 
 harmed, excepting that it had four marks which it 
 bears to this day. Whether these were made by the
 
 THE LOST WALLET 131 
 
 claws or teeth of my friend the " fretful porcupine," 
 or by some other agency, was then, and is now, a mys- 
 tery. But there is another and a deeper mystery 
 which neither Time nor mortal ingenuity is likely to 
 solve : how the deuce could that wallet crawl from 
 my trousers' pocket, jump from the bunk, turn a somer- 
 sault, and dive into the household of that porcupine ?
 
 A Close Call 
 
 Escaped with the skin of my teeth. 
 
 Jos 19 : 20. 
 
 OF all the things in this world which are not pic- 
 turesque, the breaking of camp after a long season 
 spent in the woods of Maine comes close to being at 
 the top. We had spent many long and exciting days 
 in the wilds of Maine, and camp was broken at six in 
 the morning. The camp had been on a high ledge, 
 overlooking a circular sheet of water known as Moose 
 Pond. The latter is flanked by bogs on two sides, a 
 cove at one side and a stream that runs into it from a 
 small lake above. It was a dismal day, and the three 
 guides looked glum when we started to make our way 
 out of the pond and through the cove into the lake be- 
 yond. The wind blew directly in our faces, and the 
 guides seemed to be afraid of everything. First they 
 were afraid they could not get the canoes around the 
 point, then afraid they would have to camp on the 
 shore of the cove in fact, there was nothing they 
 were not afraid of. Finally, my son and I told them 
 that if they would only put us on the other side of the 
 cove we would lighten the canoes by walking the two 
 miles across the point and through the woods. 
 
 132
 
 A CLOSE CALL 133 
 
 "Well, we started, and, although it rained buckets of 
 water, I rather enjoyed the experience. We found 
 many fresh tracks of big game, the windfalls were 
 few, and as the path was deeply carpeted with fresh- 
 fallen leaves the walk was anything but tedious. 
 
 On leaving the forest the road led through a piece 
 of burnt land. I heard a cow-bell jingling and soon 
 spied some cattle feeding off to the right, and, straight 
 in front of me, were two deer. But they had scented 
 me, and as they threw their heels up and bounded 
 away, I tried a shot at the nearest one, but ah, there's 
 that " but " again ! I missed, and the deer, in a twin- 
 kling, were safe in the timber. 
 
 We reached the lake and then had a long wait for 
 the canoes. On their arrival we found one of them 
 had shipped a good bit of water, and that they all had 
 had a narrow call from capsizing. The wind was in- 
 creasing every minute, and as it was necessary for us 
 to cross the lake (here about a mile and a half wide), 
 we put the baggage into one canoe, and, with our 
 strongest guide to handle the stern paddle and me at 
 the bow paddle, while my son squatted down in the 
 centre of the canoe, we pushed out into the turbulent 
 waters. The wind was blowing a gale straight down 
 the lake, and strong enough to pick the water from the 
 tops of the white caps and blow it around us in the 
 shape of fine spray. Our course lay diagonally across 
 or up the lake in the teeth of the gale, and hardly had
 
 134 SPORT INDEED 
 
 we gotten a hundred yards from shore before my son's 
 "sou'wester" hat was knocked off by the guide's pad- 
 die. But that was no place nor time to stop for a hat. 
 The canoe mounted and rode the waves beautifully, 
 and yet at times it seemed as if the wind would cap- 
 size it or blow it out of the water, particularly when 
 we reached the centre of the lake, and the canoe was 
 turned obliquely down towards the other shore. Then 
 we had to paddle for our very lives and watch the waves 
 to see that they didn't break over us. When the light 
 canoe was going down the sloping sides or in the hol- 
 low of a big wave, we had to use every pound of our 
 reserve strength to shove her along before another 
 mountain of water caught us. It was indeed a tick- 
 lish trip, for had we capsized we would have had no 
 show whatever in the icy water, as our heavy hip boots 
 would have prevented any chance of our swimming or 
 of a rescue. We fully appreciated the situation. 
 However, we got over without mishap, other than a 
 wetting, a lost hat, and a profuse perspiration from 
 hard paddling. We were safe, and for this we de- 
 voutedly thanked the Ordainer of all things. 
 
 We stopped for dinner at the little frame hotel, the 
 Chesuncook House, which is the last sign or semblance 
 of a hostelry you see before plunging into the great 
 wilderness beyond. Among those who were making 
 the hotel their headquarters were three sports who 
 went out in the morning to hunt and returned at
 
 A CLOSE CALL 137 
 
 night to recuperate. They had killed a nice buck the 
 day before our arrival and had set it up on the shore 
 of the lake for inspection. It was hanging from a 
 trident formed of three poles, and while the rain beat 
 upon it and the wind swayed it to and fro the hunters 
 watched it with admiring eyes ; and well they might, 
 for it was a beauty. 
 
 Now, two of the aforesaid sports were from Wood- 
 bury, N. J., and the other from Boston. The Boston 
 man and one of the Woodbury men were built on the 
 corpulent model, extremely oily, and with a girth that 
 might have rivaled Falstaff's. But they were not 
 sensitive on that point, as some oleaginous men are 
 men to whom the slightest reference or even glance in 
 a stomachward direction would be at once a casus belli. 
 
 Our conversation at dinner turned upon the treat- 
 ment they had been experiencing from their guides. 
 " Do you know," said the Boston man, " I have had 
 the most unpleasant experience rubbed into me by 
 these guides and I don't care to have the operation 
 repeated." 
 
 " What was the nature of the operation ? " I ven- 
 tured to ask. 
 
 "Well, you probably have noticed that I have a 
 good deal of butter in my make-up and I don't care to 
 have it all melted at once, which seemed to be what 
 these guides were after. They told us that the Am- 
 bezuskas meadow was a glorious place to hunt in, and
 
 138 SPORT INDEED 
 
 so it may be for a lean man ; surely no fat man could 
 find any glory in it unless his fat be of a more un- 
 meltable quality than mine. Imagine three hundred 
 pounds of flesh floundering through mud and water, 
 tripping over cedar roots, falling over logs, struggling 
 for a little temporary foothold in order to pull one- 
 self out of the mud and regain an upright position, 
 while the guide stands at a safe distance away, 
 beckoning and shouting ' come on ! ' After this part 
 of the programme had been repeated several times, 
 always winding up with ' come on,' tired Nature 
 gave out and refused to comply with the guide's man- 
 date. Mounting a stump I gathered together what 
 little strength I had left and put it .all into a shout, 
 
 * You be d d ! I'll not " come on " any more. 
 
 " Come on " yourself, that's what I'm paying you 
 for.' " 
 
 His story, by the way, reminds me of another 
 which is short enough and good enough to fit in here. 
 Two would-be deer hunters, one thin and wiry, the 
 other round and oily, had struck a trail and the thin 
 fellow lifting his eyes saw a big buck bounding di- 
 rectly towards them. " There he comes ! lie down ! " 
 shouted the thin chap, but seeing no reduction in the 
 obtrusive size of his companion again he shouted, 
 " Lie down ! Lie down ! " 
 
 This time an answer came from the direction of the 
 butter pile.
 
 A CLOSE CALL 139 
 
 " D n it all, I am lying down ! " 
 
 " The d 1 you are ! Then stand up and perhaps 
 
 the buck won't see you." 
 
 We left Chesuncook Lake at half-past one in the 
 afternoon, fixed our loads in the canoes at a landing 
 stage near the mouth of the river, and in the driving, 
 pitiless rain, we started to paddle up the stream, in- 
 tending to reach the Halfway House, about eleven 
 miles up, before dark. On the trip up the " sport " is 
 expected to leave the canoe and walk around the 
 stream's obstructions known as the Pine Stream 
 Falls, Kocky Rips and the Fox Hole Rapids, while 
 the guide, with the lightened canoe, poles it up against 
 the swift current which swirls and eddies around the 
 huge rocks lying in all sorts of ways and angles in 
 the bed of the stream. "We walked therefore through 
 a path in the woods around Pine Stream Falls and 
 the Rocky Rips, and above them was a stretch of 
 dead-water which ended at the foot of Fox Hole 
 Rapids. Here we left the canoes again and took to 
 the road which runs in a nearly straight direction, 
 while the river makes a great bend off to the right, 
 and the road for the distance of, say a mile and a 
 half, cuts off quite a detour in the river. Just as we 
 entered this road I told my son to walk ahead very 
 carefully until he came to a piece of burnt land which 
 my recollection said was a feeding ground for deer, 
 and he might get a shot. As he emerged from the
 
 140 SPORT INDEED 
 
 woods I saw him stop on the burnt land and take his 
 rifle from under his arm (it was still pouring rain). I 
 saw him aim and fire and a deer bound away, while 
 the youth jumped over burnt timber and scrambled 
 through stunted brush. Again I saw him aim and 
 fire, and I saw the deer drop. Now we were in a 
 pickle ; night was coming on fast and the canoes were 
 away off to the right. The rain was splashing down 
 in torrents. There was no time to wait, so we at 
 once opened the deer and took out the " inwards," cut 
 a sapling with our knives, ran it through the " hocks " 
 of the deer, slung it on our shoulders and started for 
 the road. This road is called a " tote-road " by 
 courtesy, and in winter it is much used for hauling 
 supplies on when there is a good depth of snow. 
 
 In summer and fall it is not much used, and there 
 are rocks and roots upon it, and holes in it that would 
 shame the " Slough of Despond." It was now dusk, 
 and soon became pitch dark. And the rain, how it 
 did pour ! We stumbled and slid along over roots 
 and water and mud, swaying from side to side with 
 our unwieldy load, rifle in one hand and the other 
 steadying the pole on our shoulders, every now and 
 then tramping on the deer's head which hung and 
 dragged on the ground. So for the mile and a half 
 we trudged along until the canoes were reached. 
 
 Here we found the guides angry and alarmed at 
 our prolonged absence, and, as they were soaking wet,
 
 A CLOSE CALL 143 
 
 we couldn't blame them. "We got into the canoes 
 again and paddled briskly until we saw a welcome 
 light shining ahead at the Halfway House. This 
 house is built away up on a clay bank, and set far 
 enough back from the river to prevent the Spring and 
 Fall floods from washing it away. Now a steep, 
 clayey bank on a night when the water is pouring 
 down is not a nice one for a lot of half-frozen, half- 
 drowned men to clamber up. We slid and slipped 
 here and there, now down and now up, until we were 
 well-covered with clay ; but we were cheerful withal, 
 and that's a great deal towards contentment. We at 
 last reached the house, had our baggage brought in, 
 and to our disgust found everything was wet over- 
 coats, blankets, underclothes, negatives, etc., etc. A 
 big fire was built in a big stove. We ate supper, 
 hung our wet clothes around the fire, emptied all of 
 our luggage sacks and hung the contents of them 
 upon the chairs and benches as well as upon the wall. 
 After this task we went to bed and were soon wrapt 
 in the sweet sleep that comes to all men who labor in 
 the open air and know how to make the best of storm 
 or cold or any other of Nature's unpleasant pranks 
 which she may be pleased to play upon them. 
 
 At half-past three the next morning we tumbled 
 out of bed, ate a hasty breakfast of bread and butter 
 and bacon and coffee, repacked all our things in their 
 proper sacks, carried them down and placed them in
 
 144 SPORT INDEED 
 
 the canoes. Then before the goddess of morn had 
 time to get her eyes open, we pushed off for our last 
 canoeing trip of that season. 
 
 The pouring rain had now ceased and the weather 
 had turned so cold that the water froze upon our 
 paddles, and the river was so nearly frozen that there 
 was little or no spring in the canoes. 'Twas a dead 
 push all the way up to the Northeast Carry. "We had 
 not been able to draw on our leather boots by reason 
 of their soaking of the night before, and rubber boots 
 had to be substituted ; and these, in that biting cold, 
 made it uncomfortable paddling. After a run of four 
 miles we were glad to push the canoes ashore, build a 
 fire and warm up. At about nine o'clock we landed 
 at the Carry, hired a wagon to tote our stuff over to 
 Moosehead Lake and then walked the two miles of 
 good road which constitutes this famous Carry. 
 
 "When we reached the little hotel at the lake end of 
 the Carry we had to wait several hours for a steam- 
 boat to take us to Greenville, forty miles away, 
 whence the train is taken for Bangor. Here I noticed 
 a youth who looked feeble and sick, as if nigh unto 
 death. He was a farmer's boy whose home was near 
 Hartford, Conn. The boy had read and reread 
 stories of hunters ; of their happy lives in the woods, 
 and their ignorance of restraint, and pored over them 
 until his brain had room for nothing else. The read- 
 ing of Cooper's novels had so fired his imagination
 
 A CLOSE CALL 145 
 
 that he resolved to live the life of a hunter, and to do 
 it he believed that nothing more was needed than to 
 go into the woods with a rifle and a rubber blanket. 
 This was no theory with him to dream over, but one 
 to act upon. He came alone from his farm, went 
 alone into the woods and very soon stalked a deer 
 which he succeeded in killing. Then his youthful 
 breast beat high with rapture as he saw the noble 
 quarry lying at his feet. But hunger must be ap- 
 peased, and he was hungry, no doubt about that. He 
 dressed the deer, cut a steak, still reeking with animal 
 heat, built a fire, toasted the venison on a stick and 
 greedily ate it. Then spreading his rubber blanket 
 upon the ground and without either a blanket to 
 cover him or a sleeping bag to crawl into he laid him 
 down in the frosty air and slept the sleep of youth 
 and tired-out nature. Next morning he awoke with 
 shivering body and chattering teeth and a burning 
 pain in the intestines. Hanging up his deer in a tree 
 as well as he could, he built a fresh fire and tried to 
 warm his body and dispel the chill which at last gave 
 way to a fever and a splitting headache. The morn- 
 ing passed, noon came, and night, and there he lay. 
 On the morning of the second day, prone upon the 
 ground, with the red squirrels busy about him gather- 
 ing their winter stores, the poor boy lay. Here, sick, 
 far from home, from kindred, from mother's care, or 
 doctor's aid, he was found by a party of lumbermen
 
 146 SPORT INDEED 
 
 who carried him to their camp and nursed and fed 
 him as well as they could for six days. Then as the 
 winter was fast closing in they sent a man out of the 
 woods with him to the Carry, and here I saw him. 
 His attendant asked me if I would look after him as 
 far as I went. I told him nothing could give me 
 more pleasure than to do so. 
 
 When the steamboat arrived I took him aboard, got 
 a sofa for him to lie upon, and then looked over my 
 medicine chest. Picking out some tablets, which had 
 a very little of morphia in them, I gave him one of 
 these every three hours and made him drink hot milk 
 with some cayenne pepper in it. 
 
 We reached Greenville very late at night, left at six 
 the next morning and arrived at Bangor about noon, 
 leaving the latter sometime in the early afternoon. 
 At these places, and wherever and whenever I could 
 get the hot milk, I made the poor boy drink it. At 
 Portland, I had a doctor examine him who said that 
 the boy was certainly in the early stages of typhoid 
 fever and that he also had intestinal catarrh, caused 
 by the eating of the venison before it had parted with 
 its animal heat. The doctor also said that the tablets 
 I had given him were " right " and that the hot milk 
 was " right." We reached Boston at nine o'clock in 
 the evening, and thinking that the train I was to take 
 was the same which was to carry the boy to his home, 
 I took him to the Providence depot, but found I was
 
 A CLOSE CALL 147 
 
 mistaken, and that he had to go by the Boston and 
 Albany Railway. My time was short and his, too. 
 Checking my own baggage I engaged my berth, then 
 left my son with the remainder of the stuff and 
 started for the other depot. It was raining heavily, 
 and at that time of night I could find neither carriage 
 nor street car, and so was compelled partly to support 
 and carry, and partly to drag the sick boy on the 
 way. "We reached the train with five minutes to 
 spare. After buying his ticket I helped him into a 
 car, laid him down and then hunted up the conductor 
 a portly, pompous, beggar-on-horseback sort of a 
 fellow and asked him if he wouldn't kindly look 
 after the boy to the end of his division and then ask 
 the following conductor also to see to his comfort. 
 His reply was perhaps what I might have expected. 
 " No, sir ! I have no time to look after sick people. 
 I've got my train to attend to, and if the boy gives me 
 any trouble I'll put him off at Worcester and send 
 him to the hospital." A man was standing near him 
 (probably a railway official) who had listened to my 
 story and request and to the conductor's reply. He 
 turned quickly to the man of brass buttons and 
 swinging lantern, and spoke with a frown. The 
 words were few and their purport I did not catch ; 
 but, whatever it may have been, the change was 
 magical. The conductor came toward me and in the 
 most polite and cringing manner promised to look
 
 148 SPORT INDEED 
 
 after the boy. Then the semaphore over the gate 
 changed from red to white, the bell rang, a shout of 
 " All aboard," and with measured puff the train was 
 on its way. 
 
 My own train was to leave at midnight and I hur- 
 ried back to it through the rain which pelted in tor- 
 rents and wet me through. However, it took but 
 little time to get undressed and into my berth. A 
 few moments afterward I felt the train moving out 
 of the station, and then all knowledge and recollec- 
 tion took a back seat. I knew nothing until I awoke 
 next morning at my destination, fully aware that the 
 hunting season was over, that I was back among my 
 friends and loved ones, sound in mind and limb, re- 
 vived in brain and ready for any amount of work. 
 Verily, 
 
 " Hunting is an exercise 
 To make man sturdy, active, wise ; 
 To fill his spirits with delight, 
 To help his hearing, mend his sight, 
 To teach him arts that never slip 
 His memory ; canoemanship, 
 And search and sharpness and defense, 
 And all ill habits chaseth hence."
 
 The Fun of Hunting 
 
 I love the sport well. 
 
 Two GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 YES, I love the sport of hunting and love it well, 
 especially if a bull-moose or a caribou be the object of 
 it. To be sure it entails several things which the city- 
 bred tenderfoot might call discomforts, such as wad- 
 ing through watery bogs, tumbling into mudholes, 
 sleeping in wet forests, and, should his lumber muscles 
 have the temper of mine, a struggle or two with lum- 
 bago. My own comfort and the sport itself have 
 often been at loggerheads and had many a spat ; yet I 
 always sided with the sport " Not that I loved Caesar 
 less, but that I loved Rome more." 
 
 One of my trips found me at the Nictau Lakes, but 
 the continuous high winds in that region interfering 
 with the hunting, our party turned their faces home- 
 ward. We spent part of a day in shoving down the 
 Tobique River to Red Brook, a distance of twelve 
 miles. Here we hid the bulk of our supplies in the 
 mouth of an old lumber road, and taking as much of 
 the stuff as four of us could handle, carried it over 
 two ridges to a " dead-water " on a small brook seven 
 
 149
 
 150 SPORT INDEED 
 
 miles from the river. Then we located ourselves at an 
 abandoned lumber camp and spent the night there. 
 It was decided that my son should take up his quarters 
 at the foot of one piece of dead-water and I at the 
 head of another, a mile and a half away. The sky 
 was threatening and rain began to fall at two o'clock 
 in the morning. 
 
 We watched and called at intervals till dawn began 
 to break ; then wearied with watching and chilled to 
 the bone I crawled under my blanket. 
 
 The guide had wandered down the stream, a hun- 
 dred yards or more, to where it is crossed by a little 
 bridge. Here he stopped for the purpose of taking a 
 drink of water. As he stepped on the bridge, he saw 
 a bull-moose move cautiously out of the woods and 
 head for my direction. The guide watched him in- 
 tently, and when the moose would make a step he 
 would do the same, so as to not attract the animal's 
 attention by the noise made in walking. The moose 
 took the opposite bank of the stream, walking a few 
 steps and then stopping to listen. Whenever the bull 
 stopped, the guide also would stop, and thus a consid- 
 erable time was spent before the latter reached the 
 place where I lay snuggled under my blanket. By the 
 time the bull got directly opposite to me, the guide 
 had reached a clump of alders, behind which he stood 
 and within earshot. He did not dare to give the 
 moose a chance to see him, but I heard him say in low,
 
 THE FUN OF HUNTING 151 
 
 measured tones, " There's a bull-moose standing right 
 across the brook in the edge of the woods. Don't get 
 up too quick, but be swift with your shot and don't 
 miss him." 
 
 Before the guide had finished his instructions I had 
 my rifle out from under the shelter of the rubber 
 blankets and cocked. Then, slowly raising myself to 
 a standing position, I saw the bull. He saw me, too, 
 and turned quickly around to make his way into the 
 woods. But my rifle was a little quicker than the 
 bull. I fired, and the ball struck him squarely on the 
 left hip-bone, crushing its way through it and drop- 
 ping the big fellow in his tracks. But it took two 
 more bullets to finish him. 
 
 After breakfast we went to work skinning and 
 quartering him. When this was done we undertook 
 the more delicate task of removing the scalp from the 
 head and cleaning the skull for mounting. Then we 
 hung up the meat to cool off, and salted the hide and 
 head. 
 
 After dinner we explored and discovered another 
 dead-water two miles off, on the Restigouche "Waters. 
 The little stream that formed it was less than a hun- 
 dred yards from the Tobique waters, upon which we 
 were hunting. 
 
 A caribou bull broke cover, some three hundred 
 and fifty yards away, and ran directly across the 
 level. This incident decided us to try the same dead-
 
 152 SPORT INDEED 
 
 water that night, with the hope of getting a shot at 
 one of his tribe. We returned to camp, packed up 
 our bedding, took a few biscuits and a small pail of 
 water to comfort us during the night, and again 
 reached the lower end of the dead-water at five 
 o'clock. We cut an avenue into the alders, cleared 
 off a bit of ground, laid our blankets down, and tried 
 to find out if there wasn't another stretch of dead- 
 water further down. At the very extreme point of 
 an open space was a bottomless mud-hole and diago- 
 nally across it an old cedar tree had fallen. It was 
 necessary to cross over this tree to work our way 
 down the stream. The guide got on the small end of 
 it and, with a pole, worked his way safely over ; then 
 it was my turn and I was equally successful, until the 
 butt-end of the tree was reached. Then the old cedar 
 crushed with my weight, my left foot came in contact 
 with one of its broken slivers, and in a jiffy I was off 
 the log and into the mud-hole. It was lucky for me 
 however unlucky it may be for my readers that an 
 alder branch on the bank hung within my reach. No 
 drowning man ever snatched at his proverbial straw 
 with keener haste than did I at that alder branch. 
 With its aid I began to pull myself out of my predica- 
 ment ; it was slow work, for the mud seemed deter- 
 mined not to let me slip from its slimy clutches. 
 However, I did get out of them, and when I stood on 
 the bank I looked about me for my rifle. Like a
 
 THE FUN OF HUNTING 153 
 
 faithful friend it had followed me on my plunge, and 
 I now saw it rapidly disappearing in the hole, butt- 
 end first, and, for all I knew, on its way to the 
 antipodes. The guide saw it too, and reaching over 
 caught it by the muzzle, in time to stop its mad, or 
 rather mud-career, and proudly restored it to the 
 hands of its owner. 
 
 Its " owner's " hands, as well as every other part of 
 him, needed some restoring. My trousers were be- 
 daubed an inch thick with the sticky stuff, and my 
 drawers so thoroughly soaked that I wondered if ever 
 again they would be dry. But I consoled myself 
 with the old Dutchman's proverb : " Dime dries all 
 dings," and thought, in the course of events, it might 
 " dry " mine. 
 
 But as my comfort was not disposed to wait for 
 time to do the work, I started the guide on a run to 
 camp for fresh clothing. Then I pulled off my boots 
 no easy job divested my legs of the drawers and 
 trousers, and then in bare limbs trudged through the 
 wet grass to a neighboring brook. I brought with 
 me my boots for the purpose of ridding them of the 
 mud that loaded them inside and out, and also 
 brought my watch, cartridges, matches and compass. 
 The latter articles I had taken from my trousers' 
 pocket and tied in a handkerchief for convenient 
 carrying. I reached the brook and commenced my 
 washtub business, but before I got through with one
 
 154 SPORT INDEED 
 
 boot my task was interrupted by a hungry swarm of 
 black flies. They had discovered my nakedness and 
 began at once to satisfy their hunger, picking out 
 each tender spot and boring into it with such vigor 
 and determination there was nothing left me but 
 flight ; and I flew. 
 
 Now, to walk or run in bare feet is good for the 
 health at least, so said good Father Kneipp ; but if 
 he had ever had any experience in walking or running 
 through cold spring water, waxey mud and sharp- 
 cutting swale and wire grass he might have admitted 
 some exceptions. 
 
 When I reached the shelter of the alders, my 
 watch, shells, compass and the other things were 
 missing. They had dropped from the handkerchief 
 unnoticed in my hurried flight and I was forced to 
 tramp back and hunt for them. Twice did I make 
 the trip, each time through a cloud of the flies whose 
 hungry appetite seemed to grow " by what it fed on." 
 As a fretful horse tries to shake off his tormenting 
 biters by stamping his feet, so did I endeavor to rid 
 myself of mine. Nor was it my feet alone that were 
 busy. My hands were quite as fully employed. I 
 whirled them about my face and ears and slapped my 
 neck, my shoulders, and my legs until they grew red 
 and I grew weary. 
 
 I found the watch at last, hanging by its chain to 
 an alder bush which had caught and dragged it from
 
 THE FUN OF HUNTING 155 
 
 the handkerchief. The shells and other missing 
 things were under the alders. 
 
 It did not take long to get me into my sleeping 
 bag, cover up, and forget all about my tormentors. 
 In an hour and a half the guide returned with the 
 dry underclothing which I put on, and was then ready 
 once more to brave the raw air and the hustling flies. 
 
 I might remark, by the way, that if the plague-fly 
 of the Egyptians was a more accomplished biter than 
 is the black fly of New Brunswick, in the lingo of to- 
 day, he must have been a " dandy."
 
 A Ftre-and- Water Medley 
 
 Spit fire ! Spout, rain ! 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 "THE property of rain is to wet and fire to burn," 
 a hackneyed truism of which our New Brunswick 
 camp had rather a damp and lucid proof. 
 
 The rain had been falling heavily all day. We 
 knew it was the intention of a party, consisting of 
 two sportsmen with their guide, and one woman, to 
 come through and camp at the head of the Tobique 
 Kiver, but thought they would prefer to stay at Ked 
 Brook, twelve miles below, until the storm abated, 
 rather than expose themselves to its fury in their 
 canoes. 
 
 Toward evening the storm let up a little, and with 
 my guide I concluded to venture out for moose- 
 calling. "We stayed out until eleven at night, and 
 then the wind became so strong again and the rain so 
 heavy we paddled back to camp. 
 
 Our main camp was a rather primitive log structure, 
 with a wooden fireplace, made by setting long split 
 logs on end, forming a chimney and a ventilator, and 
 affording light as well as heat. There was no window 
 
 of any kind. As a sleeping place the cabin might 
 
 156
 
 A FIRE-AND-WATER MEDLEY i $7 
 
 have accommodated five men comfortably, had it not 
 been utilized also for cooking purposes ; but being 
 thus used, five sleepers crowded it a little too thickly 
 for comfort. 
 
 Imagine our surprise when, on this dark and stormy 
 night, we opened the door of the cabin to find its in- 
 side crowded with seven guides, two sportsmen and 
 one woman. 
 
 They had been all day dragging up from Ked 
 Brook, twelve miles, for the water was so low that 
 the canoes had to be dragged most of the way. 
 
 The two " Sports " were tolerably dry, but the 
 guides were as wet as the rain and an occasional 
 " header " in the stream could make them. 
 
 All were huddled round the fire, while the steam 
 from their drying clothes and the smoke from the fire 
 itself had a struggle with each other as to which 
 should be first in its flight up the chimney. 
 
 Every one seemed in good humor, particularly the 
 lady, who was really the most cheerful one in the 
 camp. She dried her skirts before the fire, laughed at 
 the incidents of the trip, and, while her husband pulled 
 off her rubber boots, made fun of my embarrassment 
 caused by the slim prospect of giving every one a 
 chance to sleep. The weary, water-soaked men 
 around her drank in her jolly humor, for there was a 
 dryness about it that seemed to counteract their 
 damp condition. It is wonderful what an electric
 
 158 SPORT INDEED 
 
 effect a handsome, healthy and well-built woman can 
 produce upon a bunch of travel-tired men, especially 
 if she be an independent specimen of her sex that is, 
 one who is willing to shoulder her share of work and 
 privation, and ask no odds on account of her 
 womanhood. 
 
 After some discussion of ways and means, a corner 
 of the cabin was curtained off for the lady, while the 
 guides spent an hour in rigging up a tent outside for 
 themselves and in getting some dry underclothes on 
 in place of wet ones. 
 
 Bedtime came and the party turned in. By mid- 
 night everything had quieted save the rain that came 
 down the wooden chimney and sputtered on the burn- 
 ing logs. The silence, too, was somewhat interfered 
 with by a choir of snorers or rather two choirs, for 
 truth compels me to say that the melody was not 
 confined to the tent outside. Who the choristers 
 were in the cabin, I can't say ; I don't think the 
 lady was one of them, for I heard no soprano notes. 
 
 Next day the newcomers started out to explore the 
 lake and its surroundings, and to try the artificial 
 flies on the trout. They had brought a tent with 
 them which was set up some distance from ours, and 
 to which they removed. It was a nast}^ night, so all 
 stayed indoors. At half-past three in the morning 
 the startling cry of " Fire ! fire ! " awoke me. The 
 inside of the cabin was ablaze. The clothes hanging
 
 A FIRE-AND-WATER MEDLEY 159 
 
 on a line were sizzling, and two rubber coats that 
 were burning gave out a suffocating odor. The cabin 
 was as inflammable as tinder, its roof being of birch 
 bark and full of resinous oils. The wooden chimney 
 was now on fire from top to bottom, and the sides of 
 the cabin a hissing sheet of flame ; so there was no 
 time to do much thinking. 
 
 I rushed out into the rain in bare feet, grabbed 
 two buckets of water that fortunately stood near the 
 camp and handed them to my companion, who was 
 still lustily yelling " Fire ! " I then ran to an outside 
 camp-fire, where I found a kettle full of water. The 
 guides in the meantime had been aroused and were 
 now throwing the water upon the sides and roof. 
 Their efforts were successful, and the fire subsided 
 almost as quickly as it had started. 
 
