Jct.y 9, 1885.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



467 



able to accomplish, leaving me standing holding on to my 

 canoe package. He made a circle round on the prairie, and 

 then on to the home trail for Swift Current. T followed at 

 such pace as I could best manage to keep ihe animal in view, 

 not with any expectation of coming up with him. After he 

 had got two or three miles on his road home he came on a 

 party of teamsters encamped for their dinner; about twenty 

 of them spread themselves out on the prairie and tried to stop 

 him, but he dodged them all cleverly and on he went gaily. 

 "It's no use running, " said they when I came up with the 

 party, "take it quietly." So 1 did. Two miles further I 

 found another lot of teams, and here to my delight I saw 

 my pony with the buckboard intact tied to the wheel of a 

 wagon/ He looked as sleepy as ever, and immediately 

 Coughed as if to hint his chest was delicate. The teamsters 

 offered me dinner, of which I was glad enough, aud one of 

 them who had been a sailor discoursed of the sea, a pleasant 

 reminiscense in that desert land. This little escapade fortu- 

 nately ended without any damage, so I was soon on my way 

 again after gathering up my canoe and the dunnage that had 

 been spilt on the prairie. This time 1 took the precaution 

 to tie the animal to a telegraph pole. About 5 o'clock in 

 the evening T reached the liver, where I found a small en- 

 campment in charge of the supplies. Here T left the "rig" 

 with the officer to whom it belonged pro tern., and who sym- 

 pathized with me when I told him how my confidence in the 

 animal had been abused, as he had had the buckboard nearly 

 kicked to pieces without the least provocation when the 

 animal was going along at a quiet walk. 



He gave me a shake-down in his tent, and after supper I 

 went down to look at the river, a dull looking stream flowing 

 between sandbars in a bed much too large for it. I tried 

 my boat, which was a new one hitherto unused, and found 

 it answer my expectations, so I left it on a scow to be ready 

 for an early 'start, in the morning, and climbing up the steep 

 bank returned to the tent in the neighboring encampment. 

 Next morning shortly after daybreak I got my gear together, 

 stowed it in my little craft, and started on ray lonely paddle 

 of over 200 miles. The river was free from ice, but had not 

 been reinforced as yet by the melted snow from the Rocky 

 Mountains, so the water was low; the stream ran between 

 sandbanks at the rate of about two to three miles an hour (as 

 nearly as I could judge), and its depth was variable. High 

 clay banks on either side shut out all view of the surround- 

 ing country, not that there was anything to see when one 

 did surmount them. 



Helped by the current, I paddled on at the rate of about 

 five miles an hour. "The thief doth see in every bush an 

 officer, " so at first I thought of an Indian lurking behind 

 each thicket. After I had passed a good many without see- 

 ing any Indians I felt more at ease, and amused myself form- 

 ing imaginary pictures out of the irregular masses of clay 

 and sand past which I swept; pinnacles and round towers, 

 forts with moats, successively came into view. Desolation 

 is the chief impression I have carried away of the South 

 Saskatchewan. Except one slight "race" I met no rapids or 

 difficulties such as canoeists delight in surmounting; to find 

 the channel at times was the only difficulty. The river 

 wound among the "sandbanks in a way that w'as confusing, 

 and unless I watched carefully the set of the current I would 

 suddenly find myself with only about two inches of water 

 under my keel. "Occasionally I was tempted to make a short 

 cut, which was not a success, as 1 was soon reduced to 

 wading bare-legged through sand and water for about a 

 quaiter of a mile until 1 regained the main channel. 



