660 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Deo. 28, 1895. 



Curly watched him closely and the young man thought 

 to slip away in the morning without his notice. When 

 morning came the dog was nowhere to be seen. The 

 young man on arriving at the train went in and took a 

 seat, looked around, and there stood Curly, wagging his 

 tail and seeming to say, "Well, here I am, you see I am 

 on time." 



The train was already moving when the conductor 

 came in. The young man asked him to stop the train 

 and put Curly off. He looked at him a minute and Curly 

 returned the look with such a self-satisfied and innocent 

 expression that the conductor said, "No, he has earned 

 his ride; let him go," and no nabob ever enjoyed a pasB 

 better than Curly. 



But our pet was growing old, which made us all regret 

 that dog life was limited to so short a span. His sight was 

 growing dim, his hearing dull. He always hated flies, 

 and when they lighted on him he would catch nearly 

 every one and eat them. After his sight began to fail we 

 concluded ehadows like spider-webs came before his eyes 

 in like manner as we had heard old people complain of, 

 for right in midwinter he would catch and appear to eat 

 imaginary flies. 



Curly was a great guard; he would never see a woman 

 go home alone. He went home with many a pretty girl, 

 and we often remarked that she might have been in far 

 worse company; and woe to any one who came meddling 

 in the night or who came in rags in the daytime. 



It seemed as though one of the family was pluming 

 their wings for flight, for the older he grew the more he 

 seemed to care for our society. I would talk to him and 

 sometimes quote a favorite poem to him, one written by 

 a friend. 



Weil do I remember the last time I saw old Curly. He 

 tried to come home with one of the girls, but his gouty 

 old feet gave out, and he sat down and. watched her until 

 she reached home, faithful to the last; then he turned 

 sadly around and with difficulty reached his home again. 

 He was shot the following day to end his misery. It sad- 

 dened all our hearts, for the twelve years he spent with 

 us were among the brightest of our lives. It made us sad 

 to reflect that all that was left of his beauty and hia love 

 were a sunken grave beneath a tree and the crumbling 

 earth above. Mrs. M. E. Warren. 



THE REALIZATION OF A DREAM. 



Ever since I began visiting the Triton Game and Fish 

 Club territory, comprising some 550 square miles of wil- 

 derness, 100 miles north of Quebec, I have been 

 told of tremendous brook trout which frequent its innu- 

 merable lakes and streams; but up to this fall I have never 

 assisted at the obsequies of any running over 3ilbs. in 

 weight. That this is large enough most fishermen will 

 agree, but the fabulous five and six pounders always 

 haunted their imagination. In many a dream have I seen 

 my fly taken by a monster with a back fin "like a ladies' 

 fan," only to find my trusty rod transformed intoapunky 

 cornstalk, my reel singularly like an ice cream freezer, or 

 to suddenly awake to the dull roar of a never sleeping 

 city. I had heard of a lake far away in the wilds which 

 was reported to be a paradise of game and fish, unknown, 

 except by one flying visit, to any except Indian hunters. 

 It was said fairly to boil with huge speckled beauties, 

 whil e the evasive moose was credited with relaxing his 

 habitual aloofness about its "savannes" secure in solitude. 



The fascination of exploring unknown regions also 

 added its weight to the arguments in favor of a departure 

 from usual lines, and so Lake Moise (pronounced Mceej) 

 was determined upon. The motto then became "Moise 

 or bust." Fortune favored me by providing an unexpected 

 companion in Mr. W. L. Pierce, of New York city, who 

 was lured by my tales of moose into joining forces. 



We reached Quebec Sept. 6, and noon next day found 

 us at Skroder's Mills, the temporary headquarters of the 

 club. By previous arrangement our guides had carried 

 in all provisions and camp plunder to Lac des Passes, 

 coming out to meet us with the canoes. This enabled us 

 to save a day and travel light. 



The next night, after we had unsuccessfully whipped 

 several streams and lakes en route, found us in a delight- 

 ful camp at the above lake. 



It had been a rather sad beginning. No fish where there 

 were plenty the previous year, and at Lac des Passes 

 eight new club members, forming with their sixteen 

 guides a regular encampment on my old point, while 

 canoes were visible in every direction. The lake fairly 

 bulged with them. In that camp were about twenty-five 

 2 to 41b. trout drying in the smoke, and we found upon 

 sampling that the 33 -year- old fly paint in general use was 

 entitled to warm commendation. These trout had all 

 been caught by trolling flies with a bit of bait attached 

 slowly about the bays. The prospect wasn't very gay. 

 After supper, at our own camp a mile below, we decided 

 to rest one day and then push on. 



We had no luck whatever the next day, try as we 

 would. Tuesday morning we broke camp early, and at 

 night we were at the head of navigation on the River 

 Moise, the last of our cleared carries. We had been 

 Essured that an old trail existed along the river, but that 

 there was much dead water in the stream, up which we 

 couli pole and save carrying. It was thought wise, how- 

 ever, to emulate the children of Israel under similar cir- 

 cumstances, so early next day two of our guides started 

 up stream with orders to get to the lake and come 

 back with a report. 



Pierce and I, with the other two, went down the river 

 to visit another old camp of mine on Lake Batiseau. 

 En route, and just as we had smashed our canoe in 

 a lively shute, necessitating debarkation for repairs, 

 we met two other members going out after a brief out- 

 ing. They had j ust seen two caribou cross the river below 

 out of shot. 



After the usual interchange of civilities and nerve food 

 they pushed on, while we made repairs in nine places. 