 Since this incident I am not surprised to learn that 
 there are numerous fires, with many casualties, every 
 fall and winter in these dangerously combustible build- 
 ings that are in use all through the lumber district of 
 the province of New Brunswick. Not many years 
 ago three young men were roasted to death in just 
 such a fire trap as ours, and not one of the three had 
 been able to reach the door before death overtook 
 him. One of the victims had apparently gotten up 
 from his bed of boughs, made a step toward the 
 door, and then stumbled and perished in the flames. 
 The other two in their agony had tried to get up,
 
 160 SPORT INDEED 
 
 but had fallen back again. Their bodies were found, 
 burned to a crisp, and sent home to their friends for 
 burial. 
 
 Since that night I have had a decided preference 
 for lying outside the camp and on the ground any- 
 where rather than in a wooden cabin with a wooden 
 chimney and a wooden fireplace. Let me thank God, 
 for I have cause, that in His kind Providence He 
 thought fit to save me from a fearful death.
 
 A Day in the Big Woods 
 
 It was my deer. 
 
 JULIUS CJJSAR. 
 
 GIST one of our hunting trips through the wilds of 
 Maine we had a series of three camps, and I think it 
 will add interest to my tale to describe these minutely 
 before beginning it. 
 
 The lower camp is pitched upon a ledge of rock 
 commanding a delightful prospect, embracing a small, 
 circular lake in front, with an open, grassy bog on its 
 sides and back of it, and a thoroughfare leading out 
 of the little lake to a large one, eighteen miles long, 
 some two miles below. "We named this camp " Look- 
 out Point." Back of the camp, and three-quarters of 
 a mile away, there is another small lake, long and 
 irregular in shape, with a muddy bog at the mouth 
 of it, where the busy beavers have built one of their 
 characteristic dams, which, my guide tells me, con- 
 tains two adult beavers and three young ones. How 
 he became so well posted in the number of sprouts on 
 their family tree, I can't say ; but surely there were 
 beavers there, for we saw evidence of their fresh 
 Avork each morning that we inspected their dam. 
 
 Their house was some two hundred yards away from 
 
 161
 
 162 SPORT INDEED 
 
 their dam and pitched in a piece of deep, spruce 
 woods. It was close to the water and connected with 
 it by various tunnels which the beavers use when the 
 lake is frozen over and they have to forage for their 
 food and exercise. 
 
 The region around " Lookout Point " camp is well 
 cut up with moose and caribou tracks, and, as it com- 
 mands the two little lakes, is a very desirable camp- 
 ing spot. Four miles up the stream which runs into 
 the first little lake, is a good-sized sheet of water 
 about three and a half miles long and perhaps a half- 
 mile broad. Here we pitched our main camp and 
 built a cabin of bright, clean logs, flanking it on one 
 side with a commodious cooking and dining-room. 
 This we furnished with a modern cook stove and all 
 its appliances, not forgetting plenty of shelves for the 
 dishes and utensils. 
 
 In the cabin itself we had a small stove, three bunks 
 to sleep in, and plenty of room to " loaf " and take our 
 ease. Within two minutes' walk from this camp is a 
 rocky point overlooking a secluded cove where the 
 deer come out in the early morning or at sundown to 
 drink and play upon the sandy shores. We made this 
 our middle camp, and it was here that we kept all our 
 stores, as well as our surplus clothing. Six miles up 
 the stream that feeds this lake we had our end camp, 
 which we called the " Dam Camp," because it controls 
 a dam a quarter or half a mile further up-stream.
 
 '
 
 A DAY IN THE BIG WOODS 165 
 
 This dam was formerly used by the lumbermen to 
 store enough water to enable them to rush their logs 
 down the lake below when the snow melted in the 
 Spring. For a couple of miles above the dam the 
 backing up of the water in former years had killed all 
 the trees near the banks of the stream and in their place 
 alder and hazel bushes had grown up in semi-tropical 
 profusion. Here, among the swale and wire-grass, the 
 deer and moose often spend their time, feeding at 
 night and taking their rest during the day. On one 
 side of the stream, where the grass was tall enough to 
 almost hide a man standing upright, I saw one bed 
 that a moose had occupied the night before and more 
 than twenty in which the deer had been lying. 
 
 Two miles away from this big-game Elysium is a 
 dry bog frequented by caribou and to which, for that 
 reason, we gave the name of " the Caribou Bog." It 
 is not to the bog, however, that my story relates, but 
 to the " Dam Camp " and its environments. Now 
 I warn the reader that he must not look for anything 
 in my story to shake his nerves and make his hair 
 stand on end, porcupine-fashion, although the sharp- 
 quilled animal may and does figure in it to some ex- 
 tent. No, my tale is merely a recital of what any man 
 may see and on any day if he chooses to visit the re- 
 gion of the Dam Camp and keep his eyes open. 
 
 One morning, a little after five o'clock, I started up 
 the brook to take a look over the dam. It was not
 
 166 SPORT INDEED 
 
 quite daylight, and objects, even a short distance 
 away, had an undefined and hazy look. A few yards 
 up-stream I saw what I took to be an animal of some 
 sort going slowly along and keeping about the same 
 distance ahead of me. What it was my eyes were un- 
 able to tell me, further than it was very round and 
 very dark-looking. Sometimes it would walk on the 
 stones in the brook, as if afraid of getting its feet wet, 
 and where there were no stones to step on it would 
 take to a path in the grass along the brook. After 
 straining my eyes awhile I decided that the creature 
 was a young bear and I was on the point of shooting 
 him, when it occurred to me that if it were a " cub " 
 the mother couldn't be far away, and it would be the 
 better plan to watch for her, shoot her, and then cap- 
 ture her offspring alive. In the meanwhile the animal 
 was walking leisurely along, turning around occasion- 
 ally to take a look at me, but seeming to be in no wise 
 alarmed. 
 
 The day now began to dawn and objects about me 
 to grow more distinct and appear in something like 
 their proper shape. I turned my eyes inquisitively in 
 the direction of my cub, but there was no cub there, 
 nor any other animal that looked like one. I had 
 made a singular mistake which it took the daylight to 
 rectify. A big porcupine now stood in the cub's place, 
 staring at me with quills erect and a " hands-off " con- 
 fidence in his prickly armor that amused me. In a
 
 A DAY IN THE BIG WOODS 167 
 
 moment or two he began rolling himself into a ball, as 
 if to prepare for battle, but when he saw I had no in- 
 tention of making an attack, he unrolled himself and 
 waddled along beside me until \ve reached the dam, 
 under which he crawled, perhaps to take a rest and 
 sleep. Of course I laughed at my mistake, and made 
 all sorts of excuses to my sportsman's self. But ex- 
 cuses were of no avail. The thought would creep to 
 the top of my mind that there must be a screw loose 
 in a hunter's optics or in his education if he doesn't 
 know a bear from a porcupine. 
 
 My stomach now began hankering for its breakfast. 
 I looked about me for some kind of game that might 
 make a foundation for it, but finding none in sight I 
 baited a fishing line, that I always kept there, made a 
 few casts and caught enough fish for a comfortable 
 morning meal ; then I returned to camp, where the 
 cook dressed and broiled them, and with the breast of 
 a fat, plump partridge, killed the day before, I man- 
 aged to satisfy my inner-man. Then, at a few minutes 
 after seven, I started for the Caribou Bog. 
 
 On entering the road which begins at right angles 
 from the brook two deer bounded out of the grass into 
 the woods ; they were both does. A half mile further 
 up a good-sized buck jumped out of an old logging 
 yard and disappeared in a jiffy. It now began to 
 drizzle a little, causing the noise made by walking to 
 be almost imperceptible, else why should that most
 
 168 SPORT INDEED 
 
 crafty of all wild animals, a fox, be ambling on 
 ahead of me in the road, unconscious of the fact that 
 there was a man behind him with a 40-82 rifle ? I 
 thought to myself, " Perhaps Reynard has had a good 
 night's hunt, and captured and eaten a partridge or 
 two with half-a-dozen field-mice by way of dessert, and 
 now he's contented and tired and on his way to his 
 habitation and his bed. 
 
 I was too near the Caribou Bog to fire at him the 
 noise might alarm the game and so I walked on be- 
 hind him until my foot broke a. branch. He heard 
 the sound and the next instant I saw a streak of 
 yellow color flying through the trees. It was the last 
 appearance and exit of Mr. Fox. I watched for a 
 moment in the direction of his departure and fancied 
 I heard the pounding of a buck's forefoot. Just then 
 the sun shone out bright and warm and I stood for a 
 few minutes enjoying its rays and listening. The 
 pounding continued, but I finally concluded that it 
 came from a giant woodpecker hammering at one of 
 the trees. At this moment, turning my face and 
 looking up the road, I saw something that caused my 
 heart to beat a rataplan. Not thirty feet away and 
 coming toward me was a monstrous cow-moose. She 
 was apparently wrapped in thought, possibly of her 
 last night's happiness when she thrashed through the 
 alders and meadow grass with her lover him of the 
 towering antlers. There was a small sapling bent
 
 K 
 <
 
 A DAY IN THE BIG WOODS 171 
 
 down over the road, and its leaves, at the angle she 
 was carrying her head, prevented her from seeing me. 
 My first thought was that she might be followed by 
 the bull, and I therefore made one step to the right. 
 At the sound of that one step she stopped. She 
 couldn't see me, because of the sapling, and I couldn't 
 see her now, because the trunk of a tree intervened. 
 And there we stood, listening to each other, but 
 neither of us moved. Minute after minute passed and 
 in the meantime I did a heap of thinking, standing 
 there with nearly my whole weight on one foot until 
 the strain became unbearable. Yet I dare not put 
 the other down for fear it might crack the dead 
 branches which lay there and the noise of it be fatal. 
 
 I calculated that in all probability the bull had come 
 along the road with her, and had stopped a little way 
 behind. If this were so, I would soon have the pleas- 
 ure of seeing two moose instead of one. But my 
 calculations were all out of joint. The minutes 
 passed away and still the old cow stood there, but no 
 bull made his appearance to console me. At last she 
 saw me, and when she did, she turned a little to the 
 left and entered the woods, slowly and quietly, and 
 without showing the slightest sign of alarm. 
 
 Her tracks proved her to be a moose which had 
 been prowling around the dam for several nights past. 
 After this episode I reached the Caribou Bog, stayed 
 there during the forenoon and thence went back to
 
 172 SPORT INDEED 
 
 camp for dinner. On returning to the bog, I crept 
 into it very carefully, as the breaking of some dry 
 branches assured me the caribou were feeding there, 
 and spent the afternoon in watching the cows as they 
 passed and repassed my place of concealment. As for 
 the bull, the "King of the bog," I saw nothing of 
 him, and giving up all hope of seeing him left the 
 bog at a quarter to five and started for the camp. 
 
 I was walking briskly along the weather had 
 grown cold enough to make briskness desirable 
 when I heard a noise in an old logging yard opposite 
 to me. Now, a hunter's ears have need to be sharp, 
 and mine were sharp enough to tell me that either a 
 moose or a deer was behind that noise and to be pre- 
 pared for him. I looked around and, sure enough, a 
 buck was there and making for the woods with leaps 
 that were mighty long and mighty full of lightning. 
 
 I had barely time to say to myself : " Thomas, this 
 is thy deer. Come now, try thy hand at a flying 
 shot." 
 
 To cock the rifle and bring it to my shoulder was 
 the work of a second, and at that particular second 
 the deer was springing over the last log that lay be- 
 tween himself and safety. I saw his " flag " fly up as 
 he took the leap, and fired at the very instant he 
 disappeared on the other side of the log. I supposed 
 I had missed him ; but no ; when I reached the log, 
 there he lay behind it, convulsively giving his last
 
 A DAY IN THE BIG WOODS 173 
 
 kick. The ball had struck him near the tail and 
 ranged through the body, coining out at the fore- 
 shoulder. He was a four-year-old buck, and as fat as 
 he well could be without melting. I dragged him 
 into the road, went down to the camp, had supper, 
 and then, with a lantern and the guide, returned to 
 where he was lying, opened and dressed him and tak- 
 ing the hind-quarters and saddle reached camp at 
 8:30 P. M. 
 
 I was in bed at nine, and do you wonder that I slept 
 soundly that night ? Do you wonder that I knew noth- 
 ing of the passing hours ? Nothing of the camp-fire 
 burning in front of the camp? Nothing of a deer 
 which approached our fire close enough to inhale 
 the strange scent of burning wood, and then rush 
 wildly away, whistling as he ran and alarming his 
 kindred far and near ? No, reader ; my psychological 
 and acoustic machineries were both at a standstill. 
 My brain was too drowsy to dream, and my ear- 
 drums had lost all their cunning appetite for sounds 
 even for the snore of my Canadian cook. You have 
 never heard, and perhaps have no desire to hear him ; 
 but I can assure you he is an expert in that line, and 
 knows as much about scientific snoring as he does 
 about scientific cooking. When he turns on his back 
 and gets his fog-horn under way, its spasmodic grunts 
 and snorts and roars would probably drown the noise 
 of a sawmill.
 
 A Dead-water Vigil 
 
 Couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch. 
 
 As You LIKE IT. 
 
 VIGILS, as the reader is doubtless aware, may be of 
 all sorts and sizes, and I will now try to entertain him 
 with a short story of a long one. It is of the " dead- 
 water " variety, and if he hasn't had enough hunting 
 experience to know exactly what a " dead-water " is, I 
 will tell him. In a big-game country when a stream 
 widens out to several times its normal breadth and 
 then flows so lazily that the current is almost imper- 
 ceptible, that part of the stream is known to the 
 hunter as a " dead-water." It is a place full of attrac- 
 tion for him, and for the best of reasons. Its banks 
 are usually covered with a growth of rich grasses and 
 low bushes, while near the shore various plants of the 
 lily-tribe lift themselves above the water and nod their 
 tops to the breeze. If the location be secluded, as it 
 generally is, and there be enough growing timber 
 around it to safely shelter the approach of the moose 
 and the deer, the hunter is pretty sure to find their 
 tracks along the shore and in the soft clinging mud. 
 Such a place is a veritable paradise for these shy crea- 
 tures. Here the antlered moose delights to spend his 
 
 174
 
 A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 175 
 
 early mornings wading and drinking and nibbling his 
 breakfast from the tops and stems of the lily-pads. 
 Here, too, the deer gluts his or her appetite, but con- 
 fines it to the tender shoots and leaves of the hazel 
 and alder bushes. 
 
 Hence it is that the " dead-water " has a magnetic 
 hold on the hunter. The top-notch of his ambition 
 and desire is to catch the glimpse of a bull-moose 
 wading the stream and indulging here in his lily -pad 
 breakfast. Then, if the glimpse be long enough to 
 allow the " sport " to cock his rifle and bring it to his 
 shoulder, the bull will probably finish his breakfast ; 
 although the " finish " may not be over-pleasant to his 
 antlered majesty. 
 
 Some four miles from Lake Nictau the source of 
 the Tobique River lies a favorite resort for game. 
 A spotted trail leads to it, running over two or three 
 good-sized ridges and in the most erratic fashion. I 
 have made at least a dozen trips over that trail and 
 therefore am familiar enough with it to know of what 
 I speak. Who the man is, or was, that " spotted " the 
 trail I am not prepared to say, but I do say that the 
 crooked, crab-like manner in which it climbs up and 
 down and over those ridges is strongly suggestive of 
 one thing and it relates to the man himself. Before 
 taking up his little ax and starting on his spotting 
 task he must have gone to Sir John Barleycorn for 
 instructions.
 
 176 SPORT INDEED 
 
 On my last visit to this place I saw a large cow- 
 moose and a two-pronged bull quietly feeding down 
 the stream. I came close to them without their know- 
 ing it so close, indeed, that I could have slaughtered 
 both, and with a single bullet. But I had no desire to 
 trouble either of them. The bull was too young and 
 too small to fill my fancy ; and as for the cow, her 
 sex made her sacred and as safe from the range of my 
 rifle as a babe at the breast of its mother. After 
 watching them awhile and grumbling at the bull for 
 not coming into the world a few years sooner, I saw 
 them go leisurely on their way down the stream and 
 then pass from my sight. 
 
 To the guide and myself this incident was full of 
 meaning. It gave us reason to believe that a bull of 
 riper years the sire, maybe, of the youth we had 
 seen might be wandering about somewhere in the 
 neighborhood, and therefore we determined to spend 
 a few nights there for the purpose of making his ac- 
 quaintance. My guide had brought blankets with 
 him, and spreading these under the shelter of some 
 alder bushes and close to the water's edge I lay my- 
 self down, but not to sleep. 
 
 The night was cold and clear. There was no moon 
 and the darkness was intense. And there under the 
 alders I lay with " head on ground," opening wide my 
 ear-gates for the free entrance of every sound, let it 
 come from whatever quarter it might. Whether the
 
 A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 177 
 
 eyes of a cat would have helped me to pierce the 
 darkness I know not, but my own were certainly of 
 little use for that purpose. 
 
 "When the sun dropped behind the ridges and this 
 duskiness began to creep over the face of Nature, it 
 seemed as if the thoughtful dame had given all her 
 creatures except her noctivagant rakes quick notice 
 to finish whatever task they had on hand and get to 
 bed. Black ducks and cranes and birds of every 
 feather, save the owl's, all were in a skurry, and each 
 in a full- tilt-race to be the first to reach his roost. 
 The red squirrel heard the notice, stopped his chatter, 
 and was soon cuddled up with his head pillowed on 
 his bushy tail. 
 
 To the hunter these red squirrels are something of 
 a nuisance. They abound in this section, as they do 
 in every northern forest, and keep up a constant chat- 
 tering, mingled at times with a sort of ventriloquistic 
 laughter which is very amusing to the hunter if he 
 is not on the lookout for big game. But when he is 
 stealthily creeping along, picking out a soft spot to 
 place his foot where it will make the least noise, and 
 halting and listening at every step for some sound 
 which may tell him that the animal he is looking for 
 is not far away, then the laughter of the bushy-tailed 
 rascal is not so amusing. It is just then, however, 
 that the little fellow delights to get in his mischievous 
 work and he does it most effectively. He will make
 
 1 78 SPORT INDEED 
 
 for a tree, dash to the top of it and then down again, 
 dancing over the logs that may be in his way but 
 keeping a constant eye on the hunter. Then perhaps 
 he will stop his gambols for a moment to bark and 
 chatter at the " sport," winding up with a peal of de- 
 risive cachination that sounds to the victim's im- 
 agination something like: "What do you want 
 here ? You're a queer-looking chap, anyway. Why 
 you've got no tail ! Here, I'll lend you a bit of 
 mine ! " With this generous offer he will skip out of 
 sight, and the chances are a hundred to one that if a 
 deer or a moose or a caribou has been within earshot 
 of that laugh, he, too, has done some skipping of the 
 same sort. 
 
 And now to return to my vigil. I heard a cow- 
 moose step softly into the water, drink her fill and 
 then as softly leave the stream and depart from my 
 neighborhood. The next morning we saw by her 
 tracks that she was a cow, and the same old cow we 
 had seen in the daylight. 
 
 The dead-water, upon whose side I was couching, 
 lies in a wide hollow. On either side of it rises a tall 
 ridge covered with trees of spruce and white birch, 
 and whatever sounds are made on the one ridge are 
 echoed from the other. I heard the bark of a fox on 
 my side of the hollow, and in a moment or two an an- 
 swer came from the other side ; and then another bark 
 and another answer, and these kept duplicating until it
 
 A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 181 
 
 seemed as if the tribe of Keynard had sole possession 
 of the ridges. Their music was not altogether pleas- 
 ing. The bark of a fox is sharp and snarling and the 
 melody made by a chorus of them will out-snarl and 
 out-reach any amateur quartet that ever punished the 
 ears of an unoffending audience. 
 
 The night dragged on. I grew sleepy, tired and 
 hungry, while my spirit was depressed and my pa- 
 tience worn out by the tedious length and depth of 
 the darkness. I will say here and I am rather proud 
 to say it that I have no temperament, nor any other 
 quality that fits me for a comrade with the owl ; at 
 least, none that could rob me of my taste for the light 
 of day. Therefore, if the bird of ill-omen insists upon 
 shrieking his " songs of death " he must do it in other 
 company than mine. I'll have none of him. But 
 here is a question that may stagger the wit of the 
 Shakespearean reader to answer : How, in the name of 
 all that is incredible, did the great dramatist discover 
 merriment in the note of an owl ? Yet he did so, un- 
 less his " merry " epithet in Hiems' song, at the end 
 of Love's Labor's Lost, be one of his gibes : 
 
 " When blood is nipped and ways be foul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 
 Tn-who ! 
 
 Tu-whit ! Tu-who ! A merry note 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." 
 
 No, no, William, my boy ; though there may be much
 
 i8i SPORT INDEED 
 
 wisdom in the stare of an owl, the merriment in his 
 song is rather too funereal to tickle the ears of 
 Hilarity. 
 
 There are some who believe the owl to be " well- 
 heeled " with weather- wisdom ; a second edition of 
 Old Probs in feather binding. They say that when 
 he chooses a tree by the edge of a stream or lake from 
 which to shriek his melancholy forecast, there is rain 
 coming and plenty of it. But when he moves his 
 music stand away from the water and fixes it upon 
 the ridges, fair weather is close at hand. I must say 
 that my own experience can partially endorse him as 
 a weather prophet. During my vigil he perched him- 
 self upon a tree near the water's edge and near 
 enough to my watching place to give my ears the full 
 benefit of his melody. His prophecy came true, for it 
 was quickly followed by a hard rain accompanied 
 with a hurricane-like wind. 
 
 The owl, however, was not the only forecaster of 
 the storm. Before it broke, and in the midst of a 
 dead calm, I heard the fall of a tree some two hun- 
 dred yards away. "Do you hear that?" said the 
 guide. " There's going to be heavy weather. When- 
 ever a tree falls in a calm like this, there's a big storm 
 coming, sure." 
 
 Now, I knew that Nature sometimes foreruns her 
 storms with a calm, but did not know that she was in 
 the habit of mixing it up with the fall of an old tree.
 
 A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 183 
 
 If she is, it is a curious habit, and being curious let 
 us consider it curiously. She has endowed her trees 
 with life, why then should she not have given them 
 the needed senses to make their lives worth living? 
 And she has done so, if we can believe those ancient 
 writers who have made the subject their study. They 
 say that all vegetals belong to one sex or the other ; 
 that they know what love is, and are as liable as 
 mortals to become the victims of its fury. Claudian, 
 in referring to Cupid's sway in the vegetal kingdom, 
 says : " Trees are influenced by love, and every flour- 
 ishing tree in turn feels the passion. Palms nod 
 mutual vows, poplar sighs to poplar, plane to plane, 
 and alder to alder." The palms, however, seem to be 
 the most susceptible. Constantine says : " You might 
 see two palm trees bend affectionately toward each 
 other and stretch out their boughs for an embrace 
 and a kiss ; " and Galen avows that they " Sometimes 
 become sick for love and pine away and die." 
 
 Now if all this be gospel, why shouldn't a tree have 
 enough instinct to foreknow the coming of a storm ? 
 Indeed, if it had lived long enough, it might have no 
 need of calling on the aid of instinct. Suppose its 
 hoary top had battled with the storms of a hundred 
 years or more, wouldn't the old tree be likely to have 
 a rheumatic limb or two ? Wouldn't it have as good 
 a title to the "rheumatiz" as any that antiquated 
 humanity could boast ? And wouldn't the twinges
 
 184 SPORT INDEED 
 
 furnish the same foreknowledge of bad weather ? 
 You may admit all this and still ask : " But why 
 should the old tree give up the ghost and tumble over 
 at the approach of what it knows is coming ? " Ah, 
 reader, you must go to Nature herself for an answer 
 to your question. It may be that the tree had lived 
 its allotted time and knew it. It may be that its 
 foresight saw two alternatives to tumble over or 
 be blown down. It may be that the latter would 
 have been too great a blow for its pride, and there- 
 fore it embraced the former. These, of course, are 
 only " may-bes," and it may be you will put them on 
 your list of " mayn't-bes." But enough of this digres- 
 sion. 
 
 I have said that my spirits were losing their elas- 
 ticity under the pressure of the darkness. Possibly 
 you think that an enthusiastic hunter should be able 
 to bear with complacence the incidental plagues of 
 his trade, however unbearable they might be to other 
 people. Perhaps he should, yet I don't hesitate to 
 aver that a fruitless watch through a stretch of dark- 
 ness if the stretch be long enough and black enough 
 will cool the enthusiasm of any " sport," even though 
 it burn with the fervor of Nimrod's. 
 
 But the end was near. A faint glow began to 
 break the gloom and light the eastern sky. The red 
 squirrels were already awake and busy in stuffing my 
 ears with their bark and chatter ; the black ducks had
 
 A DEAD-WATER VIGIL 185 
 
 left their water roost on a forage for breakfast ; while 
 the cry of a loon, flying over Nictau Lake, and miles 
 away, could be heard hailing the coming of the morn 
 with its unearthly notes : " Ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 My dead-water vigil was over. The sun peeped 
 above the ridge-tops and saucily threw his glances 
 across my bed of boughs. Hiding my face from his 
 gaze, I lay me down to sleep and dream and treat my 
 slumbering eyeballs to a scene that in their wakeful 
 moments was denied them : " A bull-moose at his 
 breakfast table."
 
 Dog-day Advice. 
 
 This is hot weather, gentlemen. 
 
 HENRY iv. 
 
 A BIG city, in the midst of the dog-days, is a big 
 cook-shop a huge grill-room, as it were, wherein the 
 can't-get-aways are flopped on the gridiron of Old 
 Humidity and cooked in their own grease. Man, of 
 course, was never born to be broiled, and common 
 sense says he will avoid the process if he can. If he 
 can't get away from the Old General's gridiron, he is 
 somewhat excusable in bowing to the inevitable and 
 should endure it philosophically if the fat be not 
 entirely grilled out of his philosophy. 
 
 But, strange to say, there are some who can get 
 away and don't. "What their reasons are, 'twould be 
 hard to say unless they expect a long spell of hot 
 weather in the next world and would season them- 
 selves for it in this. 
 
 Now, whether these fellows be sports, or merely 
 incogitant chips from the common block of humanity, 
 a bit of advice can do them no harm, indeed it may 
 do them a deal of good, and will if their seasoning 
 theory doesn't stand in the way of their following it. 
 Here it is : 
 
 186
 
 DOG-DAY ADVICE 187 
 
 "When their mind and body are both " knocked out " 
 in their dog-day rounds with Old Sol ; when they 
 become tired of dodging flies and mosquitoes and 
 perspirations and sunstrokes ; when lemonades and 
 sodas and mint juleps and palm-leaf fans et id genus 
 omne, have resolved into vanity and vexation of 
 spirit ; then is it high time to pick up their duds and 
 over-roasted remains and get. Get where ? Well, 
 let them try a water-trip to St. John, New Brunswick. 
 The transition from their cook-shop to the ocean air 
 will be magical. The sun may still be hot, but only 
 pleasantly so, for the cool and salty breezes temper 
 its rays and make even an overcoat a welcome ad- 
 dition to comfort. I speak knowingly, for my 
 younger son and myself once took the trip prepara- 
 tory to making a sporting pilgrimage to the head- 
 waters of the Nipisiguit River, in search of the giant 
 moose and his partner of the forests, the caribou, and 
 where we also hoped to interview one or more bears, 
 and try the luring qualities of our artificial flies on 
 the square-tailed trout and his big relative, the 
 salmon. 
 
 This wilderness of swamp, bog, forest, river and 
 lake is a delectable one for the hunter, and to reach it 
 he must travel a whole day by rail, although the dis- 
 tance as the crow flies is less than a hundred miles. 
 Then comes a vehicle ride of thirty-five miles. (The 
 ride was formerly over an old lumber road and in an
 
 i88 SPORT INDEED 
 
 old lumber wagon, consuming some twelve hours' time. 
 Now there is a good road and the conveyance is all that 
 could be desired.) The next day, if the weather and 
 the water both are fit, he takes to his canoe and gets 
 over as much of another thirty-five miles as his muscle 
 can master. If the water be not fit, he must walk 
 and tote his canoe and stuff. This must needs be 
 hard work at least for the guide and yet it is only 
 the beginning of a month's or six weeks' toil. But he 
 shouldn't be discouraged and won't be if his veins 
 run with the blood of a sportsman. The toil may fag 
 his physical framework a little, yet he may find in it 
 an exhilarating oil for his metaphysical machinery. 
 
 And now to return to the city of St. John. It is 
 scrupulously clean indeed, it couldn't be otherwise, 
 being situated upon high hills and constantly wind- 
 swept either from the ocean or the spruce forest of 
 the valley of the St. John. While the Union Jack 
 that floats from many buildings and from the ship- 
 ping in the harbor speaks plainly of the city's nation- 
 ality, yet a great portion of those who travel its 
 streets are subjects of Uncle Sam. St. John's busi- 
 ness men all have a high regard for the depth of 
 Sam's pocket and look upon it as unfathomable. His 
 dollars, whether silver or paper, are deemed quite as 
 good as their own, and nothing is said about 
 exchange. 
 
 According to the custom's rule we had to pay a
 
 DOG-DAY ADVICE 189 
 
 deposit upon our rifles and camera (this was refunded 
 when we finished our hunting trip and returned to 
 St. John), but the officer who demanded the deposit 
 did it in such a gentlemanly way we were almost 
 under the impression he was doing us a favor. 
 
 New Brunswick must surely gather in a goodly 
 store of greenbacks from the sale of hunting licenses. 
 Every would-be hunter from outside the province is 
 required to pay thirty dollars for the privilege of 
 hunting within its limits ; and in return for this he 
 not only gets his hunting privilege, but is protected 
 from the pot-hunter. The open season commences 
 September 15th, whereas in Maine the open moose 
 season starts October 15th, and caribou cannot be 
 killed there now, nor for five years to come. Hence 
 it is that aspiring Nimrods make .their hegira from all 
 parts of the land and encompass the hunting grounds 
 of the valley of the St. John, the Kestigouche, the 
 Nipisiguit and the Tobique Eivers. All go into camp 
 with the proverbial hope of the hunter. But the re- 
 sult is something of a lottery all cannot be success- 
 ful ; and like other lotteries there are plenty of blanks.
 