At noon I stopped for dinner and a short rest, and then on 

 again, my course was east at first, then northeast, and by the 

 afternoon of the second day I had made by reckoning a point 

 near the Elbow. A head wind then got up, and as I found 

 I was not making much way against it, L camped for the 

 night. This process was simple. I usually selected a small 

 dry ravine, made a bed with my blankets and canoe bag and 

 over tliis I turned my canoe, bottom upward, resting on one 

 gunwale, then I spread a waterproof sheet over the canoe, 

 and after I had crept beneath it, turned it down over the 

 open side. In this way I managed to make a comfortable 

 bed and slept soundly in spite of the cold nights. It was the 

 end of April, and the nights in the Northwest are cold about 

 that time. On the morning of the third day, about seven 

 o'clock, I reached the Elbow, where the river changes its course 

 from N.E. to N., making a decided bend. Here I saw a 

 solitary hut, the only sign of habitation I had met since leav- 

 ing Swift Current station. It stood bare and lonely on the 

 hillside above the river, tenantless, without a sign of cultiva- 

 tion near it, and added to the desolateness of the scene. 

 After rounding the Elbow the navigation of the liver im- 

 proved and its course became more clearly marked, but as 

 soon as I had got well on my way northward, I met a stiff 

 breeze from the north, blowing right up the river, a regular 

 "nose ender." I hammered on against this for a short time, 

 but soon came to the conclusion that the game was not worth 

 the candle, aud accordingly made for the shore, landed and 

 built a small fire, at which I read and meditated and slept the 

 rest of the day and night. 



I was up betimes the following morning, for about 3 A. M. 

 the temperature of my lair under the canoe was not conduc- 

 ive to sleep. The wind had fallen during the night, and the 

 clear dawn gave promise of a fine day. Relighting my fire, 

 I soon made myself a cup of cocoa which, with "hard tack" 

 (sailor's biscuit) constituted my frugal breakfast, then I got 

 under way again just as dawn was breaking. The morning 

 was fine and calm, and helped by a strong current, I made 

 good way down stream. After paddling about twenty miles 

 I was somewhat startled by the unexpected boom of a steam 

 whistle lower down the river. Following its windings, I 

 soon came in sight of the smoke stacks of a steamer, without 

 doubt the Northcote. Was she on her return voyage, or was 

 she making her way down the river like myself? A few 

 more strokes of my paddle settled it. I saw the red-coated 

 line of militia soldiers, and rounding to under the lee of the 

 steamer (which was wedged on a sandbank), was greeted by 

 a cheer from them. I spent a few hours on board the 

 steamer, but soon tired of the monotony of seeing the ship, 

 heavily loaded, with two barges alongside, warped or lifted 

 off from one sandbank on to another. So after dinner I 

 launched my canoe again, and left the Northcote as I found 

 her, stuck on another sandbar. The afternoon was hot 

 enough, a contrast to the night. 



As I got near the Moose Woods, where the river widens 

 out to two or three miles, from one bank to another— the 

 current passing between mud banks and islands — wild geese 

 (Outarde, Canada wild swan) and ducks became more plenti- 

 ful; these were so tame, I came up within a few yards of 

 them; evidently canoes were a rarity on the river. I forebore 

 shooting at them with my revolver (the only weapon I had) 

 on account of the time which would be lost if I did happen 

 to hit a goose or duck, in getting it, plucking and cooking 



it, besides I. had no cartridges to spare. A herd of antelope 

 also came down to the river bank about a couple of hundred 

 yards from me, gazed for a moment, and then trotted off, 

 Beavers splashed into the water from the bank, put their 

 heads above to look around, and then treated me to a view 

 of their tail. About sunset I got to the expansion of the 

 river and paddled on, hoping to find a suitable camping 

 place, but they were rare in that locality. At last as (lie 

 evening darkened into night, I put to shore, climbed up a 

 low muddy bank and found a dry spot with brush, on which 

 to build my fire. Tired with my long day's work I slept 

 soundly, though it was so cold that the rubber sheet over me 

 was caked with ice when I woke up toward morning. 



