220 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



It has been said of a man who is so unfortunate as to 

 have to carve at his own table: "If he takes the best cut 

 for himself he's a durned hog, and if he doesn't he's a 

 durned fool." Now, in making choice of loads as well 

 as in some other things I will bear witness that my red 

 friend was not a "durned fool." There was a sort of 

 straightforwardness among the Indians whom I met that 

 I've never been able to acquire. They knew what they 

 wanted, and they went for it without being hampered by 

 etiquette. If there was carving to be done they could 

 never be ranked with the d. f.'s, and when the choice of 

 loads was offered I got "the lion's share." With more 

 experience in the ways of "Mr. Lo," he would not have 

 been offered the choice of loads; at the the risk of being 

 thought a d. h. I would simply pick up the poles of the 

 lighter load, leave him to choose the other. 



It was quite a pull, and our freight had to be un- 

 loaded several times to get it around the bad places on an 

 Indian trail, for an old path ran along this stream which 

 somehow was indistinctly visible even in winter by 

 marks, such as fallen trees, which showed where they had 

 been worn by being stepped upon or by having lodge 

 poles dragged over them, clumps of bushes which had 

 been avoided, and the many things which an observing 

 eye notes. At times it required both of us to take hold 

 of one load, and lift or drag it over or around an obstruc- 

 tion, and then do the same with the other. I gave my 

 companion frequent opportunities to exchange, but he 

 didn't take them. I was too polite to pick up his poles, 

 but Antoine said afterward: "By gar! Wen you want 

 for change load, you mus' change. He t'ink you big 

 fool w'en he gotta da light one all a tarn. Nax tarn you 

 tak-a de small load. He lak-a de big one w'en dat's w'at 

 he got. He gotta lak heem." 