 A Tale of Gallantry and Hunger 
 
 Upon my life 'tis true, sir. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 IT was a rainy, cold and disagreeable morning when 
 my son and myself left St. John, N. B., for Nictau 
 Lake. We had donned our heavy underwear when 
 we started 6:25 A. M. but when we reached Perth 
 Junction on the St. John River at two o'clock the 
 sun came out and ran the thermometer up to 93 
 in the shade. A return to light underwear became 
 necessary for our comfort and we looked about us for 
 some place, in or around the little station, where such 
 a change could be made with decency. We saw none. 
 However there was a forty-five-minute wait before 
 the train started on its way up the Tobique Valley, 
 and I made use of the time in hunting up some spot 
 secluded enough to hide a bashful man from the 
 outside world while he changed his inside toggery. 
 Walking down the railroad track I came to a gorge 
 in a high hill and behind its shelter accomplished my 
 toilet, but not without some shivering ; for, though 
 the thermometer stood, as I have said, at 93 in the 
 shade, the temperature in that gorge was very dif- 
 ferent. A chilling, goose-flesh wind scurried through 
 
 190
 
 GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 191 
 
 it and I was glad to get out of its shadow and into 
 the sunshine. 
 
 "When the train backed down to the station, pre- 
 paring for its start, I found on the platform a Bangor 
 taxidermist whose reputation in that line is almost 
 national. He was bound for nearly the same hunt- 
 ing ground as myself, as was also a noted salmon 
 fisherman with his two sons. The train, which should 
 run every day for it is so nominated in the bond 
 ran only every other day, and was made up of freight 
 cars, gravel cars and a couple of passenger coaches. 
 Among the passengers were a number of Indian 
 guides, lumbermen, a sprinkling of sportsmen, and 
 last, but not least, some very pretty women. The 
 schedule time from Perth to the end of the line is two 
 hours lacking five minutes. As the distance is only 
 twenty-eight miles, it would seem that an engine 
 with any ambition in its piston rod ought to be able 
 to "get in on time." But this particular engine is 
 not particular whether it does or does not meet the 
 schedule's demand, and the common report is that it 
 does not. 
 
 "When we were about half-way on the trip a comely- 
 looking young woman told the conductor she wished 
 to get off. "When he stopped the train, it chanced to 
 be on a high embankment at the bottom of which ran 
 a road, with the Tobique River just beyond it. The 
 young woman now left the car, the conductor helping
 
 192 SPORT INDEED 
 
 her down the steps from the platform. I looked 
 from the car window and saw her standing there 
 with a huge telescope in one hand and a bundle of 
 something in the other. She evidently had a desire 
 to get down that steep embankment, but, laden as 
 she was, lacked the courage to try it. None of the 
 train hands showing any disposition to help the young 
 lady out of her dilemma, I jumped down the car 
 steps, took her telescope and bundle, told her to wait 
 for a moment, then scrambled down the hill with my 
 load and deposited it at the bottom. Then climbing 
 half-way up again I beckoned to her to come on. 
 She came, and locking arms we commenced our de- 
 scent. Around like a top we spun, sliding and slip- 
 ping and pirouetting till we reached the bottom. 
 The performance seemed highly entertaining to the 
 passengers, who choked the car windows with their 
 heads, grinning their delight and shouting their ap- 
 plause when it was over. 
 
 I have said the young woman was good-looking, 
 and youth and beauty are sharp goads to a man's 
 gallantry ; but I don't wish it to be inferred that 
 they were the only spurs to mine. Had she been as 
 old as sin and as ugly as its father, and this accom- 
 modation train accommodating enough to wait for 
 me, I might perhaps have further shown my gal- 
 lantry by toting her baggage to its destination. And 
 then perhaps I mightn't. However, she picked up
 
 GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 195 
 
 her telescope and bundle and started for her home. 
 I watched her as I stood on the rear platform of the 
 back car and saw her step on the porch of a cozy-look- 
 ing house. Two chubby tots ran to meet her, clapping 
 their hands and puckering up their little mouths for 
 a kiss. Before obliging them she turned, looked back 
 at the train, waved her thanks and a good-bye to the 
 man who had helped her in her time of trouble, and 
 then, like " Ships that pass in the night," we parted. 
 
 At Plaster Rock we took a wagon for a night's ride 
 to Reilly Brook, twenty-eight miles up the river. We 
 started at quarter to 8 P. M. reaching the Brook at 
 1 A. M. At five we were off for a wagon trip to the 
 Forks a distance of seven miles and we enjoyed it. 
 The air was " nipping and eager " ; myriads of spider 
 webs were spun by the roadside and hung from the 
 bushes, trees, and logs, coated with the night frost 
 and glittering in the morning sun like gems in a 
 jeweler's window. 
 
 At the Forks we were joined by our canoemen and 
 also the chiefs of the hunting camps to which we were 
 bound. At quarter to eight we left the Forks, taking 
 to our canoes which were to be poled up the river to 
 Red Brook a distance of twenty miles. The stream 
 winds in a tortuous course over a rocky bed, and, as 
 the water is low at this time of year, poling the 
 canoes was laborious work and hard on the men. 
 To lighten the load of my canoe I suggested and
 
 196 SPORT INDEED 
 
 it was so arranged that I should get out and walk 
 through the woods, meeting them further up and at 
 a point where the road and stream met again, some 
 two miles away. I took my rifle and started. The 
 walking was good, and my observation, therefore, 
 was not interrupted by any necessity for picking my 
 steps. I saw about me fresh signs of moose and 
 many indications- of caribou. In fact I became so 
 much interested that I forgot all about my canoe and 
 for what I was walking. I had already passed the 
 meeting point without knowing it, and it now lay 
 behind me a mile or more. 
 
 The road wound back over the ridges quite a dis- 
 tance from the river, but I thought it wouldn't <be 
 wise to retrace my steps as I might thereby miss 
 the canoes, and therefore resolved to go on and take 
 whatever chances might be ahead of me. 
 
 About eleven o'clock I heard rifle shots which my 
 fancy told me were signals from the canoe party. I 
 fired three shots in reply and waited for a response ; 
 but none came. Did my fancy make a mistake about 
 their being signals ? Perhaps ; but I soon heard an- 
 other sort of signal about which my fancy could make 
 no mistake I was getting " as hungry as the sea." 
 
 Now, a hungry stomach is a multi-sceptred poten- 
 tate. Despot, autocrat, oligarch and " cock of the 
 walk " generally, it has no ears for argument, no ap- 
 petite for excuses. It has plenty of jaw, at times, but
 
 GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 197 
 
 there is no flippancy, no circumlocution, no roundabout 
 method in it, and when it speaks it insists on being 
 listened to. The old poet, Homer, discovered all this 
 some three thousand years ago and gave his discovery 
 to the world in words of unmistakable sincerity: 
 " There is nothing more importunate than a hungry 
 stomach. It allows no man to forget it, whatever be 
 his cares and sorrows." If we are to believe his biog- 
 raphers, the old fellow was a sound authority on the 
 importunity of hungry stomachs. Like some others 
 of his trade, he was bothered with one himself, and its 
 clamors often kept him busy in scraping together 
 enough bread to quiet them. 
 
 But let us leave Homer's predicament and return to 
 my own. Perhaps if I had been accustomed to taking 
 my hash in far-between instalments or none at all I 
 might have tolerated the situation with calmness. 
 Custom is a marvelous transmuter of the disagreeable 
 into the delectable. " Custom alters nature itself ; " 
 and we have all manner of authority for believing the 
 proverb to be true. That literary nomad, Eobert 
 Burton, goes so far as to declare that " Custom makes 
 even bad meats wholesome " ; and Shakespeare, too, 
 attests its miraculous transmuting power. If then it 
 be potent enough to transform bad meats into whole- 
 some ones and grave-digging into a delightful occupa- 
 tion, why might it not make hunger in a man " a 
 property of easiness " ? Unfortunately, however, my
 
 ig8 SPORT INDEED 
 
 custom runs in a different groove. I have been used 
 to "eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's 
 leisure " : therefore the promise of a long-drawn in- 
 terim of not eating at all was anything but pleasing. 
 
 It was now twelve o'clock. I had no matches with 
 me, having in a very unsportsman-like manner left 
 them in the canoe, together with my compass and 
 other necessary things which a hunter should never 
 run the risk of being without. But even if I had 
 brought the matches and built me a fire I had nothing 
 for the fire to cook. 
 
 My stomach meanwhile was getting noisy in its de- 
 mands, and to quiet it I searched among the bushes 
 with the hope of finding a few raspberries. I did find 
 a few some half-dozen, and, though tasty enough to 
 the palate, I soon discovered that six of them made a 
 slim stopper for the gap in a hungry stomach. 
 
 After finishing my " light lunch " I took up my 
 tramp and a couple of miles of it brought me to a de- 
 serted logging camp. Its door stood invitingly open, 
 and walking in I found a good cooking stove, a few 
 handfuls of flour in the bottom of a barrel, also a salt- 
 pork barrel. The latter was partly full of brine, on 
 the top of which floated a little lump of fat pork. 
 And now for a match ! My kingdom for a match ! 
 I searched through that camp high and low. No 
 Klondike digger, hungry for his shining nugget, ever 
 searched for it with more eagerness than did I for a
 
 GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 199 
 
 glimpse of a miserable little match. My search was 
 finally rewarded. Turning over an old dish-rag, I 
 discovered a box an unmistakable match-box. I 
 seized it with trepidation. What if it should be 
 empty ? Match-boxes have a chronic habit of that 
 sort. I tore off the lid and found that my fears were 
 almost, but not quite, realized. One solitary match 
 remained alone, like Tom Moore's " Last Rose of Sum- 
 mer," all its lovely companions faded and gone. 
 But one was enough and I soon had a fire burning. 
 Then I put the flour into a pan I found upon the 
 stove, and with a little water from, the river which 
 flows near the camp mixed it into a firm dough. I 
 now put the piece of pork into a frying-pan that was 
 hanging in the camp, and placed it on the fire. Then 
 I formed the dough into ten little cakes, putting them 
 into the hot pork-fat and turning them over and over 
 until they were nicely browned. My dinner was now 
 ready for me and I was quite ready for my dinner. 
 Now it is said : 
 
 " The art of our necessities is strange 
 That can make vile things precious." 
 
 Yery true ; but I can tell you there was no vileness 
 about my dough cakes, although there was plenty of 
 preciousness, and I sat me down in front of them with 
 an appetite that a king might possibly envy ; but 
 whether he would or not, I am sure that no man, king 
 or no king, ever squeezed more enjoyment out of his
 
 200 SPORT INDEED 
 
 fantastic banquet of strange dishes, than did I out of 
 those ten little dough cakes. 
 
 The Tobique River, as I have said, runs close to this 
 camp, and after finishing my dinner I sat down to 
 watch the trout in one of its pools. 
 
 The river consists mainly of shallow water falling 
 over stony ledges, and has a rocky and slippery bot- 
 tom. Yet it is hard to find a river with more enticing 
 pools for the angler pools profound in their depths 
 and glorious in their crystal clearness pools where 
 the salmon lie in wait for their breakfast and ready to 
 give the angler all the enjoyment he wants. 
 
 My reverie was broken up by the sound of a whistle. 
 I looked around and saw some one coming up the 
 road, and I was glad to see him. It was my son. He 
 had become anxious about me, and had been piloted 
 to the camp by one of the men. He it was who fired 
 the signal shots, but he had heard none in return. 
 
 While we sat together waiting for the canoe to 
 come up we saw a superb salmon fully two feet long 
 rise to the top of the water. The youth tried a shot 
 at him with his rifle ; but I believe the salmon is still 
 there. 
 
 And now, once more we were in our canoe and on 
 our way up the river. 
 
 In the afternoon a cow-moose crossed the stream in 
 front of us, but seemed to take as little interest in us 
 as we did in her ladyship. At dusk we reached Red
 
 GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 203 
 
 Brook, and on Wednesday morning \ve were up and 
 off again for the last part of our journey the hardest 
 part of all twelve miles of poling ; quite enough to 
 try a canoeman's patience as well as his muscles. 
 At five o'clock in the afternoon we reached camp.
 
 A Beardless Sport 
 
 You are a young huntsman. 
 
 TITUS ANDROXICUS. 
 
 MY younger son, who has been my companion on 
 many of my hunting trips, is as much a lover of the 
 sport as I am ; and my efforts, as his tutor, to teach 
 his young idea how to shoot have been so successful 
 that he now is or thinks he is a better shot than his 
 father. However, he never boasts of his superiority, 
 and his modesty in this respect is so conspicuous that 
 I sometimes suspect that the buck fever, or its remem- 
 brance, lies at the bottom of it. This disease among 
 hunters I don't think I am far out of the way in call- 
 ing it a " disease " is, in one respect, very like the 
 measles among children ; every sport is liable to have 
 it once. In its mysterious attack it gets entire con- 
 trol of his nerves and at a most inopportune time. 
 He may have been standing for an hour or more, with 
 rifle cocked, waiting eagerly for the coming of a buck 
 that in " doubling his tracks " will be sure to approach 
 within easy reach of his shot. The buck does ap- 
 proach, bounding towards him with such rapidity that 
 the very sight upsets the nerves of the green hunter 
 and throws his anatomy out of gear. His eyes bulge, 
 his teeth chatter, his knees knock together, and even 
 
 204
 
 A BEARDLESS SPORT 205 
 
 his memory is so far dethroned that he forgets he has 
 a rifle. If he does remember it, and attempts to raise 
 the weapon to his shoulder, there is nothing in it that 
 is likely to do any damage to the buck, for its wabbling 
 muzzle sends the ball either into the earth or among 
 the clouds. Of course the buck bounds away, utterly 
 unconscious of the excitement its presence has caused. 
 Its instinct, however, may suggest that a buck's life 
 is never in danger from the ball of a wabbling rifle. 
 
 'Twas in 1894 that the " buck ague " attacked my 
 boy, who was then sixteen years of age. The attack 
 was a severe one quite severe enough to allow the 
 cause of it to bound away without injury to its limbs 
 or vitals. 
 
 "We were camped on Eagle Lake in Maine, and I 
 will now tell how the queer disease got its hold upon 
 the youth. He was in a canoe with his guide, pad- 
 dling along without any immediate hope of a chance 
 to use his rifle. A point of land jutted into the lake, 
 and as the canoe rounded it, the boy saw a beautiful 
 buck standing upon the bank and gazing at the boat 
 with wondering eyes and head erect. The animal was 
 within easy rifle shot and should have paid a life pen- 
 alty for its rash confidence and curiosity. 
 
 But it didn't. The buck fever had gotten hold of 
 the youth's nerves, and his chattering teeth told 
 plainly ho\v firm the hold was. He did manage to 
 raise his rifle, but when he tried to point it in the
 
 206 SPORT INDEED 
 
 buck's direction, the muzzle began to wabble and box 
 the compass in a fashion that boded no especial harm 
 to the buck. In the midst of the wabbling the youth 
 pulled the trigger and the hammer fell, but whither 
 the ball went nobody knew. The buck was in too 
 much of a hurry to stop and inquire, and the guide 
 himself, who is supposed to be posted in such matters, 
 was puzzled. He told me however, in confidence, that 
 judging from the elevation of the boy's rifle when the 
 hammer fell, the ball must be on its way to the polar 
 star. 
 
 James that is the name of my boy was woefully 
 chagrined over the effects of his buck ague, and 
 though the incident occurred in '94, the passage of 
 the years hasn't wiped it from his recollection. 
 
 I once tried to console him with the story of my 
 own experience in that line, but the consolation didn't 
 seem to reach the proper spot. He heard me through, 
 and then, with a quiz in his eye, replied, " "Well, father, 
 I feel rather sorry for both of us. The man or boy 
 who allows the sight of a buck to set his teeth on the 
 chatter and his rifle on the wabble had better give up 
 hunting and stay home where he can saw wood, and 
 help his mother wash dishes and darn stockings." 
 
 It wasn't long, however, before I had cause to be 
 proud of my boy. 
 
 The third day after his ague attack I had been on a 
 morning's hunt, and on my return his guide came to
 
 A BEARDLESS SPORT 209 
 
 me while I was at my dinner, and carelessly remarked, 
 " James has killed a young bull caribou." I went on 
 with my eating, paying little or no attention to what 
 he said, for the simple reason that I didn't believe it. 
 A few minutes afterwards the youth himself rushed in 
 with a flushed face and tongue almost paralyzed with 
 delight. 
 
 When he did get it working, he said, " Father ! 
 Father ! Don't you want to go with me and see my 
 little bull ? " 
 
 " Your little bull ? " I replied. " Bull what ? Why 
 don't you finish the word, my boy ? You mean your 
 little bull-frog ? " 
 
 He laughed at my doubting joke, and then led me 
 through the brush and around a windfall to a spot 
 that was hallowed ground to him now, for on it lay a 
 four-year-old spike-horn caribou, which he had downed 
 with one shot from his 40-44 rifle. 
 
 The caribou, fat and glossy as a thoroughbred 
 young Jersey bull, lay on the soft mossy ground. On 
 one side stood the boy, with pride and joy and excite- 
 ment beaming in his face. On the other side was the 
 guide, amusing himself by poking fun at my incre- 
 dulity. I looked a moment at the picture for it was 
 a picture, and one worthy the pencil of an artist and 
 at that moment I wasn't sure whether my pride in 
 my boy was not as great as was the boy's in his cari- 
 bou.
 
 210 SPORT INDEED 
 
 After viewing the caribou over and over, turning 
 him this way and that to see in which position he 
 would look best, we carried him to the camp and hung 
 him up by his haunches, in company with a bunch of 
 partridges and ducks and a string of trout. Then we 
 stood a little way off and pelted him with an amount 
 of admiration that even a dead caribou ought to feel 
 proud of. 
 
 But admiration like everything else must have an 
 end, and after we had finished admiring him, we went 
 to work to skin and quarter him. We did the job, but 
 it was with some reluctance and a little sorrow. Our 
 consolation lay in the preservation of his feet and 
 head, and these we saved in good shape for mount- 
 ing. 
 
 Perhaps the reader may feel interested in knowing 
 that this caribou head now helps to adorn a room to- 
 gether with other like trophies beautiful deer heads 
 with polished antlers, the heads of granddaddy cari- 
 bou-bulls, and gigantic moose. All are precious, but 
 the collection holds none that we prize more highly, or 
 with which we would part more reluctantly, than the 
 head of the little spike-horn bull of Eagle Lake.
 
 A Treacherous Coward 
 
 O Monstrous Coward ! What, to come behind folks ? 
 
 HENEY VI. 
 
 I WOULD ask my readers if any of them has ever 
 scraped an acquaintance with lumbago ? He who has, 
 probably knows, as I do, that of all the ills that flew 
 from out Pandora's box it is the meanest and most 
 treacherous. I say " treacherous " for I know of none 
 in the whole catalogue that is so much in the habit of 
 sneaking behind a man and, in an unwary moment, 
 stabbing him in the back. 
 
 To him, however, who has thus far been lucky 
 enough to escape a stab, I will give a bit of pointed 
 advice ; and it may prove useful should his luck ever 
 desert him. The point of the advice has been sharp- 
 ened by my own experience, and the burden of it is 
 trousers. What has lumbago to do with trousers? 
 Well, it is quite evident that he knows little about the 
 ins and outs of lumbago, or he wouldn't ask the ques- 
 tion. Now listen. If in the course of human events 
 his luck should chance to go to sleep and thus give the 
 lumbago an opportunity to creep up behind him and 
 get a whack at his lumbar regions, he will soon dis- 
 cover where my advice comes in. Here it is, and it 
 
 isn't lengthy let him beware of getting out of his 
 
 211
 
 212 SPORT INDEED 
 
 trousers if he has any desire or expectation of getting 
 into them again. Every man who has ever put on a 
 pair of unmentionables knows that the operation is 
 accompanied by a certain amount of stooping. Of 
 course, stooping is an easy matter to most people, but 
 not to a man with lumbago. It would be easier, and 
 perhaps more pleasant for him, to dive from the roof 
 of a sky-scraper. 
 
 When I first tackled this complaint, or to be pre- 
 cise when it first tackled me, I was on one of my 
 hunting trips. Now, it is quite bad enough when the 
 shabby disease pitches upon a man in the midst of 
 civilized surroundings ; but when it attacks a hunter 
 in the wilds of a forest, hundreds of miles away from 
 civilization and his home, and throws him on his bed 
 of spruce boughs, helplessly and almost hopelessly 
 squirming with pain and beyond the reach of a 
 doctor's aid, or the aid of anything else to soothe it, 
 his predicament is rather piteous. 
 
 Now I am not the man to squeal before I am hurt 
 nor even afterwards unless I be convinced that squeal- 
 ing is the proper salve for the wound. No, my milk 
 of courage hasn't enough water in it for that. Yet, al- 
 though squealing may be an unpromising cure for one's 
 harms, I admit that the man who doesn't do a little of 
 it under the twist of a lumbago kink has more of that 
 same milk in his composition than can be found in mine. 
 
 And now for my experience. The reader will find
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 213 
 
 the story of it full of truth and circumstance, and I 
 will try to tell it without growing tedious, or straying 
 from what the Immortal Bard calls " The plain high- 
 way of talk." 
 
 In the hunting season of 1893 I started on a trip 
 accompanied by my son and four Indian guides. Our 
 destination was the head-waters of the Peribonka a 
 river that flows into Lake St. John, two hundred and 
 thirty miles north of Quebec. It was late in the Fall 
 when we crossed the lake, and there was every 
 promise that we would find ourselves in the clutches 
 of Winter before we got back. 
 
 "We entered the mouth of the river and paddled 
 along for a couple of days, passing through gorge after 
 gorge in the great Laurentian Stratum of rocks a 
 stratum which geologists tell us is older by millions of 
 years than the sandstone or gneiss formation that 
 characterizes the rocks of some of our own States. A 
 virgin forest lines the shores. It is made up of spruce 
 and fir-trees, tangled together like a tropical jungle. 
 No road, no path, no clearing is to be seen nothing 
 but the great river for a highway. Up to that time 
 the forest had escaped the lumberman's axe, save 
 where it had been called in to cut down a little of the 
 wood and thus clear a bit of ground for the camping 
 parties. These camps are usually found near the 
 various falls or deep pools that abound in this river 
 and add to its weird beautv.
 
 214 SPORT INDEED 
 
 The night of the second day was one which is now 
 rather firmly fixed in my memory. The wind came 
 from the north in true hurricane style and brought 
 with it weather that might accommodate a variety of 
 tastes. Snow, sleet, and rain whirled fiercely in our 
 faces, while vivid flashes of lightning and their 
 attendant peals of thunder gave a startling emphasis 
 to the storm. Trees fell by the thousand, and the 
 next morning our tent, which we had pitched in an 
 open camping spot, was encircled by their trunks and 
 broken branches. During the night the wild water- 
 fowl were scurrying southward with express-train 
 speed speed which was somewhat aided by the 
 wings of the hurricane. We heard the honk of the 
 geese, though at times it was drowned by the cries of 
 the small wading birds the yellow legs, gray snipe 
 and plover. The wild ducks, too, kept up an incessant 
 whistle mingled with the whir of their swift-rushing 
 wings. 
 
 The storm was the opening blast of Winter a note 
 of warning, as it were, from Old Boreas, telling us we 
 must get out of that country or be frozen in. And it 
 looked that way, for no sooner had the storm passed 
 than we found the cold close at its heels, and it did 
 not take it long to freeze the river tight along the 
 shores. Our Indian guides looked glum, consoling us 
 with the remark : " Heap cold comin' ; big winter 
 soon ! " So we finally concluded to turn our backs to
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 215 
 
 the north, and, like the rest of animated nature, join 
 in a procession for more congenial quarters. 
 
 Our procession, however, did not get far before it 
 was forced to come to a halt. The trouble was a 
 portage about an eighth of a mile long and so covered 
 with numerous windfalls as to be almost impassable ; 
 and trees were piled one upon another, the pile reach- 
 ing five or six feet above the ground. 
 
 We found it was necessary to cut an avenue through 
 the bristling branches, and this the Indians did. Then 
 we hauled our canoes through, lugging our provisions 
 and other stuff upon our backs. Perhaps I did more 
 than my share of this work, for at the end of it I 
 found myself overheated ; and to this I attribute all 
 the trouble that was soon to follow. 
 
 The storm abated during the day, the wind coming 
 only in squalls with occasional dashes of rain, hail and 
 snow. That night we pitched our tents on the north- 
 ern bank of Lake St. John, and had our supper, the 
 storm breaking loose again before we had finished. 
 After supper I began to prepare for my bed of boughs. 
 My preparations, however, did not get far before they 
 were interrupted and in a manner novel to me then, 
 although the novelty is worn a little threadbare now. 
 I was in the act of stooping over to unlace my boots 
 when a sharp pain in my back suggested that some 
 enemy was behind me and armed with a pitchfork. I 
 felt the jab of its prongs probing my backbone, and if
 
 216 SPORT INDEED 
 
 I attempted to straighten myself into an erect position 
 a fresh jab would double me up. " What the deuce 
 can be the matter with my back ? " This question 
 naturally crossed my mind, and I never before queried 
 it with a stronger desire for an answer. For forty- 
 seven odd years had I boasted of my back and its 
 ability to shoulder difficulties ; why should it now 
 begin to cut capers and " go back on me " ? Had it 
 come across some difficulty it couldn't shoulder ? 
 Was it lumbago ? Well I had often heard of the dis- 
 ease but had no more idea that it would saddle itself 
 upon my back than I now have of saddling my country 
 with presidential aspirations. 
 
 After many attempts, I managed to creep to my bed 
 of boughs. The pain was excruciating and getting 
 worse so fast that at ten o'clock it was unendurable ; 
 then I called two of the guides and offered them a 
 liberal sum to paddle across the lake to Roberval 
 thirty-eight miles away and get a doctor. One, only, 
 of the four Indians, could speak English, and the little 
 that he spoke was of the " pigeon " variety. 
 
 They put their heads together and after a great deal 
 of powwowing went out, looked up at the sky and 
 then at the lake ; then they came back to me, the 
 pigeon man saying " Heap bad storm. You give two 
 pounds tobac extry and we go." If the demand had 
 been a hundred pounds, I was in full humor to grant it. 
 
 After telling the " pigeon " what he was to say to the
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 217 
 
 doctor, two of the Indians started to paddle their way 
 across Lake St. John, and on as dark and stormy a 
 night as ever shrouded its bosom. As soon as they left 
 I set the other two Indians to work heating spruce 
 boughs on a little sheet-iron stove, and placing them, 
 hot as possible, under my back. But the treatment 
 had little or no effect. The contraction of my lumbar 
 muscles continued to increase and in a little while I 
 was entirely unable to move. 
 
 They say " Necessity is the mother of invention," 
 and in the stress of mine I directed the Indians to tie 
 a long towel to the centre-pole of the tent ; then, when 
 the lumbago twinges would become unbearable in one 
 position of my body, I would seize the end of the towel 
 and pull myself around into another. 
 
 And so the night went by, the minutes dragging 
 themselves slowly into hours. To pass the time and 
 make its moments a little less painful, I had tried va- 
 rious devices with the hope of diverting my mind from 
 the lumbago. At one time I set my brain to guessing 
 at the number of flocks and the variety of water-fowls 
 that were flying on their way southward. But they 
 came so close together and passed so swiftly, that all 
 my guessing didn't amount to much. 
 
 The end of this to me eventful night, came at 
 last. The morning dawned fair and bright and saw 
 me still lying upon my back and suffering with an 
 agony that seemed to be piling itself up with each
 
 218 SPORT INDEED 
 
 passing minute. How long was this sort of thing to 
 last ? I told one of the Indians to post himself on 
 some high point of land where he might watch for 
 the little steamer with its precious load of doctor 
 and signal to me when it hove in sight. At twelve 
 o'clock the signal came. 
 
 Then followed an hour of anxious solicitude. 
 Though the weather was clear, the wind was very 
 high, and the little steamer could be seen tossing in 
 the waves like a cork. At times she would drop 
 out of sight, causing the watcher to think she had 
 gone to the bottom ; then she would bob up again 
 and struggle on her way against, what seemed to 
 be, resistless odds. However, at one o'clock she 
 reached her landing, and the eagerly-waited-for doc- 
 tor stepped ashore. He was a kindly and cheerful 
 French Canadian, and though his French was abun- 
 dant enough his stock of English was slim. He told 
 me that the little steamer had gone through a peril- 
 ous voyage, indeed. Two of her three propeller blades 
 had been broken off and she was forced to churn 
 her way across with the remaining one. He also told 
 me that the guides, whom I had sent for him, did 
 not reach Roberval till eight o'clock that morn- 
 ing. 
 
 The doctor lost no time in getting to work on my 
 lumbago. He gave me a hypodermic injection of 
 morphine, following it up with another of the same
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 221 
 
 sort at night. Still I could not bear to be moved 
 until the next morning. The steamer was now wait- 
 ing to take us both to Roberval. She lay about a 
 mile from us out in the channel and we were taken 
 out to her in a rowboat. 
 
 At noon we reached our destination where a car- 
 riage was in waiting to take me to a boarding-house 
 which was kept by a delightful old French couple who 
 had formerly been employed in a nobleman's family 
 in France. They doctored and nursed me with the 
 tenderest care, and at the end of six days I was able to 
 travel homeward. 
 
 But don't imagine, reader, that my back was now 
 in prime order. No ; there was still a stiffness and a 
 " hump " there that took me weeks to get rid of. I 
 did at last recover my normal health, but the beastly 
 disease seemed determined not to forget me entirety. 
 Kecently it found me on another hunting trip, and in 
 this way. It was raining very hard and I put on rub- 
 ber hip boots and a new mackintosh and cape. The 
 two latter are a delusion and a snare. They hold 
 neither comfort nor much shelter and the hunter is 
 wise that avoids them. I made a journey to a bog 
 eight miles distant, taking the bed of a stream where 
 the walking was easier than in the road. The water 
 was cold, however cold enough to keep my feet at an 
 icy temperature while the mackintosh kept my body 
 in a perspiration. On my way up the stream I shot a
 
 222 SPORT INDEED 
 
 deer, and the work of dressing it and hanging it up on 
 a tree heated me still more. 
 
