



THE 
against the oncoming storm. After their 
light supper, as they sat in the shelter and 
watched the fire outside raging away 
in defiance of the wind and snow, the Indian 
began: 
“Dis is familiar place to Charley, he 
know dis place well.” 
“How is that?” inquired Martindale. 
“Well, sir, you see dat stream yonder, 
and you see dat bank we come up to-day, 
and you see dat spot off there, other side 
of fire? There I kill big moose two year 
ago when ice in river and snow ’on ground 
and nearly get kill mysel’. With my fren’ 
I land on this spot one evenin’ and while 
he go off to find good camp-groun’ I stay 
and call for moose. Big moose he soon 
come up yonder and I shoot and hit him 
bad. He come at me and strike me in leg, 
cut big gash above knee and then roll over 
dead. I near dead, too, when my fren’ 
come back, but he go and take fishing-rod 
and some meat for bait. He make big 
hole in ice and put down line and very soon 
he catch big ouananiche. He open up 
ouananiche and lay him flat over cut on 
leg and tie it up. Then he skin moose and 
wrap me up warm and take me back to the 
town. I get well in spring and now all 
right once more.” . 
Mr. Martindale tells me he found Charley 
always a lover of truth and believes the 
story as he told it. He himself saw the big 
GUIDES’ HIGH TIDE OF HAPPINESS 
Seraph Aiea 
: elt ape sq a 
Sy 7 
sk 
| : 
~ . , * 
43 2 BS 
, ee te ~de 
e* ye ae ee 
Pe P 
scar on his leg where the moose’s hoof had 
struck him. 
My old friend “Doc”? Moore has more ° 
friends among the guides in certain parts 
of Maine and Canada than any one I know 
and I shall use one of his stories to conclude 
this collection. In Newfoundland, a couple 
of years ago, the Doctor had a sportsman 
friend with him who had not _ had 
much experience with a gun. “ Nick” 
Neill was guide for the green hunter and 
one day when they were screened from 
view on the barrens a fine bull caribou 
passed some yards in front. 
The sportsman fired, but his bullet went 
high—anothershot and he tore away a front 
leg, a third shot and the caribou was minus 
a hind leg, and then Nick shouted: ‘Hit 
another leg, feller, and you’ve got him sure.” 
“Did you shoot?” inquired the sports- 
man, when at last the caribou was down. 
Witness now the easy magnanimity of this 
son of the bush, and above all his high- 
power imagination: 
‘“‘T saw you was shootin’ sort o’ fore an’ 
aft, so I just cross-fired you at the proper 
p’int so the two bullets come together 
gentle, an’ my old .45 caromed right into 
the corner pocket. I’m a perfeshional pool 
player durin’ closed season, 1 am. But it 
was your nickel-jacketed bullet done the 
business; for if it hadn’t been on time to 
the exact instant; my old lead slug would 
still be goin’!”’ 
