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 