 When I arrived at the bog I ate my lunch and sat 
 there for an hour or more looking for caribou. At 
 two o'clock I left for the camp, reaching it at five. 
 The mackintosh had been getting heavier with each 
 mile, until it weighed, or seemed to weigh, full half-a- 
 hundred pounds. It is needless to say that, handi- 
 capped in this manner, the walk of sixteen miles had 
 made me very tired. The next morning the lumbago 
 made its appearance while I was stooping to lace my 
 boots. Two distinct kinks in my back told the story 
 of its arrival. And now comes in the trouser expe- 
 rience I have referred to, and its relation may prove 
 interesting, if not instructive, to the reader. I had 
 been unwise enough to take them off the night before, 
 and to get back into them again was a job I con- 
 templated with alarm. Suddenly a brilliant thought 
 struck me. I took two pieces of twine about three 
 feet long, and tied a piece to each front suspender but- 
 ton. Then, backing myself up against a tree, I took 
 one of the strings in each hand and dropped the 
 trousers in front of me, taking particular care not to 
 lose my hold on the strings. Then stepping a foot 
 into each leg I drew the garment slowly and cautiously 
 up into its proper place. It took me some time to ac- 
 complish the feat, but there was no especial hurry ; 
 besides, under the circumstances, I had a good deal
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 223 
 
 more faith in deliberation. I have as yet applied for 
 no patent on my device, therefore those of my readers 
 who chance to get into a like fix, are at liberty to use it. 
 
 Here is another hint that may be of service. Every 
 man who has a touch of lumbago has with it an im- 
 pulsive yearning to back up against, or sit down upon, 
 anything that is hot with the exception, perhaps, of 
 a red-hot stove. "While I was in Greenville, Me., and 
 somewhat humped up with the disease, I came across 
 a huge pile of sawdust that had lain all the morning 
 under the rays of the warm September sun. Here 
 was an opportunity my back was aching for. At 
 once I squatted upon the top of the pile, and its 
 warmth was so grateful that I sat there for a couple 
 of hours, sandwiched, as it were, between the heat of 
 the sun above and the heat of the sawdust below. 
 Do I guarantee this an absolute cure ? By no means. 
 The ailment is too aggressive a fighter to be scared 
 away by a pile of hot sawdust. I merely recommend 
 it as a kink-soother. 
 
 Perhaps the reader may think it strange that after 
 all my rough experience I still persist in roaming the 
 forests in search of big game. Well, perhaps it is 
 strange. One of my friends, who is something of a 
 wag, declares that on these trips I am not after game 
 at all, but in search of lumbago. " For everybody 
 knows," he argues, " that lumbago is a disease of the 
 lumbar regions, and therefore a forest is the most
 
 224 SPORT INDEED 
 
 likely place to find it." "Waggery on such a serious 
 subject may seem to the reader like fiddling at a 
 funeral. If his mind, however, should be at all per- 
 turbed with fears for the result of my future en- 
 counters with lumbago, I will set it at rest at once. 
 That disease has no terrors for me now. I know so 
 well how to master it that it becomes in my hands as 
 docile as a well-trained horse. It no longer runs away 
 with me. You ask me how I manage it ? I will tell 
 you. Should the disease catch me in the forest, I take 
 the cure at once upon myself. I have abandoned my 
 old method of sending forty or fifty miles for a 
 doctor, for the reason that while I waited for the 
 " carer of bodies " to make his appearance the lumbago 
 was busy fixing its claws more firmly in my back. 
 My new method is this : exercise, and plenty of it, 
 and the more violent the exercise, the more effective 
 it will be. I generally open the ball by trying how 
 far or how high I can jump. There is not much fun 
 in this, for at each jump your back feels as if it had 
 been split open. After the jumping I take a canoe 
 and paddle it for an hour or two. Then I pick out a 
 road, and this, to be of service, should run to the top 
 of some high ridge. The worse the road is, the better 
 it is for the purpose. It should be full of windfalls, 
 soft wet places, and plenty of rocks a road, in fact, 
 where even a well man would soon grow weary of 
 slipping and sliding and crawling over and under the
 
 A TREACHEROUS COWARD 22$ 
 
 loss. Now, if such exercise would tire a man in a 
 
 O ' 
 
 wholesome condition, how does it act upon one who 
 has to carry with him an unwholesome load of lum- 
 bago ? Well, I presume there are many who wouldn't 
 care to try it a second time. However, it is a part of 
 my method and therefore I must insist upon it. 
 After my walk I return for my dinner, with my 
 anatomy still doubled-up, but with the conviction 
 that my first brush with the enemy has sapped 
 his entrenchments, and that another one will knock 
 his fortifications into smithereens. After dinner I 
 take a second walk, choosing, this time, a wet bog and 
 trudging through it, ankle-deep at every step, back 
 and forth until the perspiration starts as freely as if I 
 were in a Turkish bath. Then I return to camp, and 
 at night apply a hot-water bag to my back. Next 
 morning behold me spring from my couch of spruce 
 boughs ! Undoubled and erect, " Richard's himself 
 again ! " After breakfast I go for another dose of my 
 walking-physic. True, it isn't as gentle and palatable 
 as it might be, but the dose goes down much easier 
 than it did yesterday. After the walk I return to 
 camp and well, the battle is over, the victory won, 
 and my Machiavellian enemy has surrendered uncon- 
 ditionally. I retire to my spruce boughs and the next 
 morning finds me without a pain or an ache and with 
 a soul eager and hungry for the sport that only a 
 moose or caribou can give me.
 
 226 SPORT INDEED 
 
 And now, dear reader, I have finished my essay on 
 lumbago. Should you chance to be bothered with this 
 tormentor of humanity, don't dally with it but adopt 
 my treatment at once. It is true that the paddling of 
 canoes and climbing over rough roads and tramping 
 through wet bogs are not among the recreations of 
 ordinary city life ; but the jumping part of the pro- 
 gramme is open to you. If you do enough of this you 
 will probably think you can dispense with the other en- 
 joyments, and possibly you can. Kesolution and pluck 
 are the only ammunition you will need to fight your 
 battle to a successful end. I admit that my tactics 
 are rather heroic, and that there is one difficulty always 
 standing in their way the difficulty of getting 
 together enough of the fore-mentioned ammunition.
 
 The Great Northwest 
 
 Well hast thou lessou'd us. 
 
 TITUS ANDBONICUS. 
 
 THE first thing that struck my attention on ray 
 northwestern trip was Canada's nagging policy in 
 regard ,to American travel. 
 
 I had two guns and a case of shells on which duty 
 was claimed. These, I explained, had been in use over 
 six years and that I was going for only a few days 
 shooting in Canada and then would return with them 
 across the borders. But my explanation had no 
 weight. The shells were counted and duty at the rate 
 of thirty-five per cent, was exacted upon them, with 
 conditions that if I took the guns back out of Canada 
 within two months they would refund the duty, but 
 not if they should be kept a day over that limit. Such 
 is international courtesy between two countries with a 
 border line of four thousand miles. 
 
 I passed through the famous Soo Canal where our 
 Government was (at that time, 1892) enforcing a re- 
 taliation policy against Canada. It was therefore 
 interesting to hear the conversations of the Canadians 
 and Americans on the vessel and along the canal. We 
 were detained there four hours in getting an entrance 
 to the lock. The Canadians pointed out the fact that 
 
 227
 
 228 SPORT INDEED 
 
 their own canal, which was then in course of construc- 
 tion, would soon be finished, and would give them the 
 opportunity to retaliate by putting up the tolls to 
 American vessels in the "Welland and other Canadian 
 Avaterwa3 r s. They said it was a small, petty thing for 
 a great country like the United States to do, and 
 that Canada would more than get even in the long 
 run. 
 
 The Americans, on the other hand, said it served 
 the Canadians right, for they were always nagging and 
 bullying us, behind England, on the fisheries, the 
 Behring Sea and other questions ; and it was time to 
 teach them a lesson. The commerce passing through 
 this canal in Canadian bottoms is very small, some- 
 times being only a little over four per cent, of the 
 whole. Out of an almost continuous procession of 
 steamers, tugs and sailing vessels which AVC passed in 
 the " Soo " Eiver only one was Canadian, and she was 
 a small fishing smack. So, pecuniarily, the retaliation 
 policy didn't amount to much ; it was the sting and 
 smart of it that counted. American craft went 
 through free and Canadian craft paid twenty cents 
 per ton toll. 
 
 It is said that more tonnage passes through the Soo 
 Canal than through the famous Suez Canal. The Soo 
 Canal is open only about seven months in the year and 
 is totally inadequate for the immense traffic passing 
 through it; therefore our Government built a new
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 229 
 
 canal, with a lock eight-hundred feet long, eighty feet 
 wide and twenty-one feet deep. The former lock was 
 five hundred and fifteen feet long, with a sixty foot en- 
 trance, eighty feet inside, and about fourteen feet six 
 inches deep. The Canadian Government has made 
 theirs a thousand feet long and sixty feet wide through- 
 out. 
 
 There is no object lesson equal to this American 
 Canal in demonstrating the enormous resources of the 
 great Northwest. As far as the eye could reach in 
 both directions I saw an unending procession of vessels 
 bound both up the lakes and down ; those passing 
 down being loaded to the deep Avater line with iron 
 ore, grain, lumber, etc. ; those passing up, with coal 
 and general merchandise. And so it is every day 
 while navigation is open. 
 
 What a lot of people with diversified pursuits our 
 Canadian Pacific steamer was carrying ! Sitting op- 
 posite to me at table was a typical Englishman, 
 formerly a coffee planter in Ceylon but now a large 
 land proprietor in Manitoba. Another Englishman 
 had been out to the East Indies elephant shooting and 
 was on his way to the Kocky Mountains to try his 
 hand on the grizzly bear. He was a strenuous advo^ 
 cate of the Martini-Henry rifle for large game and 
 wouldn't think of shooting a Winchester (probably 
 because it is American). A number of passengers 
 were going to shoot prairie-chickens, ducks, etc., others
 
 230 SPORT INDEED 
 
 were on their way to buy land near "Winnipeg. One 
 wanted to sell land up there, and wanted badly to sell 
 it. Merchants were returning from England, Montreal 
 and Toronto, having bought their fall and winter 
 stock ; others were journeying across the continent 
 en route to Japan and China. 
 
 Coming up the Soo (or Sault Ste. Marie) River, out 
 of Georgian Bay, I was deeply impressed with the 
 magnitude of the great Northwest's resources. An 
 almost continuous string of grain and ore-laden 
 schooners, steamers, barges and whale-backs kept pass- 
 ing us for miles, and on arriving at the mouth of the 
 canal, which is but a mile long, we were detained four 
 hours waiting our turn to get through its one lock. 
 The vessel in front of us was the largest steamer on 
 the Lakes the Mariposa over 4,000 tons burthen, and 
 while the lock could comfortably accommodate four 
 large schooners at one lockage this steamer so filled 
 it that no other vessel could enter. She belonged to 
 Ashtabula, O., and was going up with a light cargo of 
 coal, and would reload with iron ore for her return 
 trip. The Canadians seemed to think that our Gov- 
 ernment made a mistake in enforcing the retaliation 
 policy on this canal, but after their astonishment and 
 surprise at the action had worn away they became indif- 
 ferent. The Canadian Pacific Kail way was the prin- 
 cipal and about the only sufferer ; and it wasn't much 
 of a sufferer, either, as the total Canadian tonnage
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 231 
 
 passing through the canal, as I have said, is but a small 
 fraction of the whole. 
 
 On reaching Fort William (an old Hudson Bay 
 Company's fort) the first thing to attract my notice 
 was a big wagon-load of fine French clarets, brandies 
 and Canadian whiskies, marked " Hudson Bay Com- 
 pany." I know not how strong the proof of the 
 liquors may have been, but I do know that the load 
 itself was to me proof strong as Holy Writ, that the 
 people up this way have expensive tastes and the 
 wherewithal to gratify them. From an unusually in- 
 telligent and well informed commercial traveler of 
 London, Canada, I learned that the head offices of the 
 Hudson Bay Company for this district are at Winni- 
 peg, and that on his last trip to that town there were 
 no fewer than thirty-two drummers at the principal 
 hotel ; that these represented the dry-goods and ready- 
 made clothing interests alone, and that the buyers for 
 these departments of the Hudson Bay Company looked 
 at every man's samples before they bought a dollar's 
 worth. Now, as this company also sells groceries, 
 wines, crockery, hardware, drugs, stoves and tinware, 
 guns, ammunition, etc., the reader will easily see what 
 an enormous trade they still monopolize up here. 
 
 At Fort William the C. P. E. E. has three big grain 
 elevators, and though the railroad ships the grain by 
 lake and through the canal as fast as boats can be 
 loaded, yet the elevators are often full to the roof.
 
 232 SPORT INDEED 
 
 Their capacity is 1,250,000 bushels. The train we met 
 at Fort William was the transcontinental express. It 
 had eleven cars, two of which were filled with Chinese 
 passengers ticketed through from New York to China. 
 Two cars of colonists were going out to settle at dif- 
 ferent points on the line. The cars were clean and 
 comfortable-looking and were used at night as sleepers, 
 having the same arrangement of berths as the Pull- 
 mans, without, of course, the luxurious appointments 
 which characterize the latter. There is but one 
 through train a day and this averages about twenty- 
 two miles an hour. 
 
 The road is a single track, well ballasted, and has 
 splendid rolling stock with good motive power. The 
 management of the line con template bestowing the same 
 attentions on the through first-class passengers as the 
 trans-Atlantic steamship companies do, such as pass- 
 ing fresh fruit, beef tea, lemonade, etc., round to the 
 passengers during the day an innovation that other 
 lines would do well to follow. The Michigan Central 
 had already been in the habit of presenting bouquets 
 of flowers to its patrons on reaching a certain station. 
 Such little attentions do not cost much and they 
 make a good advertisement. 
 
 The city of Winnipeg, with a population of 25,000, 
 was a veritable surprise to me. It has broad streets, 
 half as wide again as any in our eastern cities, four 
 lines of street car tracks, electric lights, electric rail-
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 233 
 
 ways, opera house, fine stores and a hotel that would 
 put to shame many metropolitan hostelries. It has a 
 frontage on the main street of 216 feet, is seven stories 
 high, with a rotunda forty by ninety feet and a dining- 
 hall fifty feet wide, ninety feet long and twenty-six 
 feet high, grandly lighted by three copper electroliers, 
 aided by a blaze of wall fixtures. Then there are 
 massive stone fireplaces and also a balcony at one end, 
 on which an orchestra enlivens the dinner hour. 
 
 The hotel has Turkish and ordinary baths, private 
 supper and dining-rooms, and is heated by steam and 
 lighted throughout by an elaborate electric plant. 
 The charges are from three to seven dollars per day, 
 and at these prices the house is well supported. This 
 hotel, this city, and this Canadian Pacific Railroad 
 with its progressive management are indexes of the 
 enterprise of the Canadian Northwest. Here the 
 " star of empire " may well hold its sway ; here future 
 provinces and cities will rise from the level table-land 
 of the prairies, by the limpid waters of the Assiniboine 
 and Red Rivers, to grow rich, prosperous and happy 
 in the lavish and generous returns from the tillage of 
 a fruitful soil. Future colonies will leave their mother 
 country, where the " dry husks of poverty " have been 
 their support, and find here a glorious paradise of 
 plenty. Here will grow up a strong-lunged, magnetic 
 generation which must wield a beneficent influence 
 upon the rest of Canada and why not upon those
 
 234 SPORT INDEED 
 
 sections of our own country that must surely come in 
 contact with the almost boundless agricultural wealth 
 and resources of the British province ? 
 
 As we were about leaving "Winnipeg, a banker of 
 that lively town, in speaking of the great expanse of 
 rich wheat lands around the city, said : " "While the 
 land in the neighborhood of "Winnipeg raises fine 
 wheat, and lots of it, one thousand miles further north 
 they raise just as much wheat to the acre and just as 
 good." One thousand miles further north ! Think 
 of it ! I do not know and could not find out in what 
 latitude "Winnipeg is situated. I asked the clerk at 
 the Manitoba House, among others. " Well," he said, 
 "I really don't know, but I do know it's an awful 
 cold latitude." The railway guide says it is one 
 thousand four hundred and twenty-four miles from 
 Montreal, and yet good lands are being cultivated a 
 thousand miles still further north. This fact helps to 
 explain the enormous quantities of freight the Cana- 
 dian Pacific Railroad is sending down, both by rail 
 and water, to the lakes and through the St. Lawrence 
 River. 
 
 At Regina, the capital of the province of Assiniboia, 
 we were much interested in the House of Parliament, 
 the Governor's mansion and the barracks and drill 
 ground of the famous mounted police force. All are 
 equipped with electric lights and other modern con- 
 veniences.
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 235 
 
 The mounted police is said to be the best force of 
 its kind in the world, and numbers over one thousand 
 men. They patrol the whole Northwest, including the 
 provinces of Assiniboia, Saskatchewan, Athabasca and 
 Alberta, keeping in order the Indian population as well 
 as the rest of the inhabitants who might be inclined to 
 stray from the right path. 
 
 Canada's treatment of the Indian problem has long 
 been acknowledged as wiser, more humane and more 
 successful than ours and, as a result, we see the 
 prairies dotted everywhere with Indian tents, the 
 men being occupied with the business of farming or 
 the grazing of cattle. They follow these pursuits 
 contentedly and with good financial results. They 
 are well dressed, seemingly prosperous and have gen- 
 erally overcome their instinctive desire for the excite- 
 ment of the hunters life. 
 
 What a sad sight is the great square piles of buffalo 
 bones stacked up at different stations and awaiting 
 shipment to the East where they usefully wind up 
 their existence in the sugar refineries and manu- 
 factories of phosphates. The men who gather up the 
 bones on the prairies and haul them to the station get 
 six dollars per ton. As an indication of the extent of 
 the business, the quantity sent forward from Moose- 
 jaw Station alone is counted by the hundred carloads. 
 
 When we think that the few pounds of bleached 
 bones, forming one skeleton and bringing perhaps ten
 
 236 SPORT INDEED 
 
 cents at the cars, were once the framework of the 
 noblest animal that ever roamed over the continent, 
 and that, had he been even slightly protected by law, by 
 common sense or common humanity, he would have 
 furnished us with the luxurious robe and succulent 
 meat for years to come, the sight becomes indeed a 
 sorrowful one. Soon these ghastly piles will be car- 
 ried away and nothing be left to mark the haunts and 
 history of the buffalo, except tradition and the scarred 
 sides of the slopes and valleys where he dug out his 
 " wallow." 
 
 We saw coyotes very often after passing Moosejaw ; 
 also foxes and badgers ; and as for gophers, their name 
 is legion. Wild geese, ducks and snipe we also saw 
 on many fresh water ponds and lakes. The loth of 
 September opens the season for the prairie-chicken 
 and thousands of guns crack away during that day and 
 to the end of the season. 
 
 One afternoon we were out snipe shooting for a few 
 hours, and on our tramp passed quite a number of In- 
 dian tents and villages ; but neither the Indians nor 
 their motley variety of dogs paid any attention to us, 
 excepting one old buck with a red blanket thrown 
 over his shoulders. This fellow followed us silently 
 around, watching us intently, and, although saying 
 nothing, seemed to be piling up a lot of thinking. 
 
 A party of ladies and gentlemen arrived here in 
 their private car on a shooting trip to the coast.
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 237 
 
 They ate and slept in the car and were quite success- 
 ful in shooting and fishing. They left here on a side 
 hunt for antelope and bears. 
 
 I wrote these notes seated on the broad prairie be- 
 side a palace car (wherein we were luxuriously fed and 
 housed), waiting until the beds were made up and 
 breakfast was prepared. It is something certainly 
 novel, as well as very pleasant, to sit down in this lati- 
 tude to a dinner of wild roast goose, teal duck, prairie- 
 chicken, fresh peaches, sweet potatoes, ice cream, etc., 
 with plenty of drinkables besides, and all served by 
 competent waiters. For this luxury we were indebted 
 to a Worcester (Mass.) Excursion Company, who were 
 on their twenty-second annual shooting tour and who 
 had invited us to join them for the season. Seven 
 gentlemen of the party started, with nineteen horses, 
 tents, provisions, etc., for a hunt after antelopes and 
 grizzly bears, their destination being some thirty miles 
 from Maple Creek. They expected to be gone a week, 
 and of course each man was anxious to bag his ante- 
 lope or have a wrestle with a bear ; in the meantime 
 we had to be content to worry the prairie-chicken and 
 mallard duck with our dogs and guns. 
 
 One through train from the Pacific and one from 
 the Atlantic stop here for a few minutes each day, and 
 on their arrival the platform is crowded with Indians 
 dressed up in their best bib and tucker, which means 
 plenty of feathers, paint and tomahawk. With a
 
 238 SPORT INDEED 
 
 special eye to business and the white man's pocket- 
 book, they come provided with their peculiar wares, 
 such as buffalo horns nicely mounted as hat-racks, 
 trinkets of various kinds, pipes, etc. For some reason 
 or other the Indian has a superstition against being 
 photographed. Now, almost every train has its kodak 
 liend, and no sooner does he catch a glimpse of " Poor 
 Lo " than out comes his box and the fun begins. "We 
 saw one of these enthusiastic fiends try to get a snap 
 shot at an old " buck," but he didn't meet with much 
 success. The moment the old fellow saw the pho- 
 tographer getting ready to point his box he rushed at 
 him with an uplifted stick, jammed him against the 
 car, took possession of his kodak and doubtless would 
 have wiped up the floor with the picture-taker had the 
 mounted police not interfered and ordered him back 
 into the train. Yet the fiend wasn't satisfied. He 
 went into the car and thrust the camera out of one of 
 the windows. Instantly the alarm was given, and 
 every squaw and brave, to the number of thirty or 
 more, dived under the station platform, leaving the 
 discomfited artist to the jeers and hooting of the 
 crowd. One of the ladies of our hunting car, not 
 knowing of this trait in the Indian's character, saw a 
 bunch of squaws lounging around. She got out her 
 kodak and commenced to fix it for a snap shot, when 
 one of the squaws pantomimically threatened her with 
 violence if she turned " that eye " on them. The lady
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 239 
 
 didn't understand the pantomime and proceeded to 
 take the picture. The squaw very angrily pulled a big 
 stone out from under her blanket and threw it with 
 all her force, hitting her on the wrist and inflicting a 
 painful wound. There was no further use for the ko- 
 dak on that car for awhile. The telegraph operator 
 told me that the Indians are equally afraid of the 
 " ticker," and it is hard work to get them near it. 
 
 On the night of the great prize-fight between Sulli- 
 van and Corbett the cowboys, ranchers, railway men, 
 and in fact all the inhabitants of this frontier settle- 
 ment, were in and around the station. The news- 
 papers of Montana, the Dakotas and Nebraska having 
 formed a syndicate to have the news wired to them in 
 detail, it was sent over the Canadian Pacific wires. 
 The operator sat in his office and in a conversational 
 tone read the account of the fight as it passed over the 
 wires, when it would be communicated to the outside 
 crowd. Towards the last, when the " big fellow " was 
 getting the worst of it, the excitement of the listeners 
 was so great that they couldn't keep still. Even the 
 stolid Indian got enthused and grunted his satisfac- 
 tion, and when the last sentence was ticked out then 
 pandemonium was let loose. The only hotel in the 
 town was besieged with thirsty customers, and all 
 night long the yelpings of the coyote were blended 
 with the yells of excited humanity. 
 
 The Bishop of Q'Appell, who is a baronet of Eng-
 
 240 SPORT INDEED 
 
 land as well as Bishop, preached a sermon for us in the 
 little chapel, and it was remarkable for its profundity 
 as well as its eloquence. He is the leader in a move- 
 ment among the Northwest churchmen which is in- 
 tended to give new life to the Church of England by 
 trying to arouse it from its apparent lethargy and by 
 claiming for it the undivided support of the people, 
 on the ground of its traditions, history and venerable 
 age. In his discourse he easily disposed of the dis- 
 senting churches and then in a learned argument paid 
 his respects to the Roman Catholic Church and pro- 
 ceeded to show that the Church of England was cen- 
 turies older than the Roman Church. It seemed a 
 great waste of force to preach such a sermon to the 
 handful of people he had for an audience, but as he 
 leaves this country to spend his last days in England, 
 after preaching here for twenty-six years, he no doubt 
 thought it well to give the Canadians something to 
 think about. 
 
 The Canadian Pacific Railway being the most acces- 
 sible route between Alaska and the East, some very 
 valuable train loads of merchandise pass over its rails. 
 Probably one of the most precious loads ever hauled 
 by a locomotive, in the same number of cars, was one 
 made up of sealskins, filling ten cars, and booked 
 through to London. Each car was valued at over 
 $200,000 over $2,000,000 in all. The train had a 
 wreck coming down the slopes of the Rocky Houn-
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 241 
 
 tains. It parted in two, the back portion running into 
 the front and smashing things up very generally. 
 What a calamity it would have been what a rude 
 shock to the American feminine heart had that train 
 and its precious cargo been destroyed by fire ! How 
 many of the " lords of creation " would have been 
 obliged to put their hand a little deeper into their 
 Christmas pocket if the heart of their better-half 
 should chance to be filled with love for a new 
 sealskin ! But, thanks to a providential decree that 
 ordered otherwise, the calamity didn't happen. The 
 train passed in safety, and its beloved cargo, having 
 survived the boisterous gales of the Atlantic, came 
 back to us, no doubt, in the shape of that most beau- 
 tiful of all the adorning apparel of woman, the warm, 
 glossy, cozy, fascinatingly lovely, but awfully expen- 
 sive, sealskin sacque. 
 
 We reached Crane Lake on September 20th. Dur- 
 ing our ride in the hunting car "Yellowstone" we 
 had matured our plans for a big day's sport, and we 
 got it. I saw more sport in that one day the 21st 
 than I ever saw before in a month. To briefly sketch 
 the exciting incidents of the day would, perhaps, prove 
 interesting, as all mankind, particularly the Anglo- 
 Saxon part of it, has an instinctive interest, more or 
 less keen, in everything that relates to hunting. 
 
 There were four of us. We got up long before 
 break of day as silently as we could, so as not to dis-
 
 242 SPORT INDEED 
 
 turb the ladies of the party (for, mind you, there were 
 five of them journeying across the continent and back 
 in the " Yellowstone " ). We got away about five 
 o'clock in the morning, just as the geese were com- 
 mencing to fly from the lake to the neighboring wheat- 
 fields. We were posted along a low ridge, with strict 
 orders to lie down quiet and snug in some thorn 
 bushes. (If the reader has ever tried " lying down 
 quiet and snug in a thorn bush " he will understand 
 why it requires practice.) When a flock came near 
 we were to jump up, single out a goose and give him 
 some No. 1 shot. 
 
 The day was breaking in the east and shedding its 
 faint gray light over the prairie. The dainty colors of 
 the wild flowers, their pale yellows, their pinks and 
 their purples were just becoming discernible in Nature's 
 prairie panorama which she was now unrolling before 
 us to rapture our sense with its beauty. 
 
 And now comes the cry of the wild goose : " Honk ! 
 Honk ! Honk ! " Looking up we saw a long line of 
 them approaching high overhead. Crack ! went the 
 guns and away went the geese leaving none of their 
 company behind. Down we dodged again and an- 
 other flock came in sight. As before, another go of 
 the guns and another go of the geese ; and thus flock 
 after flock flew over us in their particular wedge-shape 
 order, but all too high. However, we ventured an- 
 other crack at them. This time one was seen to drop
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 243 
 
 down a little, recover himself, get back into the flock, 
 drop again a few yards, and then, to our surprise, 
 tumble heels over head, striking the earth a quarter of 
 a mile away. A grain of buckshot did the work. 
 
 The morning flight was over and only one goose 
 was bagged. We munched a few apples, then took 
 setter dogs and started for the gamey prairie-chicken, 
 which out here is really the pin-tailed grouse that goes 
 before civilization, while the regular prairie-hen fol- 
 lows after it. The first bird flushed was taken by the 
 youngest shot, my son James boy of 15 years and 
 beautifully stopped. The second bird was similarly 
 treated by the same gunner. The birds were popping 
 up all around, and we all got our share. 
 
 We went back to the car, had breakfast, and were off 
 again on a tramp to Crane Lake, about four miles 
 away. Keaching the water, we found it literally 
 covered in places with ducks, snipe, geese, yellow legs, 
 pelicans, curlew and plover. A few shots started the 
 whole aggregation in motion mallards, plover and 
 Wilson snipe began to tumble until we were loaded 
 with all we could carry. A gunner away off across 
 the prairie was heard to fire two barrels, then to shout, 
 jump, run, and throw his hands up. No one seemed 
 to know what was disturbing him, but in a moment 
 we saw two dogs coming at a furious rate. No ; one 
 was a coyote, the other a dog in full chase. Four 
 guns were discharged with No. 5 shot at the slinking
 
 244 SPORT INDEED 
 
 coyote, but he got out of danger in a few minutes. 
 Then a monster bird came flapping leisurely around 
 the shore. It was a pelican, and, as if to chaff us into 
 wasting our shells, he flapped serenely by in front of 
 each gunner several times, each time getting the con- 
 tents of shells from No. 5 down to buckshot. He was 
 hit from every angle, some twenty-five shells in all 
 having been fired at him. We could hear the shot 
 strike and then drop into the water, and yet Mr. 
 Pelican " winked the other eye " and will continue to 
 wink it at anything less than a rifle. 
 
 With our game belts loaded to their fullest capacity 
 (mine must have weighed forty pounds, although it 
 felt like forty tons), we started back, killing more 
 prairie-chickens on the road, and arriving in time for 
 dinner (five o'clock), having been out just twelve 
 hours. What exhilaration was crowded into those 
 twelve hours ! One who has never been out in this rari- 
 fied and highly-electric atmosphere cannot conceive the 
 joys of such a hunt on such a day. The sun was 
 pleasantly warm, its rays being tempered with a cool 
 wind that waved the tall grass and rippled the water 
 so that it shone in the distance like burnished silver. 
 Along the edge of the sloughs a row of willows bent 
 their lithe limbs to the breeze and gave a graceful nod 
 to each whiff as it passed on its way laden with the 
 breath of prairie flowers. Surely, such Paradisal sur- 
 roundings should satisfy any man's fancy, whether it
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 245 
 
 belong to a hunter or to him whose ear can mark no 
 difference 'twixt the honk of a wild goose and the 
 crow of a barnyard rooster. 
 