Now I made my way between steep mud banks, following 

 the main stream "as well as I could. After about twenty 

 miles' paddling I got to where the river narrowed again, and 

 where an island split the current in two; the prettiest little 

 bit of river scenery I had met with. Below this 1 came on 

 an inhabited bouse on the bank, near which were two boys 

 watching me. From these I learned that I was close to the 

 colony of Saskatoon, a small settlement, on the river where 

 I was expected, as my departure had been wired from Swift 

 Current. Two or three miles lower down I came upon a 

 ferry, and landing here 1 carried my canoe and lading up to 

 the ferryman's house. The village was in a state of commo- 

 tion, a fight between the Canadian militia and half-breeds 

 and Indians had taken place a week before, about thirty 

 miles lower down on the river, and some thirty wounded 

 men were to be brought in in the afternoon, So I had other 

 work than canoe paddling to do, and my solitary paddle 

 cruise came to an end. C. M. Douglas. 



CAMPS AND CAMPING OUT. 



[From some addenda to "Nessmuk's" -'Woodcraft," printed here 

 for the benefit of those who have the volume— as well as of those who 

 ought to have it.— Ed.] 



t S the methods of camping out, cooking, etc., reconv 

 J\- mended in this little volume have been pretty widely 

 read and commented on, perhaps a few words of explanation 

 may not be out of place. 



One very pleasant writer in Forest and Stream gives his 

 mode of making a four-post bedstead for camp, and adds: 

 "Had 'Nessmuk' built his bunk with four bedposts driven in 

 the ground that night on the Tiadagbton he would not have 

 lain a prisoner with guard-mounting performed over him by 

 a rattler." True, dear "Wawayanda." But it required less 

 time and labor to out-stay the snake than to build the bed- 

 stead; and it was an incident not likely to happen again in a 

 lifetime, while the building of bedsteads would become a 

 constant quantity in camp life. 



Again "Wawayanda" says: "We will speak right here of 

 the superior advantages of what is called in 'Woodcraft' the 

 worst kind of a tent— the wall tent. For tramps through the 

 woods and over carries, stopping where night overtakes one, 

 the less there is to carry the better. The 'Indian camp,' the 

 'brush shanty,' or the 'shanty tent' is undoubtedly the best 

 for that sort of business. But a majority of the grand army 

 of outers will be found in camps located for a stay of from 

 ten days to three weeks, where ample space and a homelike 

 air within are * * desirable. Besides, parties of four 

 and five are the rule, and often a wife among them. For 

 such the 'shanty tent,' pronounced the 'perfect camp' by 

 'Nessniuk,' will hardly answer. * * * One or two hardy 

 men may get along in it, though with discomfort, through a 

 four days' nor'easter. * * * Under such cu-cum stances 

 and a 'shanty tent,' were a woman added to the camp, we 

 opine that 'Nessmuk' would feel like shouldering his knap- 

 sack and striking out for the clearings." You are well right; 

 he would. Andprobably the woman would want to go home 

 by that time. 



In Forest and Stream, Jan. 8, 1885, "Wawayanda" al- 

 ludes to "Woodcraft" again as follows: " 'Woodcraft' is itself 

 the gospel of relaxation, the apostle of a new life; but it is 

 the voice of one crying in the wilderness, the enthusiasm of 

 the hermit and the song of the recluse. For a party em- 

 barked on an extended outing, its precepts are incomplete. 

 * * * The out-of-door methods are in every way worthy 

 of all acceptation for a fair-weather camp, but of the indoor 

 life of the camper through a week of storm * * * when 

 there is no place of comfort or enjoyment other than the 

 camp, of this part of the outer's experience we find noth- 

 ing in 'Woodcraft.' It is a phase of camp life which doubt- 

 less has often fallen to the lot of 'Nessmuk,' and it is a mat- 

 ter of no little curiosity to know just how he manages it 

 with his shanty tent." I will try to explain. 



It may safely be inferred that the man who has spent 

 thirty autumns in the wild highlands of northern Pennsyl- 

 vania and the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, has seen his 

 full share of long, tedious rainstorms. If I have mostly been 

 silent as to this particular phase of camp life, it is partly be- 

 cause it is so dull and monotonous, both in experience and 

 description, and partly because it is childish and unmanly to 

 put up winding, querulous complaints about the weather. 

 All the same, 1 have had my full share of "nor'easters." 

