250 



RECREATION. 



long jaunt was some time in coming. 

 Occasional blowdowns varied the mo- 

 notony of our march and tried the 

 unused muscles in the upper half of 

 the leg. 



We had halted in a little clearing 

 for the readjustment of packs, when 

 Ned's warning gesture put us all on 

 the alert. The wind, which was our 

 chief enemy throughout the trip, had 

 betrayed our presence to the sensitive 

 nostrils of a cow and a bull moose, 

 which had been feeding to leeward of 

 the trail. In an instant they were 

 gone. We spent an hour or more in 

 trying to circle on the cunning ani- 

 mals, but it was of no use. 



Once more we resumed our onward 

 march, and mid-afternoon found us at 

 a leanto which Ned designated as our 

 stopping place for the night. It was 

 the primitive makeshift of the hunter, 

 a few poles leaning against a large 

 boulder, with a birch bark roof and 

 sides well laid on. Cosy and com- 

 fortable it looked to our appreciative 

 eyes ; and we made a good spruce bed 

 to lie on, all hands turning to, remov- 

 ing the sodden wreck cf a previous 

 year, and bringing fresh browse, aro- 

 matic and wholesome to the senses. 



The wind had died to almost noth- 

 ing at 4 o'clock, when Ned announced 

 that we "might as well give the thing 

 a try, anyway." When he picked up 

 the birch horn and began to give final 

 directions, it was difficult to observe 

 the slightest movement in the tree 

 tops. The forest was hushed in abso- 

 lute quiet. 



Nature is sublime in silence. Her 

 majesty is as impressive at such a 

 time as in the throes of a tempest. 

 Especially is this true in the wilder- 

 ness, where one is alone with the 

 might and grandeur of centuries. 

 Changes are everywhere, but changes 

 wrought in silence ; silence most elo- 

 quent, pregnant of the infinite mys- 

 tery of the woods ! 



Toad lake lay at the foot of the 

 slope on which our camp was pitched, 

 and some 400 yards beyond. It was 



but a drop between the hills, sur- 

 rounded on all sides by a strip of 

 open bog, several rods in width, to 

 where the forest closed in. A point 

 jutted out toward the center from the 

 Souther:: ihore and commanded eith- 

 er side. On this point L. and B. were 

 told to station themselves, while Ned 

 and I should conduct calling opera- 

 tions from a knoll above the camp. 



The day was showing the first faint 

 indications of its approaching end as 

 we went to our respective stations. 

 Ascending to the top of the ridge, 

 Ned mounted to the summit of a huge 

 boulder. I was content with a seat at 

 the foot of the throne. The air was 

 cool, the sky cloudless and a vivid 

 blue. A faint shimmering through 

 the trees beyond us marked the lake, 

 the scene of possible carnage. We 

 waited. 



Finally Ned rose and, after a pre- 

 liminary spit into the air, raised the 

 horn to his lips. A few introductory 

 grunts were followed by the 3 notes 

 of the cow's call, given in masterly 

 fashion. The horn was tilted sky- 

 ward, and as it was slowly oscillated 

 in a series of graceful curves, the 

 tremulous and vibrant tones must 

 have penetrated an immense distance 

 through the silent forest. I can not 

 do justice in any words at my com- 

 mand to the character of this per- 

 formance. At the hands of a master, 

 the impassioned sensuousness of this 

 appeal to the bull, its different modu- 

 lations, the circumstances under which 

 it is heard, unite to render it an ever 

 thrilling sound. Ned calls it the cow's 

 "blart." It is the incarnation of brute 

 passion. 



After an interval of perhaps 5 min- 

 utes, the call was repeated. No an- 

 swer. 



Another interminable period of si- 

 lence, followed by another effort from 

 the guide. Soon he turned quickly 

 toward me and whispered, 



"Did you hear it?" 



No ; too far off yet for city ears. 

 A moment later, however, it came to 