 After dinner we had singing, whistling, by as good 
 a whistler as ever " cocked a lip," and piano playing 
 by two of the ladies who were good musicians. When 
 our concert was over and we were about retiring, a 
 knock was heard at the car door, and the members of 
 the only family residing within miles of the station 
 were announced as callers. So again the strains of 
 one of Beethoven's immortal sonatas and a nocturne 
 of Chopin's were invoked to entertain the visitors, who 
 were two ladies and a gentleman the latter superin- 
 tending a ranch of 10,000 acres. The latest fashions, 
 the price of wheat, the climate, the habits of the wild 
 fowl around the lake and various other topics were 
 discussed. After a pleasant two hours' entertainment 
 the visitors were shown to the car door and left us say- 
 ing it was the pleasantest night they had ever spent 
 in their lives. So ended our day's hunt and pleasure 
 at Crane Lake, Assiniboia Territory. 
 
 For months there was no rain in the regions gunned 
 over by our party, and we pursued our sport without 
 alloy or hindrance. When we were on the Frazer River, 
 in Vancouver, seven of our party who had started 
 away on a hunt after caribou and bears, returned to 
 the car, after a trip of seven days, during which time 
 they rode 130 miles over an almost impenetrable
 
 246 SPORT INDEED 
 
 country, and among the mountains some 4,500 feet 
 above tide level. For eight miles of that distance the 
 road was so rough that horses could not be taken 
 through, and the camp stuff had to be dragged and 
 pitched over fallen timber, around rocks and under 
 and over them. One of the party claimed this to be 
 his twenty-second annual hunting trip, and he vowed 
 he never saw anything to equal it for roughness and 
 difficulties. They bristled with every step. One 
 caribou and three deer were shot, and as they couldn't 
 drag their game out of the country after killing it 
 they gave up the hunt as a bad job and returned to 
 the car, having taken three days to go up the moun- 
 tains and two to return. 
 
 Two of the hunters were determined to get some 
 big game, even if they had to go alone after it. They 
 hired an Indian guide and a cook, got packhorses and 
 provisions and again started out into the mountains 
 where they proposed hunting big-horn-sheep up above 
 the snow line. They made their way through from 
 Canadian territory into the United States, arriving at 
 Spokane, Washington, a distance of 245 miles, camp- 
 ing up in the snow for several days, climbing around 
 snow peaks in moccasins, but always trying to keep 
 face to the wind. They finally succeeded in killing 
 four mountain sheep and three deer, but the hardships 
 they had endured, as evidenced by their torn flesh and 
 clothing, will keep them from trying it again, for
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 247 
 
 some time at least. As years glide by and civilization 
 approaches nearer and nearer to the great mountain 
 ranges, the big-horns and wild goats of the snow- 
 covered peaks are pushed farther and farther back, so 
 that it will not be long before these nimble-footed 
 and beautiful creatures will follow the fate of the 
 buffalo. 
 
 At Sicamous, a town of about one hundred people, 
 on the main line of the C. P. E. R., in British Colum- 
 bia, lives Colonel Forester who was in China when the 
 great rebellion broke out in which General Gordon 
 won his fame. Colonel Forester was requested by the 
 foreign merchants in China to organize and drill what 
 forces could be hastily gathered up, and to take charge 
 of the defense ; which he did, and so successfully that 
 he was offered supreme command of the forces operating 
 against the rebels. He declined, however, in favor of 
 General Gordon. He has a large number of decora- 
 tions, presents and letters testifying to his bravery and 
 executive ability, and is quietly and modestly living 
 out the remnant of his days in this lonely hamlet. 
 
 The scenery along the Frazer River is of the wild- 
 est, most interesting and most startling character. 
 Fabulous amounts of money were spent in the con- 
 struction of this part of the Canadian Pacific Railway. 
 For a great distance it is a succession of tunnels, tres- 
 tles, bridges and deep rock cuttings, the line clinging 
 to the bald sides of the mountains and overlooking the
 
 248 SPORT INDEED 
 
 Frazer River that rushes along seething and foaming, 
 and in some places a thousand feet below. On the 
 opposite side is the old government road, which was 
 made necessary years ago by reason of the gold excite- 
 ment on this river, and also to facilitate the valuable 
 salmon fishing. The road is now rapidly going to 
 ruin. We passed thousands of frames of fishing tents 
 left standing by their Indian owners. Wherever the 
 river narrowed to a gorge, there they could be seen in 
 the most inaccessible positions and fixed on the rocks 
 like so many barnacles. How the Indians managed 
 to get there or to stay when they did get there, it is 
 hard to imagine. 
 
 The town of Vancouver has experienced a real estate 
 fever of a very acute and inflammatory character. 
 This was owing to its being the terminus of the 
 Canadian Pacific and also of the magnificent line of 
 steamers running to China and Japan. The town, 
 with a population of about 15,000, is situated on a fine 
 bay, with a rich mineral, lumber and agricultural coun- 
 try tributary to it. The grit and enterprise displayed 
 there is something that our eastern cities might copy 
 with advantage. The Northern Pacific Railroad 
 wanted to have an entrance there in order to reap a 
 share in the rich Oriental trade pouring through the 
 town from the great steamers plying to Japan. What 
 did this little town of 15,000 people do to encourage 
 the designs of the railway people? They put the
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 249 
 
 question to popular vote, and the result was that they 
 decided to give the railroad $300,000 as a bonus to 
 enter the town. 
 
 We arrived at Morley, Alberta, September 25th. 
 The town consisted at that time of one store, three 
 dwellings and the railroad station, having a total 
 population of about twenty. It is of importance by 
 reason of its being the distributing point for the reser- 
 vation of the tribe of Stoney Indians. Large herds of 
 cattle are pastured there by the Canadian Govern- 
 ment to provide a weekly supply of meat during the 
 year for the Indians, and the annual payment of five 
 dollars per head is made and blankets distributed in 
 accordance with the treaty stipulations. 
 
 The Indians are settled along the valley of the Bow 
 River, some in tepees, but most of them in substantial 
 and well-built log houses, each family having a small 
 cultivated patch of ground on which they raise vegeta- 
 bles. Their ponies are hobbled near by and their 
 cattle range the prairie. They spend a happy, con- 
 tented life, altogether different from the non-treaty 
 Indians whose bad traits I observed so markedly in 
 Maple Creek, and whose good qualities were not to be 
 observed with the naked eye. I talked with a number 
 of those who spoke English, and spoke it quite as well 
 as the majority of white men. They had traveled 
 some, could read and write, treated their wives and 
 families with consideration, and, moreover, had accumu-
 
 250 SPORT INDEED 
 
 lated a little wealth outside of the government allow- 
 ance. 
 
 One Indian told me that he had not seen his father 
 since he was a boy, until this summer when the father 
 wrote him a letter asking him to visit him at a 
 point a long distance still further north. He took a 
 team of horses and drove there, the round trip occupy- 
 ing two weeks of traveling. He spent one week with 
 his parents, and spoke of them affectionately. 
 
 The Stoney tribe speak the " Cree " language and 
 belong to that race of brave fighters. A Mr. McDou- 
 gal, who resides near Morley, has translated the Bible 
 and the New Testament, as well as a book of hymns, 
 into the Cree characters, which are said to be very 
 simple and easily learned. He also preaches to the 
 tribe and instructs them in their own tongue. He is 
 a wealthy rancher, one of the oldest residents, and has 
 seen the prairies when they teemed with roaming 
 herds of buffalo, elk, antelope and deer. His house 
 contains more stuffed specimens of animated nature 
 than any other in this territory. 
 
 Some years since an enthusiastic young woman went 
 to Morley as a missionary from Massachusetts. She 
 was very successful in her work, and among her con- 
 verts was a " noble Indian," whom she induced to go 
 to college where he studied faithfully and well. On 
 graduating he was ordained to the ministry, went back 
 to Morley, made love to the young missionary, was
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 251 
 
 accepted and married her. They are happy, and 
 though the wife's family is said to have ostracized her 
 she seems to be satisfied. 
 
 Thirteen of our party, including four ladies, started 
 on a prairie-chicken hunt to a point some twelve miles 
 away. As the Indians indulge in shooting chickens 
 from the saddles of their ponies, thus depleting their 
 numbers, it was necessary to take teams and drive this 
 distance before we found the birds which even then 
 were in only limited numbers and as wild as hares. 
 When we arrived on the shooting ground it was nearly 
 noon, and as the birds had finished their morning 
 feeding and were found on the edge of the brush 
 fringing a little stream, we had hard work getting 
 more than a glimpse of them before they would be 
 out of sight. Taking long flights made it slow shoot- 
 ing. However we made a fairly good bag, and, as it 
 is always the practice of sportsmen and sportswomen 
 to shoot only what they can use to advantage, we 
 gave up the sport and the hard work in good season 
 and enjoyed a glorious ride back, watching the forms 
 and ever-changing shadows of the Kocky Mountains, 
 which, though eighteen miles distant, seemed close 
 enough to be reached in a half-hour's walk. 
 
 We were told that, at Bow Kiver, all we had to do 
 was to throw in our fish-lines, and, with any sort of a 
 fly, we could catch all the speckled trout we could 
 handle, and that Morley was the point on the Bow
 
 252 SPORT INDEED 
 
 which gave the best results ; but how often these 
 " buts " come in to upset trout-fishing calculation, and 
 this particular " but " did it effectually a road mas- 
 ter on the Canadian Pacific had been drowned in the 
 treacherous current, and the authorities, hoping to 
 bring his body to the surface, exploded dynamite in all 
 the pools up and down the river for five miles. These 
 explosions, though they did not raise the body, cer- 
 tainly did raise the d 1 with the fish, killing nearly 
 
 all of them. And thus, once more, our fancy and fond 
 hopes of hauling in the speckled beauties on our seven- 
 ounce rods were scattered to the winds. After a whole 
 day's throwing and coaxing with all sorts of flies, 
 minnows and bait, we succeeded in landing only a pal- 
 try dozen or so. 
 
 Ten persons having lost their lives in the river near 
 here within a few months, the ranchers, cowboys, and 
 even the Indians, hold it very much in awe. The 
 water is icy cold, from the melting snow and ice that 
 rushes down from the Rocky Mountains ; the current 
 is swift and full of eddies, rapids and whirlpools ; and 
 the stone on the bottom slippery as an eel. Woe be- 
 tide the man who should lose his footing in fording 
 and get overhead in it. His chances of getting out 
 would be slim indeed. 
 
 We arrived in Banff early in the morning and 
 slipped out before breakfast to see the town and spy 
 out the points of attraction which the Canadian Pa-
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 253 
 
 cific has set such store by. The town is nil nein 
 nix. A few log huts, a small brick church, a dozen or 
 more frame-shanty stores, and stumps and fallen trees 
 galore. 
 
 But the attractions are there, and they are attrac- 
 tions, too, with no nonsense about them. " Whatever 
 the company has advertised to perform, that it will 
 perform, or your money refunded," would apply very 
 well. The luxurious C. P. E. K. Hotel, about two 
 miles from the station, newly built, superbly furnished 
 and lighted, spacious, comfortable and well kept, is a 
 "number-one" drawing card. A sanitarium, a few 
 pretty, small hotels, glorious drives among glorious 
 mountains capped with everlasting snow, a park, 
 twenty-six miles long by ten miles wide, embracing 
 parts of the Bow, Spray and Cascade Eivers ; the Hot 
 Sulphur Springs, the Warm Sulphur Springs, bridle 
 paths and walks up the various peaks, and the un- 
 rivaled landscape all aglow with the brilliant tints of 
 its autumn foliage, make a combination of attractions 
 that has already proved strong enough to draw tour- 
 ists from all parts of this Continent and a great many 
 from Europe as well a fact that the register at the 
 big hotel fully attests. 
 
 My choice in this list of attractions was to take a 
 warm sulphur bath and then scale a mountain. Now, 
 isn't it unique to take a bath in an enclosure open at 
 the top, where the white caps of the mountains are
 
 254 SPORT INDEED 
 
 seen all around you and the rain pouring in ? And 
 yet we swam in a pool of sulphur water at the natural 
 temperature of ninety degrees, and with plenty of 
 room for diving, fancy swimming and frolics gen- 
 erally. 
 
 The mountain climb was equally worthy of remem- 
 brance. I wasn't at all ambitious of tackling any of 
 those giants that stand six thousand feet tall in their 
 stocking feet. Oh, no; I selected a modest twelve 
 hundred-foot fellow called Tunnel Mountain, and in 
 face of fierce winds and gusts of rain (which on the 
 higher peaks fell in the form of snow) I scaled it in 
 about an hour and a-half. The view from the top was 
 enchanting. Neither poet nor painter could describe 
 or picture it ; and therefore I, who have not the gift 
 of either, will not attempt it. Suffice it to say, the 
 scene is still in my memory and Time can't rub it out. 
 
 Coming down, like numerous other would-be smart 
 ones, I thought it an easy matter to leave the care- 
 fully graded path, and by traveling straight down 
 save time and distance. Very soon my feet slipped 
 from under me; down on my back I slid, grasping at 
 shrubs, stones and plants in my rapid descent which 
 kept up until its unpleasant speed was stopped by run- 
 ning into a tree. With scratched hands, torn pants, a 
 bruised back and a little more wisdom, I concluded to 
 keep to the path for the remainder of the distance. 
 
 Did it ever strike you how many difficulties there
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 255 
 
 are to be encountered, distances to be covered and 
 obstacles to be surmounted in the search after speckled 
 trout ? It struck us, but not until after we had tried 
 it. We had so many broken promises of good trout 
 fishing on this trip and so many disappointments, that 
 when we reached Banff and found that although 
 there was any quantity of the fish there it was close 
 season in the park and we couldn't fish, we were about 
 giving up all idea of ever seeing a trout. Just then 
 we stumbled over a fellow who told us of a wonderful 
 little lake, recently discovered and only fished in for 
 the first time two months ago. He said the lake was 
 located at Castle Mountain, seventeen miles from 
 Banff. 
 
 Taking his word that it was full of trout, and not- 
 withstanding his warning that he doubted whether 
 our power of roughing it would hold out till we got 
 there, we determined to go and find out whether he 
 was a fish romancer or not. Our car was pulled there 
 in the early morning. A guide had come with us from 
 Banff, who filled us with glowing predictions of the 
 luck we were going to have, but kept very dark about 
 the difficulties and dangers of the trip. Seven of us 
 started with him, unconscious of what was before us. 
 He had led us along a small creek to a frail crossing 
 made by a fallen tree. This was so slippery that one 
 of our party lost his footing, tumbled, and had to go 
 back for dry clothes.
 
 256 SPORT INDEED 
 
 "We then came to the Bow Kiver, which here is a 
 raging torrent, deep and treacherous. Stretched 
 across diagonally was a very long boom, made by 
 strapping together a string of two logs which were 
 held to the shore by stout, wire cables. It is the only 
 crossing within seventeen miles of Banff, and one not 
 calculated to inspire confidence in the crosser. The 
 boom was swaying up and down in the fierce rush of 
 waters, the torrent surging over the logs, the inner 
 one of which was half-covered with slimy, rotten bark 
 that peeled and slipped off under foot. 
 
 The guide's shoes were armed with sharp-pointed 
 spikes, which enabled him to skip across the logs with 
 the ease and grace of a dancing master ; we had on 
 rubber boots, slippery as glass. There were two logs 
 reaching to the boom, and the guide seeing we were 
 not in his skipping condition advised us to creep over 
 them on our hands and knees. 
 
 Four of us started across with our feet placed cross- 
 wise of the logs. When we were about a third of the 
 way over the guide halloed at the top of his voice : 
 "Look out you don't slip over; if you do, hang on 
 to the logs like grim death or you're a goner ! No 
 man can swim in this water; he'd be sucked under 
 and into Davy Jones' locker 'fore he could say Jack 
 Robinson ! " 
 
 This cheerful bit of information had the effect of 
 making us doubly cautious. By dint of balancing and
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 257 
 
 poising and feeling with our feet for the least slimy 
 places we at last got safely over. "We then had time 
 to realize what idiotic fools we had been to risk our 
 lives on such a crossing, and, for what ? a few trout. 
 
 We motioned to the three men we left on the other 
 side not to attempt the passage. They signalled " all 
 right," and we started ahead. Afterwards one of the 
 three made up his mind to try it. He labored along 
 very cautiously until near the middle, then his foot 
 slipped and in a twinkling he was struggling with the 
 stream. Fortunately for him, he fell on the inside. 
 He was a strong, athletic young man, and managed to 
 throw an arm around the inside log before his body 
 could be sucked under ; then by an almost superhuman 
 effort he pulled himself on to the boom again. Hav- 
 ing got back safely he went to the car for a change of 
 clothes. To-day he is full of thanks to Providence for 
 his narrow escape ; and well he may be, for his chance 
 of life in that caldron of ice water was well, one in 
 a hundred. 
 
 Shortly after leaving the river we struck a good 
 trail up a mountainside. It ended in an almost im- 
 penetrable jungle of fire-swept timber, over, under 
 and around which we panted, perspired and labored 
 for an hour. Then suddenly, as if by magic, there 
 flashed upon our sight a lovely little gem-of-a-lake 
 circled around by great mountains, whose sides were 
 sheeted with snow nearly to the water's edge. "We at
 
 258 SPORT INDEED 
 
 once jointed our rods and baited our hooks with live 
 grasshoppers, of which we had plenty. Hardly had I 
 struck my line into the water when a speckled beauty 
 took the hook ; and then another and another, and for 
 a couple of hours it was nothing but a swish of the 
 line and a tussle with the trout. 
 
 Soon we had as many as we could carry. Mean- 
 while, the men we left behind had, with the assist- 
 ance of the guide who had returned to help them, 
 resurrected an old scow and crossed. About two 
 o'clock they appeared with a welcome lunch. The 
 car log-book of game credited the party with a catch 
 of some three hundred and fifty trout, and that was 
 certainly enough to last us some days, as we had them 
 carefully packed away in the refrigerator. 
 
 Next morning our car was coupled to the Pacific 
 express and hauled to that wonderful spot, the great 
 Selkirk Glacier. An excursion was promptly made to 
 the glacier, which is said to be seven miles long, two 
 miles broad and of solid ice 2,000 feet thick. A fine 
 object lesson is here obtained of the resistless power 
 of the ice in crushing, powdering and moving enor- 
 mous masses of rocks. Avalanches, landslides and 
 terrific storms are of such frequent occurrence during 
 the winter and spring that the occupants of the rail- 
 road hotel and station are in daily terror of their 
 lives. 
 
 Early one morning a couple of our sportsmen, armed
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 261 
 
 with rifles, started away from the car hoping to get 
 a sight of a bear. Six of these animals two grizzlies 
 and one black bear, each with a cub were reported 
 to be feeding on berries less than a quarter of a mile 
 away from the station. In a very few minutes three 
 shots were heard, then five in rapid succession, then 
 another shot, and we divined that a bear had surely 
 fallen. Excitement ran high and all were on tiptoe 
 of expectation, until the two hunters returned with- 
 out the bear. 
 
 It took some time for the truth to gleam through the 
 glamour surrounding that early morning encounter 
 with bruin, and here it is. A railway employee had 
 located the bears and at daylight crept down among 
 the berry bushes where they were expected to feed, 
 and patiently waited with the determination of bring- 
 ing one down. The track here makes a sharply de- 
 fined horseshoe curve, and on one arm of this curve is 
 a snow-shed a mile long. One of our hunters had 
 climbed on top of this shed and walked along for half 
 its length when he saw a bear come out in an open 
 patch seven hundred yards away. Now, he couldn't 
 get off the shed without going to the end of it and by 
 doing this he feared he might lose sight of the bear. 
 So to lose no time he commenced firing. 
 
 The other hunter saw with his glass a man down in 
 the berry patch and thought hunter number one was 
 shooting at him. The man in the berry patch seemed
 
 262 SPORT INDEED 
 
 to think so too, and after his ears had listened to the 
 close whistle of seven or eight bullets, he emerged 
 from the bushes and walking up to hunter number one 
 opened on him a battery of "Western words that fairly 
 smoked with brimstone. I'll omit them here, only 
 saying that they conveyed the idea that the bullets 
 had nearly hit him. " Besides," he said, " how the 
 devil do you expect to shoot bears from the top of a 
 snow-shed three-quarters of a mile away ? " 
 
 It took lots of oily words to smooth out the berry 
 man's waves of indignation. After warning hunter 
 number one that if he valued the integrity of his own 
 hide he had better not try that sort of fun again, but 
 keep his bullets in their pouch, where they evidently 
 belonged, he finally agreed to an armistice and a drink 
 of whiskey. 
 
 Number two had in the meantime followed the bear 
 away down the river but lost the trail and dejectedly 
 returned, adding his opinion to that of the berry-bush 
 man : " The idea of a fellow trying to shoot a bear 
 from the top of a snow-shed and across a whole 
 county ! " 
 
 And now we reached Lake Okanagan, where we re- 
 solved to try our guns on the wild geese and ducks. 
 
 By the way, like the immortal Mrs. O'Brien, who, 
 when she had acquired wealth and position in society, 
 insisted upon calling herself Mrs. O'Brion, with the 
 accent on the last syllable, Lake Okanagan is not
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 263 
 
 Okanagan at all, but is pronounced Okanawgan, ac- 
 cent on the third syllable. It is named after a tribe 
 of Indians (a branch of the Chinook race). It is about 
 eighty miles long and from two to twelve miles in 
 breadth, and is well filled with silver trout, salmon 
 trout, chub and lake trout. The growing town of 
 Vernon, with a present population of about four hun- 
 dred, is five miles from it. The lake is bordered by a 
 remarkably fine piece of ranching and agricultural 
 country, and on account of the depth and coldness of 
 its waters, the beauty of the scenery, the wealth of 
 wild fowl and the wonderful climate, it is destined to 
 become a prominent summer resort for residents of 
 the Pacific coast near Vancouver and Victoria. 
 
 The lake and the town of Vernon are reached by a 
 branch of the Canadian Pacific Eailroad fifty-one 
 miles long. This branch, though in operation but a 
 comparatively short time, is already paying hand- 
 somely. Previous to the building of the C. P. R. R. 
 main line, all merchandise had to be transported on 
 packhorses a distance of two hundred and fifty miles 
 from Fort Hope, on the Frazer River. The item of 
 freight was then a very serious one, as it amounted to 
 eleven cents per pound on sugar, nails, hardware, 
 coffee and all heavy articles, and a proportionately 
 higher rate on more bulky merchandise. It must be 
 from this reason then, that, although the railroad has 
 not been opened long and the freight charges are very
 
 264 SPORT INDEED 
 
 moderate, the merchants have not got used to the 
 changed condition of affairs. 
 
 Everything is absurdly high. You are charged 
 twenty-five cents for a shave, fifty cents for a pint 
 bottle of apollinaris or Bass' ale, and corresponding 
 prices for everything else. But the livery stable men 
 are the real Shylocks of the town. A physician was 
 dilating upon the qualities of a very good young mare 
 he had just bought for ten dollars, and assured me he 
 could buy any number of them at that price. I thought, 
 as horse flesh was so cheap, I should be able to enjoy 
 many drives and see the country without injuring my 
 pocket. The thought was hardly a sound one. At 
 my first trial of it, the stable man charged me five 
 dollars for a very sorry looking horse and a dilapidated 
 buggy whose years might have equaled those of the 
 " Deacon's one horse shay." The charge for a pair of 
 similar looking animals and a similar looking wagon 
 I found to be ten dollars. Such modesty is rare. 
 
 We had been here a week, and, while there were 
 three livery stables, all doing a rushing trade, we had 
 never been able to see the proprietor of any of them 
 to know whether the charges exacted from us were 
 warranted or not. In fact each proprietor seemed to 
 be more interested in shooting or horse-racing than in 
 looking after his business. 
 
 This is truly a wonderful belt of country, and the 
 most fertile we have yet seen. The Presbyterian min-
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 265 
 
 ister here told us that the soil in places is fully fifteen 
 feet deep and of the richest black loam. The wheat 
 averages over thirty bushels to the acre and weighs 
 sixty-five to sixty-six pounds to the bushel. They 
 make no rotation in planting. It is wheat and wheat 
 year after year. We saw a field just harvested that 
 produced thirty-two bushels to the acre which had 
 been sown with wheat for twenty-three consecutive 
 years, and another field of forty acres that last year 
 had not been sown, but simply ploughed under, with 
 the previous year's stubble on it, that netted its owner 
 (a half-breed Indian) $700. Fruits, hops and vege- 
 tables are equally prolific. 
 
 The climate is dry, with hot days, cold nights and 
 few sudden changes. September days are as hot as 
 those of July and the nights cold enough for Novem- 
 ber. The only doctor in the neighborhood told me he 
 never saw nor did he ever read of such a healthy dis- 
 trict. Children don't get sick. People eat well, sleep 
 well and live long, and the only business on which a 
 doctor can earn his living comes from accidents or 
 from practice incidental to the natural increase in the 
 population. 
 
 One of England's Earls, at one time Governor-Gen- 
 eral of Canada, has a ranch four miles away, which 
 is managed by his brother-in-law, the Hon. Major 
 Majoribanks. He also has another ranch of several 
 thousand acres at Mission, a settlement at the other
 
 266 SPORT INDEED 
 
 end of Lake Okanagan. His lordship owns almost 
 countless herds of cattle and sheep and droves of 
 horses and pigs. We saw a couple of young sports- 
 men here who boasted of being relatives of the Duke 
 of Argyle ; so taking it altogether, the little town was 
 full of fuss and noble feathers. The Earl's lower 
 ranch, Mission, has been irrigated and rented out in 
 plots of twenty acres or more to fruit farmers, for 
 whose use it is peculiarly adapted. 
 
 Four of us had good sport during the week, shoot- 
 ing prairie-chickens, ruffed grouse and wild geese. A 
 little lake four miles away was almost covered during 
 daytime with the geese and ducks. The geese leave 
 the lake every morning and evening to feed on the 
 stubble left standing in the wheat-fields, and on their 
 passage to and fro comes the only chance to shoot 
 them. On arriving here we left our car, selected fa- 
 vorable locations for sinking pits to shoot from, and 
 then went to work with spades and a railroad crow- 
 bar. After the plowed surface was removed the earth 
 was found to be almost solid black loam, and as this 
 reached down as far as we went, nearly five feet, the 
 digging was hard enough to start the perspiration and 
 blister our hands. When the pits were dug a couple 
 of dozen sheet-iron, decoy geese were set out ; then 
 we covered the edges of the pits with wheat straw, 
 hiding every lump of fresh-turned earth, so that noth- 
 ing could be seen which would excite the suspicion of
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 267 
 
 the geese. We had scarcely finished our task when 
 we heard their first " honk ! honk ! " Down into the 
 pits we tumbled like gophers, and crouching together 
 with scarcely breathing room we saw flock after flock 
 sail over without giving much attention to our painted 
 sham-geese. Then another flock came which had more 
 curiosity. To and fro they sailed by us, circling 
 around to find out if things were " on the square," 
 each circle bringing them lower and lower until 
 we were satisfied they were within gunshot. Then 
 up we jumped and blazed away. And the geese 
 flew off apparently untouched, but only apparently ; 
 we saw one of them lag behind, then drop a little, 
 then rise to the flock, and in a second or two tumble 
 headlong a quarter of a mile away. Another faltered 
 and fell a half a mile away. We found the first with 
 the aid of a dog, hidden in a bunch of grass ; the 
 other, for which we searched in vain, was found by a 
 cowboy two days after. 
 
 Thus early in the morning and evening we were in 
 the pits enjoying this most exciting sport, and bagged 
 enough geese to supply us with all we could use, and 
 an occasional one to give away. At this season of the 
 year they are fat and delicious eating. 
 
 Six gentlemen of our party started on a " big game 
 hunt " into the district of the Gold rangre of moun- 
 
 o 
 
 tains which abounds in caribou, grizzly and black bear, 
 Rocky Mountain goats and mountain sheep. They
 
 268 SPORT INDEED 
 
 took with them three Indian guides, a white cook, and 
 a squaw to cook for the guides. As their camp outfit 
 had to be carried on pack horses sixty-five miles, when 
 they started off they made a very respectable caval- 
 cade. The roads, as well as the hunting ground, are 
 of the roughest description, and, moreover, as each 
 man was compelled to take out a $50 license to shoot 
 deer, he surely earned all the game he brought back. 
 As far as we can learn this license or tax is only levied 
 on Americans (Yankees we are called here) while Eng- 
 lishmen, Frenchmen or men of any other nationality 
 are never required to take out a license. If this is 
 really so, it is only another proof of Canada's vexa- 
 tious policy toward her big and wealthy neighbor. 
 It also proves how short-sighted they are, as such a 
 policy will never bring reciprocity, which all Cana- 
 dians sigh for, but retaliation, which they can ill 
 afford, and which is as unseemly among nations as it 
 is among men. 
 
 While in the ticket office at Vancouver, British 
 Columbia, we were much amused at a party of three 
 Englishmen belonging to the nobility of England, 
 who were trying to engage a compartment on one of 
 the C. P. R. R's first-class cars. They couldn't, "you 
 know," travel in a car with ordinary people ; but the 
 ticket man assured them there was nothing else for 
 them to do, as there were no compartments, and the 
 company could not arrange one before the train
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 269 
 
 started, no matter how important it might be to 
 them. 
 
 They agreed to pay an extra fare if the smoking 
 end of the car could be reserved for them, and they 
 authorized the conductor to tell the passengers that 
 they were cholera suspects or smallpox patients, or 
 anything he liked, in order to keep the " common peo- 
 ple " away from them. But all to no purpose. There 
 was but one alternative take their " medicine " or 
 stay behind. 
 
 It was somewhat amusing to hear their criticisms 
 on Uncle Sam's "frightfully vulga' country and 
 beastly traveling, don't you know." 
 
 The route from Vancouver, in British Columbia, to 
 Seattle, "Wash., lies through a rough, heavily timbered 
 district, where the trees measure anywhere from three 
 feet to six feet in diameter. These are of the red 
 cedar species and are being rapidly sawed down and 
 cut into lumber and shingles. 
 
 "Why it is I cannot tell, but it certainly is neverthe- 
 less I mean that the railway is literally lined with a 
 row of bursted boom-towns, each with a bladder-like 
 name, a big hotel, a public hall, maybe, and plenty of 
 saloons flaring suggestive signs, such as the " Blazing 
 Stump Saloon," "New Idea Saloon," "Three of a 
 Kind Saloon," " Let her go Gallagher Saloon," etc., 
 etc. 
 
 Evidence of " bustedness " looms up everywhere.
 
