224 WITH GUN AND GUIDE 



The winged insect pests were something terrible. 

 Never no, never had we been so persecuted by insects 

 as we were upon this night. We all had knowledge of 

 what the mosquito, the midget and the black fly can 

 do, when they are at their best; but W. E. Hughes 

 and the writer, here for the first time, met the " bull- 

 dog " fly of the northwest, and our word for it, he's 

 most rightly named. 



He makes no fuss, gives no warning like the 

 mosquito kindly gives you as she buzzes around you 

 in the quiet stillness of the night, nor does he come 

 with a rush like the bluebottle fly, which on this night 

 made a noise like a babel of voices ; but stealthily he 

 alights on the back of your neck, or the upper part of 

 your wrist, or in your beard, and you feel him not on 

 his landing. He waits quietly until he gets his famous 

 " underhold," and then then you feel him, and try 

 to " shoo " him away, but like his namesake of the dog 

 tribe, he won't be shooed. So you slap him or brush 

 him away, but he gives up his very life with his bite, 

 for he will not, and does not, let go until he's killed. 



He is something akin to the plant, which for the 

 first time we saw here, that goes by the charming 

 name of the " devil's club." It grows to the height of 

 a man's head, is rounded off like a palm leaf at the top, 

 sways to the passing wind, and loves the society of its 

 fellows, for there's always many of them growing 

 together. 