 Just how I managed or mismanaged them can better be 

 shown by "plain narration" of actual experience than by any 

 amount of theorizing. 



For instance: The autumn of '64 was exceptionally wet, 

 dull and cloudy. Commencing about the middle of Octo- 

 ber, there was a month when it rained every day, and there 

 were twenty-one consecutive days during which the sun 

 never showed his face for a single minute. It was not a 

 down-pour, but a steady, dull, incessant drizzle that had the 

 searching faculty of wetting everything in the woods, inside 

 and out. It happened just then that I went with a reliable 

 partner to a distant camp for a fall hunt. We had been 

 there the previous summer and partially organized a camp 

 by putting up a rough frame, cutting a lot of wood, and 

 peeling bark for a roof, the latter being laid on the ground 

 with heavy stones on it to keep it from "curling," 



It was late in the afternoon of a dark, rainy day, when, 

 after a man-killing tramp, we arrived at the camping 

 grounds, only to find that the ubiquitous swamp hoodlum 

 had preceded us, and had burned up all the wood, and a 

 part of our bark as well. It did look a little dreary. 



But it was no time for whining. We soon managed a 

 rousing fire, covered the frame with hemlock brush properly 

 laid, and placed what bark we had where it would do most 

 good. We worked hard with the axes as long as we could 

 see to chop, and by dint of roaring fires, with the rather 

 scant protection of the leaky roof, contrived to pull through 

 the night in tolerable comfort, though it was no picnic. The 

 next morning we were out before it was light enough to 

 shoot, and before the sun was an hour high a streak of "luck 

 came to us in the shape of a fat doe, which my partner shot 

 down on sight. A fat deer on the first day of the hunt was 

 beyond price. It meant not only a full supply of choice 



venison from the start, but the skin would help out materi- 

 ally as an addition to the roof. As it was raining steadily 

 we decided to pack the doe back to camp and put in the bal- 

 ance of the day making things comfortable for a protracted 

 hunt; for deer sign was abundant, we had the ground all to 

 ourselves, and were steadily resolved not to be beaten off by 

 rain. We stretched the doeskin on the roof, picked a full 

 supply of browse and piled it before a blazing fire to dry, 

 drove stakes at the sides of the shanty and wattled in hem- 

 lock brush for a wind-break and also to retain and reflect 

 the tire heat, cut a good supply of wood for the night, and 

 then went skirmishing up and down the narrow bottom for 

 an old log that would peel. We found an uprooted bass- 

 wood that was just the thiug, and spent a couple of hours 

 cutting rectangular strips of bark and toting them to camp. 

 We laid them on with care and found that our shelter was 

 rainproof. It was enough. Given a dry flooring, 8x9 

 feet, with a bright fire in front, and any two hunters who 

 cannot make the thing enjoyable in spite of rain had best 

 take to the clearings. 



We hunted from that camp all the week days(and some 

 others) of an entire month, never letting up for rain, and we 

 were wet every day and comfortably dried out every night. 

 It was the wettest hunt I ever was on, but I look back to it 

 as one of the pleasantest. The "perfect camp," the water- 

 proof "shanty tent," would have made the thing delightful 

 from the start, and saved hard work, wet and inconvenience 

 in the beginning. But the facts that two hunters made a 

 successful and most enjoyable deer hunt during an entire 

 month of rainy weather, that they remained healthy, hearty, 

 and enjoyed the soundest sleep every night, and with such 

 slender material for making a comfortable, dry camp, these 

 facts may be suggestive to those who wouder how an old 

 woodsman manages with only a shanty tent during a nor'- 

 easter. 



I m8y add that I do not need head room to walk about, 

 read and write, play cards, etc., inside the camp. I do my 

 walking in the errand old forest aisles, rain or shine, and as 

 for writing. I can do enough of that at home. Nor do I take 

 books into the woods. 



I carry a sufficient supply of Shakespeare, Pope, Byron 

 and Burns under the little gray hunting cap, which lean 

 draw on at need, and I would as soon start a mouth organ at 

 a first-class concert as draw a book or a euchre deck in the 

 presence of lakes, forests and mountains. 



