Moose -Hunting. 1 65 



tous rascal with the long string of jaw-breaking names, Corvus Cana- 

 densis, Perisoreus Canadensis, Canada jay, timp-kanu-sis, whisky-jack, 

 or moose-bird, will perch on the toe of your boot, or some other point 

 of vantage, and dispute every mouthful with you ; while me-kok, the 

 little red squirrel, is sure to be on hand, chattering querulously for 

 his share of the crumbs. Presently, the tall ferns in front of you 

 wave slightly, and mat-a-guis, the hare, bounds off; and if you watch 

 quietly you will probably see quak-sis, the fox, follow quickly on his 

 trail, — and all this while you are eating your lunch. That over, you 

 start on the business of the day, fishing or shooting, and at almost 

 every step you are surrounded by the denizens of the forest. There is 

 that old hen-grouse again, with the broken wing, which is not broken 

 at all ; she is only fooling you while her brood of little chicks are 

 scampering off out of your way. That bunch of tumbled brakes, not 

 yet recovered from the pressure of some heavy body, tells you that 

 moo-in, the bear, has been roused from his mid-day nap, and is beating 

 a hasty retreat on your approach. A foot-print in the wet moss, not 

 unlike that of a large dog, hints to you that ma-al-sin, the wolf, is at 

 his old tricks again, chasing the deer. If you are bent on fishing, and 

 are careful as you approach the stream, you may detect that industri- 

 ous individual, qua-beet, the beaver, repairing a leak in his dam. And 

 in particular, rest assured, if you succeed in catching some trout, that 

 the daring thief, che-ok-kis, the mink, will be apt to steal them from 

 under your very nose ; and in the gloaming your ears will be charmed 

 by a chorus of many songsters, led by that melodious vocalist the 

 hermit thrush. And yet there are people who say there is no life 

 in an American forest ! 



In moose-hunting, the services of a trustworthy Indian guide are 

 indispensable, not only to insure success, but for the sake of comfort. 

 These Indians are masters of wood-craft, and can start a fire in the 

 heaviest rain or snow storm ; they are also expert ax- men, and fur- 

 nish an abundant supply of dry fire-wood, and keep up such a roar- 

 ing fire in front of the comfortable bark-covered camp, that the cold 

 is seldom felt, even when camping out in winter on the snow. The 

 writer has been fortunate in having had on his hunting expeditions 

 the services of Sebatis, a member of the tribe of Passamaquoddy 

 Indians, who, unlike their savage brethren of the plains, are a peace- 

 ful and interesting people, and live quietly on their reservations at 



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