THe Broap BARREN. 69 

will take kindly to stewed venison. And there are friends 
that remember us when ‘‘striking it lucky ;” they should 
be thought of in return. And there is the friendly Indian 
who makes the baskets and weaves our snow-shoes, having 
little time to hunt himself, though naturally a dear lover of 
wild meat, he can be made to show grateful smiles over his 
usually sober face, and his black eyes to twinkle at you kindly 
on being presented with a piece, for a smother, or a stew; 
and not a morsel wasted, we warrant. 
And not just a little bit will satisfy us fellows at the hunting 
lodge, when we have plenty for steaks, stews and smothers 
(and a rib roasted over the coals is not too bad, really) con- 
sidering our appetites, always the very best from tramping in 
the pure forest air. And then the best of all is to be able 
always to preserve it by shrinking and drying, with a little 
salt and smoke, and it will keep a long time (if you can keep 
it.) It is then a welcome treat for every one; particularly 
acceptable at tea time, shaved thin, and makes a very welcome 
addition to a hunter’s dinner at noontime, when he sits down 
beside the brook far back over the ridges to eat his luncheon, 
without having shot a grouse or caught a trout while on the 
tramp. Most sportsmen are very fond of dried venison, and 
really, if nicely prepared, it is excellent. We call to mind 
one who takes most kindly to this luxury and have seen him 
with a flake of his favorite relish in his hand, whittling thin 
shavings therefrom with his knife, and eating it with very 
evident satisfaction expressed in his countenance at the time, 
apparently oblivious to all else but its fine flavor, the tramp 
and hunt for it, the shot he gave it, and the very welcome 
sight of camp and supper on his return. 