 270 SPORT INDEED 
 
 Streets deserted, dwellings vacated and closed, and no 
 sign of life, except it be the shingle mills and the 
 woodchoppers' shanties on the outskirts and away 
 from the " avenues " and " boulevards " that grace 
 these silent towns. 
 
 A real estate dealer in Seattle told me that the 
 growth of his town had been much retarded by in- 
 vestments in these mushroom spurts investments 
 which promised no more returns to the investor than 
 if he used his capital in buying up town lots on the 
 moon, or in leasing the rainbow for a paint-shop. 
 
 Seattle and Tacoma are less than forty miles apart, 
 and as both towns are ambitious and growing there is 
 great business rivalry, as well as bitter jealousy be- 
 tween them. Each claims the larger population, busi- 
 ness and wealth ; each declares it has the brighter 
 prospects for the future, and each delights in decrying 
 the boasted advantages of the other. Our candid and 
 unprejudiced opinion is that Seattle is, by all odds, the 
 more enterprising, and therefore the more promising 
 of the two. Certainly it has much more life than 
 Tacoma, and more public spirit. 
 
 Tacoma had been so nursed and coddled by the 
 Northern Pacific that, in a measure, she lost her inde- 
 pendence. On the other hand Seattle had to scratch 
 and fight for her railroad favors, and fought so well 
 that she compelled the Northern Pacific to come off 
 its Tacoma perch and hustle for its share of the trade.
 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 271 
 
 After the Great Northern Railway opened in Seattle, 
 the difference was still more marked. 
 
 During our trip we enjoyed the luxury of trolling 
 for salmon in Puget Sound, both at Seattle and Ta- 
 coma, and with fairly good success. Each of our 
 party, save one (and he was the professional "lone 
 fisherman " of the party) caught one or more salmon. 
 While the sport was very exciting, I confess I was 
 disappointed at the tame fight they make when 
 hooked. There is a good deal more fight and fun in 
 a four-pound bass than you can get out of a sixteen- 
 pound salmon. But they are beauties ; and when you 
 have one of them safely landed and lying in the 
 bottom of the boat, his lack of gameness is overlooked 
 in your admiration of his beauty. Our fifteen-year- 
 old sportsman was not to be outdone by the older 
 hands, for he not only hooked and landed his salmon, 
 but he also landed a trout with the trolling line and 
 spoon, a feat which none of us had ever before 
 heard of. 
 
 It is needless to say that the catching and canning 
 of the salmon is a very large and profitable industry. 
 The number of people dependent upon his iridescent 
 highness for a living, and the number too, in all 
 civilized portions of the globe, who find economical 
 and delicious nourishment in his red and juicy steaks, 
 would be beyond the ken of man to tell. Yet it is 
 safe to say that no one product of our Western
 
 272 SPORT INDEED 
 
 Hemisphere serves to advertise and popularize the 
 country more than the canned salmon. Millions of 
 tins are annually shipped east or exported to Europe 
 and sold at such prices that canned salmon is now 
 rightly considered the handiest, the cheapest, and the 
 most nutritious cooked-food of the century.
 
 North Dakota 
 
 A sportsman's paradise, in truth, is this 
 Where nothing mars or meddles with his bliss ; 
 Nimrod himself might envy such a spot, 
 Nor find his game unworthy of his shot. 
 
 WHITTON. 
 
 DOUBTLESS, North Dakota is the " paradise of the 
 sportsman," but I am not so sure it contains nothing 
 to "meddle with his bliss." Indeed I have strong 
 evidence to the contrary which I will spread before 
 the reader a little further on. 
 
 One of our trips found us in this paradise where we 
 wound up our bliss in a blaze of magnificent sport at 
 Dawson. The proximity of this place to enormous 
 wheat-fields and innumerable sloughs, ponds and 
 lakes, causes all kinds of aquatic game birds to con- 
 gregate here and in the greatest abundance. All the 
 duck tribe including the red head, the mallard, the 
 widgeon, teal, black and bald pate the Canadian 
 gray goose, the beautiful white goose, sandhill cranes, 
 the plump, solid-meated prairie-chicken and many 
 others of the feathered game-tribe are here awaiting 
 the pleasure of the sportsmen. The "sports" are 
 fully aware of the delights that await them and they 
 come from all parts of the country, but particularly 
 from St. Paul and Chicago, with their 10-bores and 
 
 273
 
 274 SPORT INDEED 
 
 12-bores, their retrieving spaniels and their Irish 
 setters. 
 
 The town hasn't over two hundred inhabitants, yet 
 it boasts of a large hotel, which, in the hunting sea- 
 son, reaps a bountiful harvest from the pockets of the 
 lots of men who know how to shoot as well as from 
 the pockets of lots of them that don't. 
 
 The migratory wild fowl make their way down 
 from the far north in countless multitudes, feeding 
 on the wheat-fields and ponds in the early morning 
 and late evening, and resting in the centre of some 
 lake large enough to keep them from out the reach of 
 the deadly breech-loader during the day. 
 
 The flights of geese are something wonderful, and 
 it is even more wonderful that so few of them are 
 shot. But there is no bird more wary or suspicious 
 than the Canada goose. They will settle nowhere 
 without first carefully looking the ground over. From 
 the height at which they fly, and in the rarified at- 
 mosphere of the prairies, they can see for miles, and 
 carefully avoid any moving object, especially if it be 
 that of the human form. 
 
 We had spent several days there before we were 
 able to discover the fields on which they were feeding. 
 When we did find the place it was literally covered 
 with their droppings and their breast feathers. We 
 selected a suitable spot, dug two luxurious pits, fixed 
 the edges up with wheat stubble as carefully as possi-
 
 NORTH DAKOTA 275 
 
 ble, set our decoys and jumped in to await the coming 
 of the "honkers." We had been waiting only a few 
 minutes when we saw, away off on the prairie, what 
 appeared to be a man with a dog. The man seemed 
 demented, jumping and running around and lying 
 down on his back, then jumping up again and repeat- 
 ing these operations in the most eccentric manner. 
 We held a whispered consultation from pit to pit as 
 to what was best to be done. It was folly to think 
 that the geese would come from the clouds for the 
 purpose of getting a closer view of his capers. Oh 
 no ; we knew they were not such geese as that ; so it 
 was decided that I should be the Ambassador Plenipo 
 with full power to coax, drive, persuade or kick the 
 funny intruder off the prairie. When I reached him I 
 found, not a man, but a stubby, barefooted German 
 boy, whose feet were sore from walking over the 
 sharp-pointed wheat stubble. Hence his tears, I 
 thought, for he was crying. But I was mistaken. 
 His grief was not of the sore-footed sort. He was 
 only a prairie specimen of " little Bo-Peep," who had 
 lost his sheep and didn't know where to find 'em. 
 
 With more ingenuity than veracity, and a very 
 ragged attempt to handle his mother-tongue, I told 
 him when and where I had seen them and then ad- 
 vised him to hurry away in the direction which I 
 pointed out and he would soon catch up with their 
 tails.
 
 276 SPORT INDEED 
 
 "Watching him until well out of sight and pluming 
 myself on my diplomacy I returned to the pit. I had 
 been there but a short time when the screaming and 
 honking of the first flight was heard. Then raising 
 up and peeping over the edges of the pit I saw a great 
 moving cloud coming straight toward us. But, hor- 
 rible to relate, there was something else coming, and 
 something that promised to " meddle with our bliss " 
 most effectually. An old, black horse with a girl on 
 his back wabbled toward us and when near enough 
 for us to hear her the girl stopped and yelled at the 
 top of her voice: "Where did ye see my she-e-e-p ? " 
 " Oh, for heaven's sake," I said, " get out of this ! 
 Move on ! Don't you see you're knocking our sport 
 into smithereens?" But she didn't or couldn't or 
 wouldn't see anything of the sort, until one of our 
 men threatened to put a charge of shot into the old 
 horse unless she hurried him out of the way. The 
 threat improved her ej^esight, for at once she com- 
 menced whipping up old "Rosinante" and in a little 
 while both had disappeared in the distance. 
 
 And so had the geese. The flock on seeing her had 
 swerved by us a quarter of a mile away, and nothing 
 no\v could be done but wait for the next flight, which 
 in fifteen minutes we heard coming toward us, fully 
 a couple of miles off. We had just time to ask our- 
 selves whether there was going to be any further 
 meddling with our bliss when a meddler showed up
 
 NORTH DAKOTA 277 
 
 to answer for itself. This time it was in the shape of 
 a woman, evidently Bo-peep's mother, accompanied 
 by the rider of the black horse. The girl had ridden 
 home, told her mother we had threatened to shoot 
 her, and now the old lady was here with the martial 
 fires of her fatherland burning fiercely within her and 
 sending her blood up to the boiling point. When she 
 got within shouting distance she opened her batteries. 
 She would listen to neither explanation nor defense 
 and actually charged us with having frightened her 
 sheep away by having a retriever with us ; and then 
 she vowed vengeance. We entreated, implored her to 
 leave us, to go away anywhere, so the geese wouldn't 
 see her ; that after they had passed she might come 
 back again and we would try to accommodate her with 
 all the vengeance she wanted. But no, there she 
 stood, working her jaws and hurling her brimstone at 
 us, and waving her arms that flew around her head 
 like the sails of a windmill. 
 
 The geese passed over and away out of range and 
 sight. Then her arms resumed their equilibrium, and 
 with a few more hot words and a farewell shake of 
 her fist she turned and slowly disappeared over a 
 knoll. And we ? Well, we got out of our pits and 
 with spade and shovel silently filled them up again ; 
 then, hardly daring to trust ourselves to speak, we got 
 into the wagon and drove to the train, for this was 
 our last hunt for the season.
 
 The Wrecker 
 
 A brave fellow ! He keeps his tides well. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Oisr a barren and desolate dune of four miles long and 
 a quarter of a mile broad laid down on the old charts 
 as "Malabar" Island, but now, for some reason, I 
 know not what, called Monomoy Island a number of 
 professional wreckers have pitched their lives to ply 
 their risky and speculative calling. 
 
 Wreckers and pirates were once linked together in 
 my mind, for I thought the terms synonymous. This, 
 however, as the reader may surmise, was in 
 
 "My salad days 
 When I was green in judgment." 
 
 I soon discovered a wide difference. The wrecker 
 is a man who will, and does, risk his very life to save 
 property, whether it be vessel or cargo, as well as to 
 rescue the lives of those in peril. In the pursuit of 
 his calling he shows heroic bravery, great nerve and 
 the most stubborn hardihood. Moreover he displays 
 a goodly share of wisdom and cunning in disposing of 
 his " flotsam and jetsam," and has other bits of mari- 
 time law-knowledge that have been rubbed into him 
 by his calling, and which crop out, when occasion de- 
 
 278
 
 THE WRECKER 279 
 
 raands, to sometimes outwit and confound the keenest 
 of the Cape Cod barristers. 
 
 For a week I had been with four of these rugged 
 sea dogs, all of them seasoned with more than half a 
 century (one of them seventy years of age), and yet 
 when the winds are fierce, the fogs dense, the snows 
 blinding, they are one and all on the qui mve for the 
 signals of distress from some unfortunate coaster, or 
 steamer, or full-rigged ship, as the case may be. One 
 day I walked for miles along the beach, threading my 
 way among a cargo of southern, hard-pine lumber of 
 over two hundred thousand feet, which was piled high 
 and dry on the sand from the wreck of the Altamaha, 
 a Scotch vessel built forty-five years ago. This 
 lumber has been sold since for $2.75 and $2.25 per 
 thousand feet, but the purchaser had his hands full in 
 getting it to the Boston market, and his brain puzzled 
 to solve the question, not how much profit he would 
 reap, but how much he would lose on the purchase. 
 
 Close by the island lay the wreck of Mr. Vander- 
 bilt's famous yacht, Alva, whose walnut fixtures and 
 trimmings were coming daily to shore. It took a con- 
 tractor some time to blow her to pieces and remove 
 the obstruction, the Government having awarded him 
 the contract for about $9,000, which was only half 
 the amount asked by the next lowest bidder. As a 
 working base for his operations the contractor brought 
 a little steamer down from Brooklyn. I saw the boat
 
 280 SPORT INDEED 
 
 under full steam, and she was so slow I mistook her 
 for a stationary light-ship. The contractor com- 
 menced his work, and when the tide was at its lowest 
 ebb he was able to get only about half an hour's work 
 on the wreck each day, as it then lay in fourteen feet 
 of water. It is not likely that he made a fortune out 
 of the job. 
 
 The steamer, Cottage City, came ashore here, the 
 vessel and cargo being valued at $130,000. The 
 owners of the steamer sent the captain of the life- 
 saving crew, who had given vital assistance in getting 
 her off the shoals, the munificent sum of five dollars 
 for each man of his crew. The captain promptly re- 
 turned the donation with the assertion that he himself 
 could easily afford to give his crew that much without 
 seriously hurting his bank account. The owners of a 
 small coaler that was helped off by the same crew 
 at once sent the men $25 each, which was a distinc- 
 tion with a difference. 
 
 I saw a vessel of 500 tons' burden that had gone to 
 the bad on the Handkerchief Shoals, which are a few 
 miles from the Island. She was laden with coal. A 
 fleet of small craft made daily visits to the wreck, 
 buying and laying in a generous supply of coal for the 
 winter's fires of the residents of Harwich, Dennis and 
 Chatham. The prices charged the boats varied from 
 one dollar per ton to a lump price for what the dory, 
 sloop, cat boat or yacht could hold.
 
 THE WRECKER 281 
 
 Some time since a vessel showed signals of distress 
 off the Island, and in a moderate storm. The daring 
 wreckers were soon aboard of her and found the cap- 
 tain, with his wife and children, anxious to be taken 
 off. The vessel had five and a half feet of water in 
 the hold. The captain was half owner, and as she was 
 well insured he did not care what became of her so 
 that she was beached, and the crew, with himself and 
 family, taken off in safety. The wreckers, together 
 with the life-saving service, manned the three pumps, 
 got her under way and into the calm waters of the 
 bay, where she was sold by the underwriters. The 
 wreckers' share of the treasure trove was about $40 
 per man. 
 
 Some years ago a vessel was abandoned here and 
 when the wreck was broken up two huge plugs were 
 found in her side below the water line. These 
 showed conclusively that the captain, in order to reap 
 the insurance, had deliberately filled her with water, 
 and then, finding she was sinking too fast, had driven 
 the plugs home so as to enable the crew to get ashore 
 without danger. 
 
 One of the narrators of these tales of shipwreck 
 waddles along with one leg bent out from him like a 
 drawn bow. He has had it broken three times, and 
 now, while it will bear his " heft," as he calls it, he can 
 carry but little addition to it without severe physical 
 distress. The first time it was broken he was aboard a
 
 282 SPORT INDEED 
 
 shipwrecked vessel that he had agreed to stay by all 
 alone while a tug towed her into a haven of rest. 
 The wind was blowing a gale. The hawser being 
 drawn so tight as to have little or no " bight," he was 
 fearful that the strain might cause it to fray by rub- 
 bing on the sides of the " eye " through which it 
 passed, and so part it. "While he was examining it 
 the iron plating of the eye snapped and crumbled like 
 an egg shell under the strain. One of the pieces 
 struck him on his leg below the knee, breaking it in 
 three places. A consultation between the injured 
 man and the captain resulted in the latter taking him 
 into Hyannis, Mass., where he was driven to the 
 station in time to take a train for New Bedford, the 
 nearest place, in those days, to obtain efficient surgical 
 aid. 
 
 The railroad service at that time was primitive, the 
 time slow, and the track as rough to the crippled 
 wrecker as a corduroy road. The journey to the cars 
 lasted just eight hours, and during the whole of the 
 time he was forced to hold his knee tightly with his 
 hands. The doctor who set it complimented him on 
 his wonderful pluck, kept him in bed eight weeks and 
 then sent him home with as he described it the 
 " best bad leg " he had ever seen. In these days of 
 anesthetics and improved railroad facilities such an 
 experience could hardly happen. 
 
 Among the Cape's quaint customs I find the old
 
 THE WRECKER 283 
 
 Scottish one known as " bundling.'' But this, like 
 other of her quaint customs, is slowly yielding to the 
 march of the newspaper, the telegraph, the telephone, 
 and the railroad ; I scarcely believed that the custom 
 still existed or, indeed, ever had a foothold on this 
 continent, but I soon found indubitable proof of it. 
 " Bundling," you must know, is a method of courtship 
 based on motives of economy, (the saving of light and 
 fire). It is still practiced in Scotland though grad- 
 ually dying out there, as increasing prosperity affords 
 broader scope for comfort and less necessity for 
 economy.
 
 Brant Shooting 
 
 This sport, well earned, shall be chronicled. 
 
 MIDSUMMEK NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 So let me chronicle a week's sport " well carried," 
 I think on Monomoy Island. A week of atmos- 
 pheric somersaults ; a week of rain, snow, hail, sleet, 
 thunder with vivid lightning, and extreme cold. 
 And yet in spite of the exposure twice a day wading 
 a thousand yards to our shooting boxes, guided by 
 stakes a hundred yards apart, while we couldn't see 
 from one to the other through the fog or sleeting 
 snow ; then sitting in the box, at times over our knees 
 in water, the waves dashing over us and slapping 
 down the back of our neck, and the thermometer 
 hugging the freezing point, I say, despite all this, it 
 was a week that is fondly fastened in my memory ; a 
 week full of adventure and novelty ; and a week dur- 
 ing which we breathed any quantity of ozone, and 
 had for our sustenance plenty of superbly prepared 
 sea-food together with a superbly prepared appetite 
 and digestion to handle it. It was also a week of 
 total blank so far as any news of the outside world 
 was concerned. No letters, no newspapers, no tele- 
 grams to side-track our attention or ruffle our tran- 
 quillity. For once business and the shop might go to 
 
 284
 
 BRANT SHOOTING 285 
 
 the well, "Hades." Song, story and jest held high 
 carnival. Dull care was banished and his woeful face 
 never permitted to enter the portals of the old club- 
 house so long as we held possession. For one week 
 at least he was a stranger, a melancholy tramp, job- 
 less and with no abiding-place on the sands of Mono- 
 moy Island or the waters thereof. 
 
 " Hello ! there's branters," said a native of Cape 
 Cod, as we left the little, mixed freight and passenger 
 train at Chatham, Mass., on an early April morning. 
 " There be nine on 'em," he said, counting our noses 
 by mental arithmetic ; and he was right. There were 
 nine of us, with guns, woolen clothes, rubber clothes, 
 canvas clothes, oil clothes, leather boots, rubber boots, 
 rubber hats, crates of onions, boxes of loaded shells, 
 cases of canned goods, together with mysterious look- 
 ing " stun jugs " and " sich." 
 
 Nine of us from Boston, Worcester, Quincy, Dor- 
 chester, Florida and Philadelphia all drawn together 
 by the Freemasonry of sport, and the shibboleth was 
 " Brant." The day before I left home I told a promi- 
 nent merchant that I was going shooting for a short 
 time. He asked what I expected to shoot at this time 
 o' year. " Brant," I replied. 
 
 " Well," he said, " when I was a boy I used to shoot 
 squirrels with a rifle, and became so expert that I 
 could shoot them back of the head every time." 
 
 How far back he didn't say.
 
 286 SPORT INDEED 
 
 "Well," I answered, "brant are much harder to 
 shoot than squirrels, for the} 7 run faster than rabbits 
 and are much bigger." " Well, I declare," he said, 
 and then relapsed into silence, perfectly satisfied that 
 he knew all about it. 
 
 For the information of this Philadelphia merchant 
 I will say that the brant is smaller than a goose, and 
 at this spring-time of year is on his way northward, 
 merrily helped along by hundreds of guns belching 
 forth No. 3 to No. 1 shot from all sorts of innocent 
 looking shooting boxes surrounded with decoys, both 
 artificial and natural. 
 
 It is a bird of beautiful plumage and graceful form ; 
 plump and fat, swift of wing and wary and suspicious 
 of anything and everything that bears the slightest 
 semblance of danger. There is also a mystery sur- 
 rounding it which has bothered the scientists for ages 
 and is still bothering them ; namely, the whereabouts 
 of its breeding habitat. The late Professor Spencer 
 Baird worried himself more, perhaps, than any other 
 savant over this undiscovered territory. No living 
 man, it is said, has ever seen the nest or egg of the 
 brant, and no matter how far explorers have forced 
 their way northward the brant has always been 
 seen winging on still further north. Therefore the 
 Monomoy guides some of whom have grown gray in 
 the pursuit of " brantin' " claim that there surely 
 must be an open Polar Sea where the weather is
 
 BRANT SHOOTING 287 
 
 warm enough to hatch out their eggs, and where food 
 is plenty and nutritious, for they come down in the 
 fall of the year fat and sleek as a pullet. The young 
 birds come south strong of wing and as cunning as 
 well, I might say of them what Buckingham said of 
 the little Duke of York : " So cunning and so young 
 is wonderful ! " 
 
 Monomoy Island lies off the mainland in the ocean 
 a few miles from Chatham, Mass. Between the island 
 and the mainland the succulent sea-grass (the favorite 
 food of the brant) waves gracefully to the gentle 
 swell of the tide or the fierce northeaster which, 
 by the way, has been blowing a gale since we arrived. 
 
 The stretch of sheltered water here is large enough 
 to leave the birds plenty of room to move around in 
 swinging columns without coming within range of the 
 sink boxes ; and it is only when the tides and winds 
 are favorable that the birds are brought within the 
 line of danger. The Monomoy Branting Club the 
 only club of the sort, I believe, on the continent has 
 a couple of comfortable houses built on a bluff or 
 dune. It also has artistically constructed sink boxes, 
 placed at the most favorable points, and a large stock 
 of wooden decoys. Live brant with clipped wings 
 help to lure their kindred into danger, and with as 
 much apparent satisfaction and enjoyment as the set- 
 ter dog takes in flushing grouse or quail. The club is 
 formed mostly of Eastern gentlemen and all of
 
 288 SPORT INDEED 
 
 course, are enthusiasts in sporting. Their number is 
 limited to twenty, each member being entitled to in- 
 vite one guest. Four members only are permitted to 
 be here at one time, and, as the shooting lasts five 
 weeks, each set with their guests have one week's fun. 
 At dinner in the little hotel at Chatham we met the 
 party, who had preceded us, returning to the " Hub " 
 with seventy-four brant, bronzed cheeks and ravenous 
 appetites. 
 
 Four guides are engaged by the club. They are 
 men who thoroughly know the habits of the birds, 
 understand the tides and currents and handling of 
 boats, and also know how to shoot. 
 
 One of them has been continuously at the business 
 of " guidin' " for thirty-one years. During all that 
 time he missed only two days one when he attended 
 a funeral and the other when he had to go to court. 
 The care of family, the tender offices of friends, the 
 seductions of courtship, the excitement of the play or 
 the circus none of these has any allurement for the 
 weather-beaten, blue-eyed and kindly men when once 
 the branting season opens. During the rest of the 
 year they earn a precarious living by fishing and 
 wrecking. They watch the shifting sands, the gloomy 
 fogs and the blinding snowstorms with earnest so- 
 licitude, for this is truly a dangerous place for 
 the unwary mariner. During a recent winter the 
 fine steamer Cottage City, running from Portland,
 
 BRANT SHOOTING 289 
 
 Me., to New York, struck in about fourteen feet of 
 water. She held fast until thousands of boxes of 
 merchandise were thrown overboard. Then with the 
 aid of a tug and a high tide she was gotten off, and 
 without rudder or stern-post was towed to New York. 
 
 Our friends, the guides, lamented the fact that most 
 of the jettisoned cargo floated out to sea ; but the re- 
 mainder, which was weighty enough to sink, they 
 grappled in fifteen feet of water, bringing their find 
 to the surface and shore. Of course, some " odd " lots 
 were brought up. Among them was a case of 2,500 
 little boxes of split, leaden bullets for fish-line sinkers 
 and several cases of white, flinty rock, consigned to a 
 Trenton pottery. The wreckers were much out of 
 heart about the latter because of their weight and 
 also because no one could tell them whether they were 
 worth the freight to Trenton or not. 
 
 These wreckers, branters and fishermen live a happy 
 life and are as full of content as an egg is of meat. 
 No fluctuations in stocks ; no frills of fashion ; in 
 fact nothing under the sun or over it can knock the 
 bottom out of a branter's content, give him but the 
 favoring tide and howling gust that bring the brant 
 in plenty, to his decoys. It is this hope that warms 
 his imagination and cheers his heart, for its realization 
 is apt to fill his pocket with a goodly share of the coin 
 of the realm.
 
 The Quaint Cape-Codders 
 
 Ah, what a life were this ! 
 
 HENRY VI. 
 
 ON my trip to Cape Cod, via the Old Colony Rail- 
 road, I saw, on every hand, signs of the stern difficul- 
 ties that beset the Cape-Codder and make his path 
 through life a rough, as well as an unprofitable one to 
 travel. His comforts are few and hard to get. He 
 has to be satisfied with rude shelter and ruder fare, 
 and to secure even these he is often compelled to wade 
 his " bog of Adversity." Yet he doesn't lose heart, but 
 shoulders his bundle of troubles philosophically and 
 plods along his miry way. Now, if Hamlet had but 
 owned a little of this Cape Cod philosophy he would 
 never have sprung his crazy question on the world 
 whether it is better " to be, or not to be." Nor would 
 the " arrows of outrageous fortune " have bothered him 
 gravely. He would have paid as little heed to their 
 whiz about his ears as a tough-skinned native pays to 
 the buzz of a Jersey mosquito. The " sea of troubles " 
 that swamped the Dane and upset the craft of his 
 annotators were trifles compared with those that buffet 
 the Cape-Codder in his struggle for existence on the 
 barren dunes and pine forests and cranberry bogs that 
 make up the topography of his habitat. We can read- 
 ily read in his face the story of poor soil and scanty 
 crops and battles with the winds and storms he can't 
 
 290
 
 THE QUAINT CAPE-CODDERS 291 
 
 escape in his chase after the finny tribe, or in his other 
 laborious pursuit of cranberry raising. 
 
 Old Colony Railroad stock is partly held by the na- 
 tives of Cape Cod who look upon it as the great rail- 
 road of the world. It once had a custom of giving to 
 its Cape stockholders a free ticket to Boston and re- 
 turn, on the occasion of the road's annual meeting in 
 that city. A man owning one share had the privilege 
 in common with his more wealthy neighbor; there- 
 fore, if a Cape-Codder had five shares he arranged to 
 have them entered singly for each member of his fam- 
 ily, so all of them might make the annual tour to the 
 " Hub." As time went on and the control of the road 
 changed, this free excursion was abolished, and many 
 and loud were the grumbles of discontent among the 
 people at its abolition. 
 
 I have more than hinted that the average Cape- 
 Codder is not in that comfortable condition which the 
 world calls " well-fixed." In fact, he is very much the 
 other way chronically hard-up. His church-mouse 
 poverty has been the theme of many a quip, and the 
 following one will prove that while the soil of Cape 
 Cod may be too poor to grow a mullein stalk, it is rich 
 enough to raise a poet : 
 
 " There was a young lady of Truro 
 Who sighed for a 'hogany bureau 
 But her pa said ' Great God ! 
 All the men in Cape Cod 
 Couldn't pay for a 'hogany bureau ! ' "
 
 292 SPORT INDEED 
 
 But " to return to my mutton," which is brant, not 
 mahogany bureaus, I will now describe a sight that 
 will linger in my recollection as an exhibition of the 
 wonderful instinct and weather-wisdom of migrating 
 sea-fowl. 
 
 For days strong nor'easters had blown fiercely, ac- 
 companied by snow, sleet, rain, thunder and lightning ; 
 and through these the brant could have made but lit- 
 tle headway had they tried to proceed on their jour- 
 ney northwards. But they didn't try. They knew 
 better than Old Probs what the weather was going to 
 be. There came a lull in the storm, a fog set in, and 
 the brant congregated in long columns, flapping their 
 wings and making the most deafening outcries. Our 
 guides said : " The birds are preparing to start. The 
 weather will settle by morning." But, after the fog, 
 came a furious gale with vivid flashes of lightning, 
 loud peals of thunder and a down-pouring of rain. 
 This condition of affairs lasted all night, and for once 
 our confidence in the brant's wisdom and judgment 
 was shaken. It need not have been. The next morn- 
 ing the sun arose bright and warm, with a southwest 
 wind, and away went the brant, flying northward. 
 First a series of swooping circles, rising higher and 
 higher in the air, a pause, and then off they go by the 
 thousands, in flocks of from three to five hundred, all 
 carefully marshalled and efficiently led by some old 
 gander who will allow his followers no rest for the
 
 THE QUAINT CAPE-CODDERS 293 
 
 soles of their feet until the Bay of Fundy or Prince 
 Edward's Island is reached. 
 
 Then we saw other flocks, equally large, come from 
 the south and stop to rest and feed before proceeding 
 on their journey to their mysterious and unknown 
 resting-place. 
 
 As the one aim, the one conversation of the whole 
 nine of us was the pursuit of brant, we became sat- 
 urated with the theme. We thought brant, dreamt 
 brant, mused brant, discussed brant, and, perhaps, if 
 we swore at all, would have sworn brant. I have 
 known a poker-player with three aces in his hand 
 and possibly another up his sleeve to suddenly throw 
 down his cards and exclaim : " I want to shoot a 
 brant ! " showing very plainly that poker was not the 
 kind of game he was after. I have watched this same 
 chap lying upon his bed and tossing wearily from side 
 to side, while between his snores would come the whis- 
 pered wish : " I want to shoot a brant ! " And he 
 would keep up these whispers until he was in the far- 
 off land of dreams and probably banging away at the 
 birds to his heart's content. 
 
 But what about our Cape Cod luck ? Did we bag 
 many of the brant ? Yes, we all got our share. Even 
 our poker-player bagged enough of them to fill the 
 measure of his dreams and satisfy the demands of his 
 heated imagination. 
 