I have read and heard much of the tedium pertaining to 

 protracted storms in camp ; of the weary days and the long, 

 dreary nights, when the world seems to be reduced to ten 

 feet square. I shall never understand it. I have certainly 

 spent much more than one hundred days in small, narrow 

 camps alone during the "dark days before Christmas," when 

 there was more than fifteen hours of darkness to be got over 

 each twenty-four hours; and the time never yet seemed long 

 nor hung heavily on my hands for a single hour. 



The half-hotel-half-picnic style of outing most in favor 

 with "Wawayanda" is no doubt a pleasant way of passing 

 a portion of the heated term. It is amiable in paterfamilias 

 to take his wife and little ones to a green, well-shaded island, 

 and give them the benefit of an out-o'-door life for a few 

 days or weeks. In which case a wall tent with flaps, and a 

 two-horse wagon load of duffle will be none to much. And 

 a little woodcraft may well be dove-taded in. The adoption 

 of the "out-door range," and the methods of plain cooking 

 described in "Woodcraft," will be found to work satisfac- 

 torily. As to cooking out of doors in the rain, simply drive 

 four crotches, lay two cross-poles thereon, then lay strips of 

 bark or slabs over the fire in such a way as to lead most of 

 the water back of the fire. In very bad weather I some- 

 times do that. The out-door range obviates any necessity 

 for sheet-iron contrivances and old stove tops, and is much 

 better. 



In conclusion, any style of outing that rests, recreates and 

 refreshes men, women and children, is to be commended and 

 encouraged. True, the cumbersome picnic style would.not 

 do for me; and my lone, light, hunter style of outing cuts 

 off all possibilities for women and children. 

 ''There is room for us all, 

 Room in the greenwood if uot in the hall." 



Nessmuk. 



turpi Wi$t° r U* 



Address all communications t» the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



HYBRID WOLVES. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Some ten years ago, I think in 1875, Mr. Henry Dowduey 

 was keeping hotel here, near the depot of the "New York, 

 Lake Erie & Western Railroad, when a show came along, 

 and among other curiosities collected to make up a small 

 museum was a large Canadian gray wolf, a female. The 

 party stopped at Dowdney's, and bad luck, bad weather, etc., 

 found them when raady to leave the town without means, 

 and the entire collection, the wolf included, was left as col- 

 lateral security for the hotel bill, and was never redeemed. 

 In due time the Avolf came in season, and was bred by Mr, 

 Dowdney who, by the way, is a great lover of bulldogs, to a 

 very T handsome white bulldog that he then owned. In due 

 time she gave birth to six very handsome puppies, all a 

 sort of yellow-white. Mr. Dowdney sold all of the pups but 

 one, and 1 often saw that after it was matured. He made a 

 dog of about 70 pounds weight and quite handsome, but 

 never showed the tenacious disposition of the bulldog, but 

 was of a very treacherous disposition, and would not stay 

 to be punished. Mr. Dowdney finally sold him, and he got 

 into the hands of a farmer, who became afraid of him and 

 killed him. The bitch went to Ohio, and a man there bred 

 another litter from her. 



Another case nearly the same came under my observation 

 when Hived in Hornellsville, N. Y. Mr. Owen Sarsfield, 

 who still lives there, kept a grocery and tap room. He was 

 quite a fancier, and among other pets he kept a tame fox 

 and a black and tan terrier, and I saw two litters of hybrid 

 foxes bred from the pair; but it seemed so natural for the 

 two breeds to produce young I thought it of too little im- 

 portance to notice before. Burr Hollis. 



Wellsville, N. Y., June 24, 1885. 



[The fact that the wolf and fox will freely cross with the 

 domestic dog has long been known, and still authentic ac- 

 counts of it are worthy of record. A case where a large 

 black smooth-haired dog kept at a ranch in Nebraska paired 

 with a wild gray wolf (ft oecidentaUs) once came under 



