THE WILD LIFE OF LAKE SUPERIOR 



137 



migrating south in bands, have learned; 

 through generations of experience in this 

 oldest of English colonies, that danger 

 always lies ahead ; for concealed along 

 the line of the trans-island railroad or in 

 the passageways between numerous lakes 

 are hundreds of hunters, mostly erstwhile 

 fishermen, out for their winter's meat, 

 with here and there an English or Amer- 

 ican sportsman in search of an antlered 

 trophy. Headed against the wind and in 

 a more or less open country, the telltale 

 scent gives warning a long distance in 

 advance. 



On the other hand, the white-tail deer, 

 traveling south alone or with the off- 

 spring of the year, moving steadily, but 

 cautiously through a wooded country, al- 

 ways depend upon the eye or ear for any 

 danger in front, and, coming down the 

 wind along nearly straight runways, are 

 able to scent any foe approaching from 

 the rear, be it man or wolf. 



DEER EASILY SHOT AT THE RAILROAD 

 CROSSING 



My first information concerning this 

 migration came shortly after reaching 

 Lake Superior. On several occasions one 

 of my hunting companions spoke of the 

 annual visits each fall of his father and 

 several friends to certain localities on the 

 Northwestern Railroad between Negau- 

 nee and Escanaba, some thirty miles 

 south of the town, where the deer crossed 

 the tracks in large numbers on the com- 

 ing of the first cold north winds. 



The members of this party were more 

 interested in fly fishing, but found it pos- 

 sible to shoot all the deer they wanted in 

 a few days each fall, since they presented 

 easy shots on crossing the track and could 

 be transported all the way back by rail. 



In 1874 I was asked to join this party, 

 leaving when the wind turned to the 

 north, about the middle of August, for in 

 those days the hunting season opened on 

 or before this date. 



The camp was located behind a sand- 

 dune at a station called Helena, where 

 there was nothing to dignify its name ex- 

 cept a switch and a section-house half a 

 mile farther east. At this point the rail- 

 road cut through a number of hardwood 

 ridges, with open and nearly dry swamps 

 between them. 



Some of the deer followed large run- 

 ways in the timber, crossing the track 

 where there were deep cuts, and others 

 came at a trot through the swamps, 

 where often they could be seen at a con- 

 siderable distance. The hunting was al- 

 most equally good for forty miles, most 

 of these deer passing between Little Lake 

 and Maple Ridge, coming from that por- 

 tion of Lake Superior between Marquette 

 and the Pictured Rocks, points indicated 

 on the map (page 114). A similar migra- 

 tion occurred west of Marquette and 

 throughout northern Wisconsin. 



SAVING A QUARRY FROM THE TRAIN 



On the first hunt I was placed on the 

 south side of the track at a deep cut, 

 where a deer had to come down one bank 

 and up the other ; so I was advised to 

 wait until it was crossing the track, when 

 I would have a better chance. 



I had been concealed in the little brush 

 blind about half an hour when, diago- 

 nally up the track, I saw a deer come out 

 of the forest and stand on a bank cleared 

 of brush. Remembering the instructions. 

 I waited with considerable anxiety for it 

 to advance. Just then could be heard the 

 rumble of an approaching train bound 

 west, with empty ore cars for the mines, 

 and the deer, too, noticing the sound, evi- 

 dently hesitated to advance. 



After a minute's delay it seemed cer- 

 tain the animal would turn back, for the 

 train was in sight, less than a quarter of 

 a mile away. So, taking careful aim, I 

 fired. The deer, giving a tremendous 

 jump, toppled over the bank, lying with 

 its head and shoulders across the track. 

 Seeing it would take quick action to reach 

 the animal before the train mutilated it, 

 I hurried, arriving none too soon, for the 

 heavy engine passed just as the deer was 

 pulled aside, the engineer excitedly wav- 

 ing his cap by way of congratulation. 



A SURPRISED HUNTER 



On one of the fall camps at Helena 

 the wind shifted to the south the after- 

 noon of the second day, and any likeli- 

 hood of deer crossing the track depended 

 upon the return of the colder winds. 



Toward evening we were visited by a 

 miner of Irish extraction, who carried an 

 ancient and rusty weapon of uncertain 