 The cooking at the clubhouse on Monomoy Island
 
 294 SPORT INDEED 
 
 deserves a warm word of tribute. There are two chefs 
 who revel in producing dishes peculiar to the Cape 
 and Island dishes which are at once enticing, nour- 
 ishing and appetizing. Some of their productions 
 defy my power to describe; but I will long hold 
 recollections of their huge bowl of delicious, stewed 
 scallops, their quahog stews, quahog pies, quahog frit- 
 ters, clam chowders, steamed clams, boiled clams, 
 fresh boiled cod, fish balls with the accompaniment of 
 thin slices of raw Bermuda onions, fresh cucumbers, 
 the finest of butter, Java coffee, and water that would 
 make any city-bred man's heart thump with joy if he 
 ever got a taste of it. Did our gastronomic quarters 
 have any difficulty in accommodating such a crowd of 
 delicacies ? No, not a bit. Thanks to a ravenous ap- 
 petite and a good digestion to wait on it, we found a 
 stomach for them all. Nor did they stir up any mid- 
 night regrets. Think of that, " O ye of little faith " 
 in the virtue of outdoor sports. Think of it, nor won- 
 der that when we turned into our bunks sweet sleep 
 at once embraced us sleep without bromides or hop- 
 pillows or any other soporific spur sleep that bore us 
 through the roar of the surf and the rattle of Jove's 
 artillery, until Alonzo, the guide, awoke us with a 
 knock and his customary warning : " Gentlemen, gen- 
 tlemen, the tide's aflowin' in ! "
 
 A Wary Bird 
 
 We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings. 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 A MAN, to be successful in brant-shooting, must be a, 
 sportsman of the most enthusiastic type and a fair shot. 
 Moreover, he must possess a good constitution, plenty 
 of patience, and plenty of ability to defy cold, wet and 
 exposure. He must expect many disappointments and 
 a great deal of waiting, for the birds are so wary and 
 so seldom deceived it is rarely he will find them within 
 the range of his heaviest charges of powder and shot. 
 When the chance of a shot is obtained and he downs 
 his bird the excitement is over quick as a flash and he 
 wonders how it all happened. Let me describe how it 
 is done. 
 
 During the early spring the guides have sunk boxes 
 large enough to hold three men. The boxes are placed 
 sometimes out on the bay in shallow water, with hun- 
 dreds of wheelbarrowfuls of sand piled around them 
 at low tide, the sand being covered and neatly fas- 
 tened down with a sail cloth, so that the rushing tides 
 cannot carry it away. This is to represent a sand 
 bar. The other plan is to fix the boxes on some jut- 
 ting point of land in the bay, always using plenty of 
 sand, behind which the gunners are to sit with bowed 
 
 295
 
 296 SPORT INDEED 
 
 heads, but with watchful eyes and ears. Out in front 
 of these boxes wooden decoys are fixed on a frame- 
 work like the letter Y, five on each frame, all strung 
 together, so that they turn with the tide and wind 
 and look natural enough to deceive the oldest gander 
 in the flock. 
 
 Then two gunners with the guide wend their way 
 to the boxes when the tide is flowing in, the gunners 
 encased in hip rubber boots, two or three pairs of 
 stockings, a heavy suit (flannel shirts, sweaters, over- 
 coats), and lastly an oilskin suit, if the weather be 
 rough. The gunners get in the boxes, arrange their 
 pipes and shells and bail the water out, while the guide 
 takes from a basket a pair of clipped- wing brant which 
 he deftly harnesses together like a span of horses. 
 The yokes, made with leather thongs, are put on their 
 feet, not their necks. They are allowed to swim or 
 wade out quite a distance, being secured by a cord 
 which is kept on a reel in the sink box. 
 
 The particular part these birds are to perform 
 (when the brant are flying or swimming anywhere 
 near) is to flap their wings and " honk " their wild 
 relatives into danger among the decoys ; and it is 
 amazing how intelligently they do their work ; how 
 they get away out of range when the wild birds are 
 being covered by the deadly breech-loader, and how 
 they chatter to themselves with seeming satisfaction 
 when the battery has been unmasked and the fallen
 
 A WARY BIRD 297 
 
 birds retrieved. When all is ready the guide gets 
 into the box, and then the trials of endurance, patience 
 and expectancy begin. There is no lack of birds in 
 sight thousands of them and their cries at times 
 are deafening, but they keep provokingly far enough 
 off to make you feel as if your head must never again 
 be raised. You soon get cramped and numbed with 
 the cold wind ; and maybe have rain, or snow or sleet 
 blowing and pelting in your face. But you must not 
 get up. 
 
 Once I sat in a box for five hours, and during the 
 whole of that time the rain, snow and sleet were driv- 
 ing into my teeth, while to vary the monotony the 
 water from the high tide would now and then wash 
 over my back and down my neck. Yet I waited 
 paitently for my reward and got it. Up like a flash 
 and within range came five birds, flying down the 
 wind with the speed of a carrier pigeon. We got a 
 shot apiece ; three were left behind, while the other 
 two were soon miles away. Our long wait and ex- 
 posure were forgotten. We said : " How did those 
 two birds get away ? " " They must be crippled ! " 
 "Watch them!" "They're going down!" " No, 
 they're not ! " " Yes, they are ! " and so on, but the 
 birds were not ours, that was sure. 
 
 And thus you never know when out of the haze, or 
 the clear sky, like a meteor from behind } T OU, or 
 straight on, a bunch of birds may come that have
 
 298 SPORT INDEED 
 
 been deceived by your pair of live honkers and your 
 wooden shams. Or again, a flock may be feeding and 
 unconsciously drifting with the inflowing tide towards 
 your box, occasionally giving a quick, suspicious look, 
 swimming back a little, then onward again. But you, 
 too, must be wary. To raise the tip of your hat above 
 the brim of the sand-bank or to get up to stretch 
 yourself is tantamount to a speedy departure of the 
 " mysterious bird of the North." Therefore it is the 
 man who can stand this sort of work the best who is 
 likely to make the biggest bag. A great deal depends 
 upon the wind as well, for if the currents of air 
 should be blowing off shore there is not much chance 
 of successful shooting, as the wind constantly drifts 
 them away from the decoys, while they are feeding ; 
 and if any should be shot and drop down at long 
 range they are apt to get out of reach before they can 
 be retrieved. 
 
 We were seven days on Monomoy Island and had a 
 fierce nor'easter blowing nearly the whole time. 
 What success we were blessed with (thirty-six brant), 
 was due solely to lots of patience and perseverance 
 against hard conditions. 
 
 But the sport compels you to be out in the open air, 
 to inhale the ozone and the ocean breezes those twin 
 benefactors that bring to the hunter his proverbial 
 appetite. And, oh that appetite ! You have it and a 
 digestion to wait on it that might tackle a peck of
 
 A WARY BIRD 299 
 
 dried apples without getting out of order. There is 
 another thing you have which is not to be sneezed at 
 the gratification of knowing that with your trusty 
 gun, your hidden retreats, your enticing decoys and 
 your unwearied patience you are more than a match 
 for this the grandest and most wary of all game 
 birds. 
 
 " Nor on the surges of the boundless air, 
 Though borne triumphant, are they safe; the gun, 
 Glanc'd just, and sudden, from the gunner's eye, 
 O'ertakes their sounding pinions; and again, 
 Immediate brings them from the towering wing 
 Dead to the ground ; or drives them wide dispersed, 
 Wounded and wheeling various, down the wind." 
 
 This season the brant arrived in great numbers at 
 Monomoy as early as February, but finding their 
 natural food the eel grass sealed in ice, they were 
 forced to wing their way backward, after many at- 
 tempts to get at their feeding grounds ; the cold 
 weather thus compelled them to make trips of hun- 
 dreds of miles to the southward before they could 
 obtain their sustenance. But they are grand " flyers " 
 and a few hundred miles of flight is only a morning's 
 "constitutional" for them, and they don't seem to 
 worry the least bit about it. As soon as the ice 
 melted and their favorite eel grass was exposed to 
 view, then they arrived in countless numbers. Some 
 say that between the fifth and tenth of April more 
 birds were at the Island than ever were seen before
 
 300 SPORT INDEED 
 
 at one time. But the wrecks and wreckage there 
 drew all manner of sailboats to the scene to get coal 
 and lumber, and thus the birds were continually dis- 
 turbed in their feeding. They were occasionally fired 
 on at long range from these sailboats and this har- 
 assed and frightened them, keeping them for hours on 
 the move. This, together with unfavorable winds and 
 storms, reduced the total bag for the season to one 
 hundred and ninety-seven brant. Such was the result 
 of the work of seven weekly parties, aggregating 
 fifty-seven sportsmen, with an average of eight to 
 each party, and, as our party bagged thirty-six, we 
 had no reason to complain. Of the one hundred and 
 ninety-seven killed, one hundred and three were young 
 birds and ninety-four were old ones. This proportion 
 of young birds ought to have made the shooting 
 better, as the latter (in the language of the president 
 of the club), " are less wary, more social and more 
 easily decoyed, and will carry off less lead than the 
 tough, old birds ; and then it often happens that the 
 elders are led by unsuspicious youth into places of 
 danger where it would be impossible to coax them 
 when separated ; therefore the presence of so many 
 juvenile visitors is always a joy to the heart of the 
 sportsman."
 
 Quail Shooting in North Carolina 
 
 Otie that loves quails. 
 
 TROILUS AND CEESSIDA. 
 
 I 
 IN a lone car, hitched to the end of a freight train, 
 
 sat two individuals a fellow-sport and myself tak- 
 ing a trip through the " land of moonshine and fried 
 things," in search of quail. 
 
 The train halted at a small station, some twenty- 
 five miles from Greensboro, where a wagon should 
 have been in waiting to carry us on our way to a 
 tobacco plantation seven miles distant. 
 
 It was " the top o' the morning " when we stepped 
 out on the platform, and a very frosty " top " it was, 
 too. No vehicle was there to meet us, nor was there 
 any in sight, or out of it, that could be hired for love 
 or money. Our only resource, therefore, was to stand 
 and shiver and " wait for the wagon." An hour 
 passed and we began to think it had no intention of 
 coming; but just as our last drop of patience was 
 about oozing out, the wagon arrived drawn by a pair 
 of mules, and driven by an old man whom we soon 
 found to be a fellow of infinite gab, if not "of most 
 excellent fancy." He had two companions seated be- 
 hind him, one of them being his son an overgrown 
 hobbledehoy of fourteen whose name was Tom. 
 
 301
 
 302 SPORT INDEED 
 
 Now, there was something remarkable in the top 
 part of Tom's make-up. His face was spattered with 
 freckles of various sizes, and illuminated by a grin 
 that backed the corners of his mouth against his ears 
 and threatened to push them off their base. He had 
 a squint in one of his eyes, and both of them were 
 coated with a milky film, which gave his mug the ex- 
 pression of a boiled mackerel. Over all was a wiry 
 mop of red hair, tumbled and tangled together in a 
 manner that would trouble a comb to travel through. 
 
 His star feature, however, was his grin, and he never 
 allowed it to slack up. If it showed a tendency that 
 way, he would spur it on by poking fun at the " old 
 man," as he called him, pushing his hat over his eyes, 
 tickling his ears, and by divers other pranks of which 
 he seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. 
 
 The other lad was only an apprentice on the farm 
 and bound until he came of age. His clothes Avere 
 shabby and hung about him in a way that suggested 
 his inside to be as shabbily cared for as his outside. 
 
 Our journey of seven miles consumed two hours, 
 and during all that time the " old man's " jaw never 
 faltered. He gave us a complete history of his life, 
 domestic and otherwise. He boasted of being the fa- 
 ther of eight living children and one dead one ; while 
 his occupations were almost as numerous as his chil- 
 dren. He was a helper, a driver, a ploughman, a 
 tobacco curer, and the general factotum of the planta-
 
 QUAIL SHOOTING 303 
 
 tion, which consisted of six hundred acres of land. 
 For all this work he received the princely sum of one 
 hundred dollars per annum. Then he entertained us 
 with many tales of the moonshiners those defiant 
 breakers of the revenue law who ply their secret and 
 perilous calling in these regions. Two days before 
 our visit one of the best-known of the moonshine 
 fraternity had been shot in cold blood by a man who 
 had informed upon him and who alleged that in 
 consequence of his act his life was not safe, and there- 
 fore he killed him. The murderer was even then out 
 of jail on $500 bail, and our driver predicted that if 
 he lived to be tried he would surely get off ; but he 
 " allowed it war more likely he would be killed before 
 the trial was reached." 
 
 Then the old fellow told us the story of a fight that 
 had taken place the previous evening, and which 
 ended in the possible death of one of the participants. 
 " You see," said the old man, " one of the fighters is a 
 chap known around these yer diggings as ' Red 
 Angel.' He's a tough cuss to tackle, but when he 
 got through with that scrimmage, I tell you, stranger, 
 though there was plenty of red about him, he didn't 
 look much like an angel. Why, sir, he was so 
 battered, and hammered, and cut and slashed that his 
 best friends didn't know him. I never did think 
 much of that fellow, no how, and I'm darned glad 
 that for once he got a bellyful of his own med'cine."
 
 304 SPORT INDEED 
 
 On the way to the plantation Ave had our first 
 experience in plucking and eating some rich, ripe per- 
 simmons that hung upon their trees at the roadside. 
 A thoroughly ripe and frost-nipped persimmon is al- 
 ways pleasing to my palate, but these were par- 
 ticularly so and met with all the appreciation they 
 deserved. 
 
 The portion of the country through which we rode 
 is decidedly hilly, with deep ravines bordered with all 
 sorts and conditions of briars, blackberry bushes, 
 poison ivy and wild grape-vines. These afford rich 
 cover for rabbits, while the big fields of wheat stubble 
 and cow peas that clothe the tops and sides of the 
 hills are apt to lure the quail to roost and feed there. 
 And they do roost and feed there to some purpose, 
 for we found them as fat as butter, and so plentiful 
 that we were able to flush from twelve to fifteen 
 coveys a day. 
 
 We brought with us on our trip a supply of bread 
 sufficient to last a week ; also some of the best tea and 
 coffee. We did so as a matter of discretion, for our 
 ears had been filled with queer stories of the "fried 
 things " and the curious liquids masquerading as " tea 
 and coffee " that lie in wait in this region to astonish 
 and upset the nerves of a civilized stomach. 
 
 We reached our destination in the early afternoon 
 and were pleased to meet there a third member of our 
 party a young dentist. Men of his profession, I be-
 
 QUAIL SHOOTING 305 
 
 lieve, are reckoned among the world's necessary evils, 
 making their living out of the miseries of other peo- 
 ple by rasping their grinders, filling their mouths with 
 rubber dams and possibly damns of another sort 
 and boring into the bowels of their molars. How- 
 ever, my friend had deserted this occupation for 
 awhile to indulge in the more congenial one of quail 
 shooting, and when we arrived we found him and his 
 dogs awaiting us. 
 
 After taking a hasty dinner of boiled cabbage and 
 " fried things," we started for the fields ; and a little 
 later the battery of guns shook the air, while the whirr 
 of the swift-flying quail greeted our ears and started 
 our blood on a frisky gallop through its channels. 
 
 Though the birds were there in abundance they 
 were as wild as Bob White knows how to be when he 
 is pointed at and shouted at and shot at by every man 
 in the country who can get hold of a gun. Down in 
 this region the whole of Christmas week, as well as the 
 remainder of the year, is Christmas, and everybody, 
 whether he is anybody, or not, takes a grand holiday 
 and starts on a hunt for rabbits, squirrels, wild turkeys, 
 quail, and the fat opossum. Xever in all my " born 
 days " have I seen such an heterogeneous assortment of 
 guns. Guns tied with wire ; guns wrapped with leather 
 thongs and twine to keep them from falling apart ; 
 old muzzle-loaders whose rusty barrels were loaded 
 with peril for the man bold enough to fire them ;
 
 306 SPORT INDEED 
 
 single and double guns with balky hammers in fact 
 a collection of real curiosities that a dime museum 
 manager with any enterprize ought to snap at. And 
 then the dogs or " dawgs " as they call them in this 
 region their diversity is even greater than that of 
 the guns. Hounds of all kinds, some of which would 
 run rabbits and not bother with squirrels ; others that 
 would tree squirrels and not trouble their heads with 
 rabbits; opossum dogs, good, bad and indifferent; 
 pointers of the first-class and others of no class 
 at all. But all were in demand and none out of 
 use. 
 
 I saw one party of gunners consisting of seventeen 
 men and boys, colored and white. They had five 
 hounds with them and were in pursuit of a poor, lone 
 rabbit. There was a good deal of ammunition wasted, 
 but the numbers of the attacking force left a slim 
 chance for the rabbit, and it was killed. 
 
 I saw another party that had treed a gray squirrel 
 in an old poplar. The little fellow, in his endeavor to 
 get out of the way of danger, had climbed to the top 
 of the tree a very tall one and there he sat, with 
 his tail curved gracefully over his back, while he 
 looked down on the enemy who were banging away 
 at him as rapidly as they could fire and reload. Their 
 bangs, however, didn't upset either himself or his 
 equanimity. When I left they had fired twenty shots 
 at him ; still the little fellow sat there with his tail
 
 QUAIL SHOOTING 307 
 
 over his back, and, unless the enemy have been re- 
 inforced, he may be sitting there yet. 
 
 To return to the quail ; ' no wonder they were wild. 
 JS r o wonder that when they were flushed they flew 
 like bullets, and flew far. But we got a goodly bag, 
 and when it was too dark to shoot any more we 
 climbed the hills to the farmhouse, hung up our 
 birds, and, hungry as hunters ever were, sat down 
 again to boiled cabbage and "fried things." We 
 were early to bed. Eight of the clock found us sound 
 asleep, and at daylight we were again up and doing. 
 
 The plantation on which we were domiciled had 
 been tilled and planted with tobacco and other crops 
 for more than a hundred years, and the soil bids fair 
 to last for a hundred more, notwithstanding the bad 
 repute that tobacco has for its exhaustion. 
 
 It is a little strange that the moral and physical 
 ailments of the people hereabouts are so inconsider- 
 able. " Preachin' " is a physic they don't seem to 
 relish a dose of it once a month being all that they 
 think it necessary for them to swallow. Their bodily 
 ills they entrust to a pair of doctors whose shops are 
 far away one of them seven, and the other eleven 
 miles. These ^Esculapians have a sharp eye for 
 business and conduct it strictly on the " spot cash " 
 principle. One of them charges $2.00 and the other 
 2.50 for each visit, and they insist upon having their 
 fee in advance a rule probably based on their knowl-
 
 308 SPORT INDEED 
 
 edge that it is easier to get money out of a live man 
 than a dead one. 
 
 Perhaps the liveliest man in this moonshine district 
 is the moonshiner himself. And he has need to be, 
 for it requires an uncommon amount of liveliness to 
 carry on his business and keep out of jail at the same 
 time. The whiskey he makes is pure, without doubt, 
 and white as water. He sells it at a dollar per gallon, 
 but it isn't every one that can buy it ; not because the 
 price is out of his reach, but for the reason that it 
 isn't every one the daring distiller can trust. The 
 thirsty customer must be a man whom the moon- 
 shiner knows to be friendly, otherwise he will have to 
 "go dry," or get his corn juice from a legitimate 
 quarter. 
 
 "We had one week of hard work if hunting can be 
 called work and then, loaded down with quail, gray 
 squirrels, and a big box of persimmons, we bade fare- 
 well, but not without regret, to the realm of the 
 moonshiner. We envied the happiness of the quaint 
 people with whom we had dwelt during our trip, and 
 almost wished that Fate had shaped our own exist- 
 ence in the same mold. They are strangers to sorrow 
 and sadness, while cares of any sort they know noth- 
 ing about. They have no telegraph, nor telephone, 
 nor even a mail boy to ruffle the smooth current of 
 their lives. Their wants are few. Good-will, good- 
 fellowship, the open air of heaven, plenty of good
 
 QUAIL SHOOTING 309 
 
 water and an occasional sip of " moonshine " are all 
 they ask of this world ; and when the weight of years, 
 rather than disease, crowds them out of it, they leave 
 behind them an apt illustration of the old proverb : 
 " Contentment is better than riches."
 
 " Trout Tickling " and an Old-England Blizzard 
 
 Here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 UP in the extreme north of England there is a 
 great stretch of moorlands, with here and there a 
 plantation of fir trees. Weardale, in the county of 
 Durham, is situated in this region, and among its hills 
 the Kiver Wear has its rise, rushing swiftly down its 
 rocky course to where it enters the sea at the great 
 shipping port of Sunderland, and, on its way, passing 
 the historic city of Durham with its grand cathedral, 
 and the town of Stanhope where the learned bishop 
 of Durham, Joseph Butler, lived and wrote his " Anal- 
 ogy of Religion." 
 
 The Wear is a stream well-fitted to stir up a man's 
 love for romance if he has any and to feed his 
 fancy for the musty doings of Antiquity. The river 
 flows through a limestone region abounding with rich 
 veins of lead ore which have been worked with profit 
 from time immemorial. The region also has large 
 coal deposits, and these, too, have been worked since 
 the days of Julius Caesar and are still inexhausted. 
 
 All this is very true. But suppose " the man with 
 a love for romance " happens to be a " sport " ? 
 What cares he for the musty doings of Antiquity ? 
 
 310
 
 "TROUT TICKLING" 311 
 
 Or what is there about ancient mines of lead and coal 
 to interest him ? He takes as little stock in them 
 with all his fondness for Wall Street " flyers " as he 
 does in the moon's mines of green cheese. No ; the 
 River Wear must boast of something else if it would 
 rouse his love for romance and keep his interest 
 awake. Well, it does boast of something else, and 
 something that will surely do both it is a favorite 
 resort for the speckled trout and salmon. 
 
 In England these fish are protected by the rigorous 
 enforcement of the poaching laws, and woe betide the 
 man who dares to cast a line within the sacred waters. 
 Hence it is that the poacher trusts to his dexterity in 
 " tickling" the fish, rather than attempting to capture 
 them with rod and line, and run the risk of getting 
 the hook of the law in his own gills. And the poach- 
 er's dexterity is rather marvelous. I met one of these 
 old fellows their stories are pretty much alike who 
 assured me that never in his life had he caught a trout 
 or a salmon with rod and line ; but he had " tickled " 
 many a one into his pocket. 
 
 And this is how the " tickling " is done. The fish 
 are watched working their way up the shallows and 
 rapids. When they come to the shelter of a ledge or 
 a rock it is their nature to slide under it and rest. 
 The poacher sees the edge of a fin or the moving of a 
 tail, or maybe he sees neither ; instinct, however, tells 
 him a fish ought to be there, so he takes to the water
 
 312 SPORT INDEED 
 
 very softly and carefully and steals up near the spot. 
 Then he kneels on one knee and passes his hand, turned 
 \vith fingers up, deftly under the rock until it comes 
 in contact with the fish's tail. Then he begins the 
 tickling with his forefinger, gradually running his 
 hand along the fish's belly further and further towards 
 the head until it is under the gills. Then comes a 
 quick grasp, a struggle, and the prize is wrenched out of 
 his natural element, stunned with a blow on the head, 
 and landed in the pocket of the poacher. 
 
 I was born very near this classic stream not more 
 than a stone's throw from its banks and as two of my 
 male relatives were out-and-out sportsmen, many a 
 lesson I received from them in my early days. I rec- 
 ollect a great snowstorm which buried that section of 
 country in drifts that would make the much-vaunted 
 piles of our American blizzards seem puny and insig- 
 nificant. The distance from ocean to ocean at this 
 point is only sixty miles, and the fierce winds sweep 
 down the English Channel on the one side, or from 
 the German Ocean on the other, and drive the snow 
 before them with frightful velocity, burying land- 
 marks, houses, fences and even trees. It was a few 
 days before Christmas, in 1852, that a great storm 
 visited us. I was seven years of age, and therefore 
 the incidents attending it made a lasting impression. 
 We lived in a low, two-story house at a place called 
 Ling Riggs, directly on the moors. (Ling is another
 
 "TROUT TICKLING" 315 
 
 name for heather, and Riggs another name for rocks.) 
 Our house was so completely buried in the snow that 
 a tunnel had to be dug through the drift to the near- 
 by road. Through this road a channel had been dug 
 by the people to enable them to make connections 
 with the village of Ireshope-Burn, a mile or so below. 
 After the storm had ceased the temperature rose and 
 then fell again, thus solidifying the snow, so it would 
 almost, but not quite, bear a person's weight. 
 
 I had been pent up, a veritable prisoner, for some 
 days by this snow blockade, but on Christmas Day the 
 sun shone out bright and warm, and, with or without 
 parental consent, I forget which, I slipped out of the 
 house, through the tunnel to the road and over the 
 road to the moors beyond, rejoicing in the thought 
 that I couldn't get lost, because I could surely come 
 back on my own tracks. So I jumped and flounced 
 in the snow, that was deep enough to bury all the 
 stone walls and hedges, and the novelty of getting 
 over these without feeling or seeing them was rather 
 delightful to my young brain. 
 
 But look ! " What's that struggling in the snow 
 ahead of me ? As I live, a big hare, and almost ex- 
 hausted ! " The sight nearly robbed me of my breath. 
 I had a good deal of the sportsman's blood in my 
 veins, even at that early period, and it danced through 
 them in such a lively fashion I forgot all about the 
 poaching laws and went for "the timorous flving
 
 316 SPORT INDEED 
 
 hare." The chase was a lively, though a short one. 
 I soon caught her ladyship, and taking off my coat 
 wrapped it around her to quiet her struggles, and then 
 started home with my prize. My father was nearly 
 as much excited as myself, for meat of any kind being 
 scarce in those days, a big fat hare was a luxury 
 worthy of considerable glorification. While he was 
 holding it up and admiring it and smacking his lips at 
 the prospect of a coming feast, my grandfather came 
 in. He was a Methodist preacher and a very strict 
 one in his regard for all manner of laws. Without de- 
 lay or ceremony he began to lecture my father for 
 harboring the hare and encouraging "his lad" in 
 poaching. The lecture was a long one, and withal so 
 forcible, that, when it ended, my father opened the 
 cottage door and gave the hare her liberty. I noticed, 
 however, that he looked longingly in the direction of 
 his vanishing feast, and seemed so full of his disappoint- 
 ment that I came near forgetting my own. But I 
 didn't. My grandfather soon left for his home, fully 
 satisfied that he had done his duty in saving his son- 
 in-law and grandson from an infraction of the poach- 
 ing law. As I have said, my young blood had a good 
 deal of the " sport " in it, and I couldn't for the life of 
 me see what harm I had committed. In fact, I was so 
 convinced that I had done no harm, that I was willing 
 to do it again. So as soon as my grandfather was out 
 of sight I slipped out of the house and took up the
 
 "TROUT TICKLING'* 317 
 
 hare's trail. This time I had a hard run for it, but 
 my youthful legs were swifter than the hare's, handi- 
 capped as she was with snowdrifts. Catching her and 
 wrapping her once more in my jacket, I carried her 
 back to the house. There was no compunction or hesi- 
 tation on my father's part now. He promptly killed 
 the hare, and the quiet tip was given to a few of his 
 friends, and invitations to the feast were extended and 
 accepted with the greatest secrecy. I was the.hero of 
 the hour, and whether my grandfather ever knew how 
 or why I deserved my heroic honors I cannot say. It 
 matters little now, for he has lain in his grave for 
 more than two score years, but this I can say, that the 
 hare and the chase and the lecture and the game sup- 
 per and the big snowstorm all are locked in the coffer 
 of my memory and tight enough to stay there.
 
 A Dangerous Ride 
 
 Now, I spy a danger. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 ]STo man can reasonably hope to get through this 
 world without sometimes losing his way among its 
 thorns or bucking his head against its dangers. The 
 latter are plentiful enough to keep him on the dodge 
 from those he sees, while he holds a wary eye at the 
 peep-hole of discretion for those that may be lying in 
 ambush. It isn't strange that he follows the advice 
 of the " tricksy Ariel " : 
 
 " If of life you keep a care, 
 Shake off slumber and beware. " 
 
 Nor will it be strange if he continues to follow it, so 
 long as life is so sweet and death is so bitter. 
 
 Life is sweet ? Yes, and quite as sweet to the sport 
 as it is to other people. I have had cause to be con- 
 scious of its sweetness, and sometimes to be a little 
 anxious for its safety. At one of these times I 
 chanced to be traveling on a single-track-railway train 
 which was rushing toward another coming in an op- 
 posite direction. On a well-regulated road, guarded 
 by well-regulated telegraph operators, anxiety might 
 have been groundless ; but before I get through with 
 my story it will tell the reader that a telegraph oper- 
 
 318
 
 A DANGEROUS RIDE 319 
 
 ator, when he falls into the clutches of Cupid, is as un- 
 reliable as any other mortal in a like fix. His appetite 
 is so squandered on his " duck " he has none of it left 
 for orders, calls, messages, and instructions ; and, like 
 a watch without a balance wheel, all his regulations 
 are knocked into a cocked-hat. 
 
 Now for my story. 
 
 My son and myself were out in Northwestern Penn- 
 sylvania, rabbit and pheasant-hunting, taking with us 
 a couple of beagle hounds for running the rabbits. 
 We had reached a station where three railroads inter- 
 sect, and we soon discovered that no two of them 
 work together in harmony. If you arrive there at 
 any time of the day and expect to make train-connec- 
 tion with one of the other roads you will be disap- 
 pointed. Their managers, however, all harmonize on 
 one point " the way to run a railroad is to let one 
 man do the work of six." There is a frame station 
 with one ticket seller who acts as station agent, bag- 
 gage-master, telegraph operator, signal man, freight 
 agent, and, moreover, is expected to do anything else 
 that is waiting to be done. 
 
 There is another frame house a short distance away 
 in which a section boss lives with his wife and family. 
 The boss is a man of some enterprise and he confines 
 it chiefly to squeezing a livelihood out of the passen- 
 gers by feeding them on " a square meal for a quar- 
 ter." A big sign is posted in front of his establish-
 
 320 SPORT INDEED 
 
 ment informing the passenger of the gastronomic bar- 
 gain that awaits his hungry stomach. On a previous 
 visit to this station the boss's sign was the first thing 
 that struck our eye, and we ventured to " try on " one 
 of his " square meals." It was a misfit. Our inner- 
 man's grub department was seemingly too round to 
 accommodate his four-cornered meal, and it swore em- 
 phatically, that it would thenceforth stick to the round 
 meal, clean and understandable, and avoid a " square " 
 one made of dirt and mystery. 
 
