A TALE OF THE WOODS. 
CHARLES T. MURRAY. 
This is the story of Francois, the guide. 
He told it one night when, after a day’s 
tramp, we had encamped on the shores of 
a lake, deep in the heart of the wilderness. 
The lake was dark and gloomy, surround- 
ed, save on the side where we had built 
our camp, by great forests of pine. As we 
lay back on our beds of hemlock, with 
pipes well alight and the gleam of the 
camp fire in our eyes, the cry of a loon, 
wild and quavering, came floating over the 
dark waters. Francois started so quickly 
that he spilled the lighted tobacco from his 
pipe, and I heard him whisper to Sam, the 
Indian, “I no lack dis place, me, she seem 
too mooch lak Devil lac.” 
“Tell us about Devil’s lake, Francois ;” 
I said, half dreamily; and he did, while 
Sam and I lay back and listened, soothed 
by the murmur of the wind in the trees 
and the lisp of the waves as they washed 
the pebbly beach. 
“T been there once, me,” began Francois, 
“but, Mon Dieu, no! I nevaire go thare 
gin; not if I been live so old as Messu 
Methusilum, not after all de moose or car- 
ibou or deer what live roun’ dat lac. 
She was good many year ago dat I come 
on dat place, but ever tam I hear loon 
holler lak she did jess now, I ’member 
dat tam lak she was yisteday. I was 
young mans, me, den, not ‘fraid notting 
*tall—jess leve fight mans or bear as not; 
but when you come see Ole Nick, heesself, 
den you know what scare is. I was been 
guide dat summer for Messu Georges, 
heem dat’s dead now. Hees die rat on 
shore dat lac; heart disease, de doctaire 
say, but, me, I know bettaire, I was been 
there maself an’ see.” 
Then I remembered having heard or 
read of the tragic death of Georges in the 
heart of the woods, and how his faithful 
guide had carried the body miles through 
an almost pathless wilderness, that it 
might have decent burial. 
“And you were with him, Francois, 
when he died?” I asked with some curios- 
ity, for I had heard great things of 
Georges’ guide. 
“No, no, Messu,” said Francois; “I not 
be right there, me, cause then I be daid 
too, but I hear and see, yes, I see plain- 
tee. Messu Georges an’ me have been 
hunt on de woods 2, 3 week dat tam. Had 
plaintee game an’ fish an’ have nace tam. 
One day we come cross beeg crick, ver’ 
black an’ cole and full of trout. 
“Not ver’ beeg trout but jess many. I 
doan lak look dat brook, but when Messu 
184 
Georges, he say we folla heem up, I muss 
go too. Dat crick she’s beeg almose lak 
de rivair, but Messu he tink it only leetle 
way to de start. So we hide our stuff on 
de bushes and teck de rifle an’ fresh pole 
an’ start. All dat day we tramp, tramp, 
an’ dat stream she’s get beeger an’ beeger 
an blacker. Den Messu he feel mooch en- 
courage an’ he say, ‘Only leetle furder 
now, so on we go an’ jess as de sun she’s 
goin’ down, we come on dat lac. Soon 
as I see dat black lac, I get scare, cause 
I know dat’s de place where de Devil, 
heemself live. ’*Twas beeg lac, mooch 
gin so beeg as dis one, but de rocks an’ 
de trees was black, also, same lak de wa- 
ter. On one side dat rivair we go up was 
sandy beach, ’bout so beeg as de canal; 
ever where else, great, beeg pine tree 
growed down on dat lac clear to de 
watair, an’ some growed rat in de watair, 
lack de tree grow on de mill pon’ some 
tam. Bymeby, when I teck look roun’ an’ 
see dese ting, I say to Messu Georges, ‘I 
no stay here, me, I go back.’ 
“*Non, non, mon ami,’ he say, ‘we camp 
here. Muss be mooch feesh on dat lac.’ 
So I have stay. 
“T cut down some brush for meck de 
house, an’ feex de bed, den Messu he git 
hungry an teck hees Il'ill pole an’ go down 
on dat lac an’ trow hees fly. By gar! 
dat fly no more tech dat watair dan 3, 4 
feesh jump for ’em. He ketch 2 at de 
firs’ cass. Not ver’ beeg fish, them. So 
Messu he go up de shore IJ’ill furder an’ 
trow way out whare beeg rock shes stick 
up lak de mushrat house. He trow 3, 4 
tam an’ when hees mose discourage, he git 
big raise. Way go de line, de reel she 
sing, an’ de feesh he jomp far out on de 
lac. But Messu got heem fass an’ by- 
meby reel heem in. I git hole on hees gill 
an’ den we have our suppaire. 
“After we been eat lot, we lay down an’ 
smoke on de pape. Ever’ting she’s ver’ 
still, only some tam we hear de loon yell 
lak she do to-night. De sun she’s gone 
down an’ dat lac she’s so black lak de 
tundir cloud. Messu he smoke, smoke on 
de pape, den he say, quick lak. ‘Fran- 
cois’; an’ you bet I jomp good. Messu, 
he laff, den he say: 
“What all foolishness *bout dis lac?’ 
“T tole him “bout Ole Joe, an’ how de 
Devil heemself come up outen de watair 
an’ got heem, an’ I say we better move 
our camp back on de woods. Messu he 
laff more an’ shack hees head. Den we set 
dare for long tam’. Messu he say notting 