 It was early in the afternoon when our train 
 reached this junction, and the train, with which we 
 were to connect in order to reach our destination, 
 would not be due at the station for some four hours. 
 In the meanwhile hunger, which waits for neither 
 time, tide, nor railroad trains, began to show its teeth 
 and gnaw at our inner walls. We let it gnaw awhile 
 rather than worry our stomach with any quadrangu- 
 lar experiments and then satisfied it with a meal of 
 apples and raw turnips. The dainty jaws of a city 
 chap may turn up their nose at a dinner of apples and 
 raw turnips, but they will turn it the other way should 
 they ever become the property of a hunter. The 
 " sport's " hunger is sometimes his only sauce ; but it 
 is a good one, and with its aid he might possibly make 
 a satisfactory meal of boiled cobbles and sole-leather. 
 
 The country about us looked a likely spot for rab- 
 bits ; and the beagles, too, appeared to think so, for
 
 A DANGEROUS RIDE 321 
 
 they were tugging at their chains in the baggage - 
 room. So we asked the youth in charge of the sta- 
 tion if he would look after our baggage while we gave 
 the dogs a run. He consented, and shouldering our 
 guns we started down the track with the dogs. 
 
 We had walked perhaps half a mile, when the 
 hounds struck a rabbit trail and were off in full cry. 
 Just then the youth, with whom we had left our lug- 
 gage, joined us, saying he " Couldn't resist the tempta- 
 tion to go along with us no how." He had locked up 
 the station and run down the track after us with such 
 speed that when he arrived he was entirely short of 
 breath. He sat down to rest, but in an instant was 
 on his feet again, and, with a " By thunder ! " ejacula- 
 tion, started to run back toward the station, jumping 
 the cross-ties, and altogether acting as if he were 
 troubled with " rats in his upper story." There was 
 something wrong, but as we couldn't guess what, we 
 gave up the problem and went on with the hunt. 
 
 The shades of night now began to fall and we re- 
 turned to the station. The youth was there, and as 
 he saw that we were shivering in the chilly air, he in- 
 vited us into his ticket office where it was warm and 
 where we might stay until our train arrived. 
 
 " Why did you leave us in such a hurry ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, you see, bein' Saturday night, a special train 
 for workmen from the West was due here at a certain 
 time, and I had orders to hold her until another train
 
 322 SPORT INDEED 
 
 passed from the East. I was so anxious to be along 
 with you that I forgot all about my orders until you 
 saw me jump up and hurry down the track. And, by 
 jingo ! had I been half a minute later, I should have 
 had the devil to settle with." 
 
 We sat for awhile listening to the incessant clicking 
 of the three telegraph instruments, and then our curi- 
 osity got the better of us. 
 
 " Tell us, my friend," I said, " what are all these in- 
 struments talking about ? " 
 
 His reply rather startled me. 
 
 " Well, I can't tell you exactly what they are say- 
 ing. This one is a working wire of the Railroad. 
 
 And this one is the working wire of the - - Railroad. 
 It's wet weather now, and I can't take the stuff as 
 well as when it's dry. Although, as I'm only a green- 
 horn, I can't take it very well at any time. I've only 
 been at the business about three months, and this is 
 the first time I've been left alone to run the office." 
 
 " How much do they pay you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't get no pay. The station master gets 
 all that." 
 
 " The station master ? Who is he ? " 
 
 " Sam Wright. He's the man that does all the tele- 
 graphing work when he's here." 
 
 " And why isn't he here now, instead of leaving a 
 greenhorn to attend to his business ? " 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you. You see, Sam is awfully stuck
 
 A DANGEROUS RIDE 323 
 
 on a girl down at Newcastle. So he says to me this 
 morning, ' Bill, I hain't seen her for a week, and I 
 can't stand it no longer. You take hold o' things and 
 I'll run right down and come back Monday morning.' 
 So he left me, and I tell you what, when I hear these 
 instruments pounding away so fast that I can't under- 
 stand half they are talking about, it shakes my nerves 
 up awful. "When I get a ' call ' it's just as likely as not 
 to come so fast I can't take a word of it." 
 
 There was quite enough in the greenhorn's informa- 
 tion to set us soliloquizing on what might happen dur- 
 ing Sam Wright's absence. Wouldn't it have been 
 more considerate to let his girl wait rather than run 
 the risk of launching a carload of people into Eter- 
 nity ? Of course it would ; but a man troubled with 
 " girl on the brain " has no spare room in that locality 
 for the consideration of unpleasant possibilities. 
 
 Our soliloquy was here interrupted by one of the 
 instruments clicking so vigorously that it drowned the 
 noise of the others. We were sure it was a call for 
 this station, because of the agonized expression that 
 crept over the greenhorn's face as he tried to make 
 out the fast coming message. While he could take 
 some of it, there was evidently more of it that he 
 couldn't take. So at last he was forced to ask the 
 sender to " slow up." As it was now near our train 
 time I asked him if the message he was taking had 
 any reference to our train.
 
 324 SPORT INDEED 
 
 " I'm not right sure, but I think it means that your 
 
 train will be held at M twelve miles from here, for 
 
 No. 4 to pass her. (The trains were to have passed 
 each other at our junction.) At any rate I am going 
 to risk it, and notify the conductor of your train to 
 wait there." 
 
 " But supposing," I said, " you are wrong about it, 
 what then ? " 
 
 " Oh, I guess it'll come out all right, because the 
 
 man at M I think will get orders to hold No. 4 
 
 there. At any rate, I'm doin' the best I can, and, if 
 anything happens, your blood will be on Sam Wright's 
 head, and not on mine." 
 
 This bit of information was not altogether pleasant. 
 Blood is a precious commodity, or, at least, is so rated 
 in the estimation of its owner. How much of it I 
 may own, I know not ; but whether it be enough to 
 float a ship, or not enough to make a supper for a flea, 
 I have no desire that it should make its abode on the 
 top of Sam "Wright's head, nor, for that matter, the 
 head of any other fellow. 
 
 Our talk was now cut short by the arrival of the 
 
 train that was to carry us on our way to M , or 
 
 possibly to some station in the other world. We 
 stowed our luggage and dogs in the baggage car; 
 then, discreetly picking out the two last seats in the 
 train, we raised a window on either side of the car, 
 and poked our heads out into the darkness. All the
 
 A DANGEROUS RIDE 325 
 
 greenhorn's telegraphic ignorance hovered over us 
 like a nightmare, whispering to our heated imagina- 
 tion that a locomotive headlight would swing around 
 the next curve, and " Number 4 " would commence at 
 once to scatter our blood on the top of Sam "Wright's 
 head. 
 
 I have traveled in my time many railway miles, 
 some of which were long enough to worry my pa- 
 tience ; but my recollection knows of none that can 
 compare in length and worriment with those twelve 
 miles to M . 
 
 They came to an end at last ; and when they did we 
 found Number 4 waiting for us on the siding. The 
 greenhorn had taken the message right ; our train was 
 safe ; and Sam Wright's head will have to wait awhile 
 longer for its sanguinary sprinkle.
 
 A Fight to the Death 
 
 Both sides fiercely fought. 
 
 HENRY VI. 
 
 IN the early summer of well, it matters not what 
 year, I was one of a few city men camped in the 
 wilds of Pike County, Pa. Each of us expected to 
 catch his complement of thirty-five lusty, speckled 
 trout, which are all that the rules of the Beaver Kun 
 Club, whose guests we were, will allow any member 
 to kill in any one season. Besides, every fish must be 
 over eight inches in length, or back he goes into the 
 stream. 
 
 Now, Japan is said to be the home of the rhododen- 
 dron, the whole island kingdom being one great bed 
 of those gorgeously dressed flowers. Pike County is 
 the home of the mountain laurel and it grows and 
 thrives there in the wildest luxuriance. It seems to 
 flourish equally well on the ridges, in the thick clus- 
 ters of the woods or by the edges of the trout ponds 
 or their emptying streams. 
 
 When the bushes are in the glory of their bloom, 
 swaying their mass of colors in the breeze when the 
 eye sees in the back and foreground the wealth of 
 wild roses, the acres upon acres of blackberry bushes 
 clothed in their snowy blossoms, the hazel and elder- 
 
 326
 
 A FIGHT TO THE DEATH 327 
 
 berry bushes and the hop vines weighted with rustic 
 loveliness, then is our sense rapt with the picture, and 
 Tom Moore's ecstatic outburst over the Vale of Cash- 
 mere comes to our recollection and leaps from our 
 tongue : 
 
 " What a wilderness of flowers ! " 
 
 The picture is full of Nature's dainty touches. She 
 is a rare painter, and the man whose sense of beauty 
 sleeps unroused by her miraculous coloring must be a 
 clod, and his life can hardly be worth the living. 
 
 However, if the beauty of the flowers and the 
 grasses and the lush meadows and the ripening fields 
 of rye, waving their golden billows in the sunlight 
 if all this pulchritude doesn't convince his eyes that 
 Nature is marvelously nice in making up a summer 
 toilet for Pike, perhaps her feathered warblers might 
 appeal to another of his senses. Her songsters are 
 here in wondrous variety and multiply amazingly 
 which, by the way, is also true of some of her goodly 
 game-birds, notably the quail, the ruffed grouse and 
 the woodcock. 
 
 When I arrived here it was night and my ears were 
 greeted only by the sad song of the whip-poor-will. 
 He seemed ubiquitous, for I heard him reciting " the 
 ballad of his grief " from every direction. Sunrise, 
 however, put an end to his melancholy ditty, and 
 then the bird concert began. To distinguish the
 
 328 SPORT INDEED 
 
 several songsters was difficult. They all sang to- 
 gether and so lustily and well it was indeed hard to 
 tell which was which. I listened, and by and by my 
 ear recognized the warble of the gay-dressed oriole ; 
 then the sweet, loving song of the linnet ; then the 
 robin, the flicker, the catbird, the blue-jay and the 
 song-sparrow, while from across a trout-pond the 
 familiar note of Bob White rang out clear and 
 sweet, piercing the morning air like the notes of a 
 piccolo. Then a "Wilson snipe started up and swept 
 away in the distance with its cry of " Scaip ! " 
 " scaip ! " while a pair of sand-snipe joined their piping 
 notes to the pleasing chorus. The red-winged black- 
 bird and the mottle-breasted thrush, both volunteered 
 their aid to the sunrise concert and were as blithe in 
 the execution of their arias as the rest of the feathered 
 tenors. But I mustn't forget to mention the leader of 
 the troupe, the bobolink. I heard him pouring out 
 his rollicking song, and he did it with such gusto I 
 thought the pipes of his little throat would surely 
 split. 
 
 Yes, the air was full of glee. But, while the birds 
 sang and the bees worked and the trout leaped for the 
 passing fly while roseate shadows flecked the blue 
 vault and kissed the brooks that babbled through the 
 daisies while joy and gladness reigned in Nature's 
 realm and the good dame seemed to be chuckling 
 over the cleverness of her own handiwork, Sorrow
 
 A FIGHT TO THE DEATH 329 
 
 lurked in the land of Pike. My friends and myself 
 were gathered around the grateful log-fire in the club- 
 room and our talk turned chiefly upon this sorrow, 
 coupled as it was with the tragic death of young 
 Walter Clark. Walter was the son of Squire Clark 
 a respected magistrate of the county and the cause 
 of the boy's death was a fight to the finish with a big 
 and vicious rattlesnake. The snake won and the boy 
 won, for each killed the other. " 'T\vas a fight to the 
 death," and the story of it had to be told by con- 
 jecture. It took place in the seclusion of the woods, 
 with no eye-witness, and one of the combatants was 
 dead and the other unconscious when found. Walter 
 Clark was a boy of eleven summers, sturdy and strong 
 for his age, but a fever had left him, as a proof of its 
 virulence, an impaired mind and imperfect speech. 
 He had one marked trait a strong antipathy to 
 snakes and hornets and he would gladly fight either 
 when opportunity offered. On the day of the fight 
 the father was working in the field and Walter was 
 helping him, barelegged, with but shirt and pants on. 
 The boy heard the ringing of a cow-bell, and said to 
 his father, " Cow ! cow ! " His father replied : " Yes, 
 I hear the bell," and went on with his work. The 
 boy started down the road in the direction whence 
 the sound came, and that was the last seen of him 
 until a search was made over three hours after. He 
 was found away from the road, swollen and uncon-
 
 330 SPORT INDEED 
 
 cious, his tongue out and swelled to such a size that 
 his mouth could not be shut. He was bitten on his 
 hands, his arms, his face and his legs, and some 
 twenty feet away from him lay a great rattlesnake 
 with its back broken in three places and its fangs in- 
 serted in its own body, forming a loop. 
 
 It is supposed that the boy, after breaking the 
 rattler's back, caught the reptile in his hands with the 
 intention of crushing out its life ; that it bit him over 
 and over again wherever it pleased, and finally 
 fastened its fangs in its own body. Then the sup- 
 position is that the boy grew weak from his wounds, 
 dropped his hold of the rattler and fell back in a 
 swoon. 
 
 A brother of Walter's, who was also a lad, found 
 him where he lay and carried him on his back for 
 over a mile and a quarter. Then the brother's 
 strength gave out and he fell by the wayside. The 
 father ran toward the two boys and at once com- 
 menced to doctor the wounded one. Repeated doses 
 of whiskey and milk revived the boy for a while, and 
 during the whole of his conciousness, and with fierce 
 look and gesture, he would shout, " Dam'd snake ! 
 dam'd snake ! " But convulsions soon set in and he 
 died. His body became spotted like the snake's, with 
 streaks on his chest and sides and spots upon his 
 cheeks and brow. 
 
 A wagon was sent post-haste to Stroudsburg for a
 
 A FIGHT TO THE DEATH 331 
 
 coffin, but as none could be had in that rustic town it 
 was necessary to send to Easton for one. And so the 
 plucky boy was laid beneath the sod, and the neigh- 
 bors and visitors to this wild region revel in stories of 
 snakes, of snake bites and snake fights, and the men 
 hereabouts look carefully where they tread, and jump 
 at the rustle of every chipmunk. And the women- 
 God bless 'em they hug the safety of the boarding- 
 house or hotel porch and will not wander afield for 
 love or money. And who can blame them? The 
 fields and the woods and the groves of Pike swarm 
 with the deadly rattlers and the women again I say 
 God bless 'em ! all know it. They take no stock in 
 snakes of any sort. They haven't forgotten how one 
 of these reptiles befooled the Mother of Mankind with 
 honey and soft-soap and piled upon the shoulders of 
 the world a pack of trouble under which it still stag- 
 gers. No ; since the time of Eve and her mischievous 
 apple all womankind have had a dread of snakes and 
 always will have till the world grows gray and Time 
 gives up the ghost.
 
 A Pilgrimage to the " White ' 
 
 I'll drop me now the current of my sport 
 To loll awhile in Fashion's giddy court. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 ALTHOUGH hunting occupies a big room in my 
 heart it isn't the only recreation tenant. There is 
 another one, and I now throw aside my rifle to speak 
 of it. For a long time past I have been in the habit 
 of making an annual pilgrimage to the White Sulphur 
 Springs " the Saratoga of the South." If the reader 
 has ever been there he will possibly think, with me, 
 that few portions of the globe can furnish more ma- 
 terial for the pencil of the artist and the pen of the 
 novelist. "Where else can the eye feast more sumptu- 
 ously than on the scenery of the White ? Where else 
 can be found more romantic beauty than lies cradled 
 in its valleys ? Behold them teeming with their fruit- 
 ful crops and draped in luxuriant foliage through 
 whose bosom peeps the humble cabin of some former 
 slave, while here and there a more pretentious home 
 lifts its trim roof above the green as if to greet the 
 sun and sniff the bracing air. All this, and in a 
 frame of rugged mountains enchanting in their wild- 
 ness, and the picture is complete. 
 
 Thus much for the artist. As for the novelist, he 
 
 339
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE "WHITE" 333 
 
 will find it a great gathering place for the wealth and 
 beauty of the South; a place bubbling over with 
 revelry, amusement, flirting, and love-making. He 
 may witness there the excitement and seduction of 
 the "green-baize table" and possibly find enough ma- 
 terial to furnish a tragic chapter for his fiction. If 
 he should need stories of the Civil War he can fill 
 his brain-pan with any quantity of incidents that 
 happened in and about the " White " during " our late 
 unpleasantness." 
 
 The hotel was used, at one time, as a hospital for 
 Northern troops ; at another, as a stable and resting- 
 place for the Confederates. Being only five miles 
 from the Virginia line this watering-place was looked 
 upon as neutral territory. Here, from the earliest 
 days of the nineteenth century, presidents have spent 
 their holidays and held court, and dispensed official 
 patronage under the old oaks that lift their stately 
 heads above the lawn. Here senators, representa- 
 tives, governors and bankers have met on the hotel 
 porches or under its cottage roofs and discussed their 
 pet measures of national, state and financial policy. 
 
 A southern colonel who had lost everything dur- 
 ing the war except his love for whiskey came to 
 sojourn at the "White." He was never known to 
 have any money, but was generally flitting around 
 the bar, waiting for the refrain "come and take 
 suthin', Colonel," which invitation he was never
 
 334 SPORT INDEED 
 
 known to refuse. In consequence of these eccentrici- 
 ties he was looked upon with suspicion by the man- 
 ager of the house, who promptly sent him his bill at 
 the end of the week, together with a request to pay 
 up. The colonel put the bill in his pocket and prom- 
 ised to attend to it. A couple of days passed and the 
 manager stirred him up again, this time sending the 
 message that he must either pay the bill or leave. 
 The Colonel glared at the messenger savagely and 
 then asked, " Did the manager send you to me with 
 such a message ? " The clerk timorously replied that 
 he did. " Well," said the Colonel, " tell the manager 
 that I'll leave at once, for that is only faar, and I be- 
 lieve in bein' faar." And he left the hotel. It need 
 hardly be added that he left the hotel bill, too; 
 
 As I have said, the novelist might find around the 
 " White " plenty of food for his fancy, full of richness 
 flavored with facts and seasoned with all the spice of 
 romance. The genial southern gentleman who is 
 superintendent of the hotel, and known far and wide 
 as " The Major," could, if he would, unwind many a 
 yarn on the late "unpleasantness." He might, for 
 instance, tell of the time when he, with a troop of 
 Confederate cavalry commanded the bridge over the 
 Greenbrier Kiver, six miles below here when he 
 saw from the opposite hills an immense force of the 
 " Boys in Blue " defiling down the long road when he 
 and his troop were discovered, and how the "Yanks"
 
 AN EXCITING CHASE
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE "WHITE" 337 
 
 put spurs to their horses and the " Johnnies " started 
 for safer quarters how they came flying past the 
 Grecian columns of the great hotel with the Yanks 
 close at their heels how they plunged through Dry 
 Creek, up hill and down dale, and over the Alleghany 
 Mountains to Old Sweet Springs, a ride of about 
 twenty miles, before the pursuit and flight were over. 
 And then the Major will probably wind up his yarn 
 with " My command was safe and not a man lost ! " 
 
 The Major's tales are always full of powder. 
 
 Eleven miles from the " White," is Lewisburg, 
 W. Va., the county town of Greenbrier County. To 
 reach it a high mountain has to be overcome, or over- 
 gone, on the higher points of which is a stretch of 
 utterly worthless land. The soil, what little there is, 
 is red, stony and incapable of producing anything 
 better than an occasional thistle or a stunted, sickly, 
 pine shrub. One hot day an old-time stage-coach was 
 toiling slowly up the long hill, with its load of pas- 
 sengers who were making merry over the " pore land." 
 One of them ventured the remark : " The man who 
 
 owns that land must be a d d fool." Thereupon 
 
 a long, lanky West Virginian rose up and confronting 
 the speaker in an angry and defiant manner said, " I 
 
 own that land, but I'm not such a d d fool as you 
 
 take me for I only own half on it." 
 
 Coming down from a horseback ride on Kate Moun- 
 tain, one of West Virginia's giant hills, my son said
 
 338 SPORT INDEED 
 
 to me, "Aren't these West Virginia mountaineers 
 quaint people ? " I readily answered that they were, 
 for I have never seen their quaintness and a few of 
 their other peculiarities equaled. Old-fashioned fel- 
 lows, homely, frugal, careless of dress and the pro- 
 prieties of life generally, eternal chewers of tobacco, 
 iron-clad swearers, and always hard up. The current 
 incidents of time have no claims on their attention, 
 unless such incidents relate to the triumph of De- 
 mocracy or the success of the season at the " White " ; 
 the latter more particularly, for on it is based their 
 sole hope of seeing some ready cash during the year. 
 This famous resort furnishes employment to about 
 five hundred " help " in the summer, and maybe fifty 
 or more the rest of the year ; and thus it becomes the 
 distributing source of a goodly number of thousands 
 of dollars annually. It would be hard to compute 
 the amount that liverymen, florists, photographers, 
 doctors, musicians and the seductive gentlemen who 
 preside over the fortunes of the " green table " rake in 
 from the army of guests who patronize the " Saratoga 
 of the South." Speaking of liverymen, one of them, 
 an abominable swearer, promised me he would 
 abandon the habit which I told him I abhorred. It 
 seems, however, he forgot his promise. Here is his 
 letter to me verbatim, which will tell how. 
 
 Pleas find enclosed fifteen dolers to pay youre bill, 
 the reason of delay was, hard times, bad weather, sick-
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE " WHITE" 339 
 
 ness and no money, d d if I believe there's $500 
 in circulation in the hole United States. 
 
 Yours Truly 
 
 I reproached him for having broken his solemn 
 word about swearing. "Well," he said, "I tried not 
 to, but I couldn't help it ; times were so awful pore. 
 "Why," said he, " I owed a man ten cents who lived 
 eighteen miles off, and he drove in one day and sat 
 around for over an hour when he said he wished I 
 would pay him that ten cents, as he had driven all 
 the way in after it, which would make the round trip 
 thirty-six miles for ten cents." He told this incident 
 to prove the scarcity of money in his locality. 
 
 Last year a lumberman who had drifted into finan- 
 cial difficulties allowed three notes which I held 
 against him to go to protest. I was advised to give 
 them to a firm of lawyers in a neighboring town to 
 collect. So I drove over and found that the firm con- 
 sisted of two brothers, one of whom was that very 
 day in the height of excitement, running as a candi- 
 date for a public office of a responsible and honorable 
 character. After a chase I finally captured the other 
 brother and gave him the notes for collection. He 
 said he guessed there wasn't much use, but he'd try 
 his best ; and putting the notes in his pocket drove 
 off. Last week I happened to meet the maker of the 
 notes, who was joyous over the fact that he would 
 soon be able to pay off his creditors and asked after
 
 340 SPORT INDEED 
 
 the three notes. I told him to whom I had given 
 them for collection, but he said he had never heard 
 from them. He advised me to ride to the town and 
 get them ; so next day I started over the mountains 
 to see the legal lights. On the road I met my friend 
 the lumberman coming back, and he reported that the 
 lawyers had no recollection of my claim whatever. 
 
 On my arrival I found the pundits in a little up- 
 stairs room and seated at a table covered with envel- 
 opes, opened letters, bills of sale, bonds, writs of 
 replevin, leases, promissory notes and various legal 
 documents probably loaded with trouble for some- 
 body. 
 
 The elder brother was a genial, kindly-looking man, 
 with an old straw hat, a shirt much the worse for 
 wear, and no coat, vest, collar or necktie. He assured 
 me, when I told him who I was, that he had promptly 
 presented my claim to the lumberman, but he found 
 that if he sued he hadn't any chance, and so had 
 waited. I asked for the return of the notes. Then a 
 hunt was started, and such a hunt as only the im- 
 mortal Dickens could, with justice, have described. 
 Brother number one looked through the letters, papers 
 and portfolios at his side of the table. Brother num- 
 ber two ditto at his side. The day was hot, muggy 
 and oppressive, and the note-hunters grew worried, 
 excited and nervous. Brother number two said he 
 guessed he'd go home and look through his clothes,
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE "WHITE" 341 
 
 which he did, brother number one in the meantime 
 going through his printed blanks in his search. 
 Brother number two finally returned without the 
 notes and gave it as his opinion that I had never 
 given him any notes. This was awkward on number 
 one, because he had related very minutely just how he 
 had presented them to the debtor. 
 
 So it was, as an Irishman said, " like bein' in the 
 cinther of a hobble," and with a look of despair they 
 gave up the hunt and acknowledged they would have 
 to give the debtor a bond to keep him harmless from 
 the notes if they ever turned up. Their only apology 
 for their carelessness was that " notes in "West Vir- 
 ginia ain't much account, no how, when they'd got to 
 be sued for," and so they didn't " set much store by 
 them." 
 
 At the lumbering town of Ronceverte, W. Ya., 
 eleven miles below on the Greenbrier River, a great 
 boom and a gigantic saw mill had for years impeded 
 the passage of black bass, trout and other fish up the 
 river which in olden times was always a noted stream 
 for the bass. The fish used to be of immense size, 
 and, of course, as gamey as black bass can be in cold, 
 mountain streams. Early one spring the ice and 
 winter floods caused a break in the big dam which 
 took considerable time in repairing, and behold, the 
 following summer found the river full of the fighting 
 beauties voraciously hungry to take fly, minnow, or
 
 342 SPORT INDEED 
 
 even bait. In season it affords fishing " as is fishing," 
 and the Izaak Waltons wend their way thither from 
 distant parts to pursue their fascinating sport. 
 Among these Waltons may be found all sorts and 
 conditions of men from the sole President of the 
 United States down to the multitudinous John Smith. 
 
 Verily, the old Anglo-Saxon love of sport must 
 have been born in us. It sways the lives of us all, 
 else why should the shibboleth of black bass be more 
 potent than the seductive charms of polite society, the 
 beneficial properties of the "White's waters, or even 
 the cuisine delicacies of its great hotel ? But so it is ; 
 and I, for one, should be sorry to have it otherwise. 
 
 Yet, stay a moment. I have been too hasty in con- 
 ceding so broad a sway to this Anglo-Saxon love of 
 sport. I should have excepted that anomalous tribe 
 of men for whose benefit this book is written and to 
 whom the writer will now preach a short, ding-dong 
 sermon. It is quite likely they will turn a deaf ear to 
 the ding-dong and pronounce the preacher a one- 
 stringed harper and a crank of a tautophone. Per- 
 haps he is ; yet if there be any American business 
 men whose eardrums are not split by the jingling of 
 dollars, they may now hear some wholesome strains 
 from his single string and ought to be delighted to 
 find so much benign melody in the crank of a tauto- 
 phone. Gentlemen-drudgers of humanity, your train 
 of thought, freighted with funny notions of felicity,
 
 A PILGRIMAGE OF THE "WHITE" 343 
 
 is on the wrong track. Switch off the quicker the 
 better and back out from the dangerous hallucination 
 that the piling of money is the top and bottom of 
 human bliss. Life is not made up of dollars and 
 cents, nor does its chief enjoyment lie in scraping 
 them together. As you surely know it can be lived 
 but once, shouldn't you like to hang on to your scarce 
 and slippery " once " as long as possible ? Of course 
 you should and therefore 'twould be wise to drop your 
 drudgery for a while and spend a little of your time 
 and more of your pile in the pursuit and capture of 
 Health. However, don't mistake my meaning. I am 
 quite aware that money cannot purchase Health, 
 though it may buy doctors by the gross and physic by 
 the cartload. But it may lure the hygienic dame in a 
 roundabout way. It can bribe her handmaid Recre- 
 ation, whose services will wriggle you into the good 
 graces of her mistress, and quicker than all the 
 world's doctors or the swallowing of their question- 
 able physic. Selah.
 
 The Last Shot 
 
 Have you with heed perused 
 What I have written to you ? 
 
 COBIOLANUS. 
 
 PLUTARCH says : " Recreation is the sweet sauce of 
 labor," a fact of which the American business man, 
 who usually swallows his labor with no sauce at all, 
 should make a note. 
 
 " What so strong 
 
 But wanting rest, will also want the might ? 
 The Sun that measures heaven all day long, 
 At night doth bait his steeds the ocean waves among." 
 
 The labors of old Sol, to be sure, are a little out of 
 the line of the business man, but not so much out of it 
 that he can afford to disregard the example or declare 
 that rest and recreation are but snares, 
 
 Delusions mere, inventions of the devil, 
 
 to bamboozle the thrifty and keep up the world's 
 stock of drones. If the devil did invent them I have 
 a much higher opinion of him than usually obtains, 
 and the proverb is right the old fellow is " not as 
 black as he's painted." 
 
 What I have recited in the foregoing pages com- 
 prises but a few of the many pleasant and exciting in- 
 
 344
 
 THE LAST SHOT 345 
 
 cidents and experiences enjoyed in my tussle with the 
 wilds of Nature. Though the time was comparatively 
 short the trips were not. By land and water, by rail, 
 steamboat, wagon, buck-board, yacht, row-boat and 
 birch-bark canoe, the miles covered were over ten 
 thousand. No trifling distance ; and yet through it 
 all I was never really ill but once, and the damage 
 done then was not serious enough to prevent my re- 
 turning home, 
 
 "Full of vigor, tough and glad, 
 Feeling like a wiry lad," 
 
 and with a capacity for work that was well worth its 
 cost of two months' time. 
 
 And now a parting word to you, you man of busi- 
 ness, chained like a felon in his cell, bereft of sunlight, 
 harassed with care, tiring your brain over the one 
 mighty problem of money-making or else some scheme 
 to stave off financial disaster 'twill pay you to pon- 
 der on my words and my experience and call a halt. 
 Make up your mind that money without health is a 
 greater calamity than health without money. Leave 
 your desk and turn your back on the steaming streets 
 of civilization and your thoughts where Nature tempts 
 with her trout streams, her mirrored lakes and her 
 game-abounding retreats ; to her forests, fragrant with 
 balsamic odors and watered with living streams made 
 wholesome with the leechings of the spruce, and pine,
 
 346 SPORT INDEED 
 
 and cedar Nature's own nectar ; a draught of it and 
 you'll need no other stimulant. Then when the day's 
 sport is over and the night comes, what a revelation is 
 in store for you ! Cuddled in your warm sleeping-bag, 
 with plenty of blankets, you " lay me down " on your 
 bed of spruce boughs, whose odors play thick about 
 you, filling the air and soothing you quickly into babe- 
 like slumber. In the morning, spryer than the sun, 
 you leave your bed before him, armed with a double- 
 edged appetite so keen and new you wonder where it 
 came from. Trust me for what I tell you, and my 
 words but faintly speak the novel joys which await, 
 you. Once more I say, forget " the shop " and all 
 which that implies, and with the Poet Howe you may 
 exclaim to some purpose : 
 
 " Begone my cares ! I give you to the winds. " 
 
 T. M. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY o^ CALIFORNIA 
 
 ANGfiLES
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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