 While thus employed a cannonade above drew our atten- 

 tion. A large lady caribou was fairly sailing across in 

 shallow water, while the rifl s barked or cracked as blactc 

 or smokeless spoke. We saw no faltering, but perhaps we 

 were deceived by the sulphurous cloud which hung low 

 o?er the scene. Pierce suspected that this might have 

 been caused by the conversation, but I am inclined to be- 

 hove that at least one irild used black powder. 



We lunched at the old camp at the end of nine-mile 

 Lake Batiseau, returning up river in a driving rain. We 

 had caught as many small trout averaging about |lb. a9 

 we cared to take but none over l^lbs. 



It was good fun, and by no means effort wasted, as I 

 learned when calling for trout at breakfast next morn- 

 ing. The reply came, "No trout, Monsieur." We looked 

 blank, for we had brought in over seventy, of which we 

 had eaten perhaps six, but inquiry evolved the fact that 

 all the rest had been boiled and eaten at one afternoon 

 tea. It is impossible to waste fish in such society. 



But we digress. Our arrival at camp found the two 

 spies comfortably chatting by the fire. The report was 

 short and sweet—no deadwater, no trail, no lake, no pos- 

 sibility of advance ,in that direction. This was fairly 

 sickening. After all our planning and eager anticipation, 

 to be stopped at the very threshold was not to be thought 

 of. Again, a very shrewd suspicion existed of the gen- 



A PRETTY WOODS PICTURE. 



Photograph by H. N. Curtis. 



uinenesB of the difficulties. It was too complete a cata- 

 logue. It probably really meant a prospect of hard work 

 which was not favorably regarded. Therefore the head 

 guide was tersely and emphatically advised that we took 

 no stock in him or his story; that we had come from New 

 York to reach Lake Moise and proposed to do it; that he 

 was too old to go in the woods any more, but should sit 

 by a fire and smoke all day, etc. This last taunt acted as 

 was intended. 



"Sacr-e-e-e! I good man yet — I go where any — the 

 man lie who say trail there or can go up river — no can 

 go— all bad shutes and big rocks— take maybe seven day 

 to get through." 



"Stop there," I said. "To-morrow morning we shall 

 all begin to chop a trail, and we will see how far we can 

 go in one day, at all events." 



There was no reply possible, of course; but stubborn 

 looks and muttered comments prevailed about their fire, 

 while Pierce and I tried to cheer up and feel hopeful. 



Which end of the motto was to win was the problem. 



After breakfast we crossed the river with two guides, 

 who within ten minutes found the blazes of the old 

 trail. 



This was a good beginning, and all hands were soon 

 working away for dear life. At first it was fairly easy. 

 We only cut wide enough for a canoe, and left all logs 

 which we could straddle. 



The old blazes were only of use as indicating the 

 direction; but the trail most of the way was full of fallen 

 trees or young growth. The order of attack finally re- 

 solved itself into my going ahead with the least useful 

 guide to pick out the easiest route and blaze for the chop- 

 pers. Pierce acted as rear guard to drive them along. 



At noon we had made about a mile and were feeling 

 very well satisfied. After lunch I started on again, de- 

 termined to get as far as possible before turning back. It 

 was slow progress, sure enough. 



There was no soil whatever, but only stones and boul- 

 ders of every size, carpeted with deep green moss as full 

 of water as a soaked sponge. This effectually covered the 

 crevices and chasms, so that every few step3 the foot 

 would go down between rocks, barking the shin or ankle 

 or causing a heavy fall. Occasionally I would fall into a 

 cleft wide enough to take in my whole body and higher 

 than my head. Then the forest had its own seductions. 

 In all places it grew so thick as to necessitate chopping 

 for the width of a canoe, and near the river the alders 

 formed a perfect network; but not content with this, 

 fallen trees were every few feet, while in every direction 

 lay tangled windfalls acres in extent, in which the 

 spruces, balsam and birch were piled in inextricable con- 

 fusion. Usually the old blazes led cheerfully up to one 

 of these and disappeared in the shuffle. Then came the 

 fun of unraveling the skein. If it was not too large we 

 would circle in opposite ways, picking up the blaze as it 

 emerged generally at some wholly unexpected place; but 

 in most instances there was no alternative but to start in, 

 crawling, climbing, jumping, falling, and when we had 

 any breath to spare commenting earnestly on the sur- 

 roundings. After careful search perhaps a fallen tree 

 would be discovered bearing a blaza, then another a long 

 distance away and entirely out of line, but often we sim- 

 ply smashed along the most feasible route, trusting to 

 find the blaz9 somewhere ahead. As a matter of fact, 

 we found and lost it many times, but in general both trails 

 followed the river. 



To make it wholly and completely cheerful and satis- 

 factory it began hailing and raining at noon, so that in a 

 few moments each branch became an eager and diaboli- 

 cally intelligent shower bath loaded with ice water. It 

 would have been drier swimming the river. At about 4 

 o'clock I stood on a big rock at a bend in the river, with 

 only a rushing torrent in view above in which no canoe 

 could live. It was three long and hard hours to camp, 

 but the choppers had made good progress and hope still 

 sprang as eternal as mentioned by the poet. Moreover it 

 had become a matter of pride now. 



The next day was practically a repetition, except that 

 we carried our canoe and several light loads as far as we 

 had chopped the day before. 



As before I was ahead, and at about 2:30 came to a sure 

 enough deadwater with lilypads in it. This I took to be 

 an arm of the lake. No rapids were visible above, and an 

 attempt to go further through the forest led into an al- 

 most impassable deadfall of great extent. Moreover the 

 old blaze, again recovered and followed for the last half 

 mile, ended here at a big flat rock. 



This then must be the gateway to Mecca. We started 

 back full of satisfaction and hope, but reasonably hollow 

 in other respects. In about a half hour we found the 

 choppers, told our story and sent them all on to finish up. 



Then came the long return tramp to camp. In the 

 morniDg we started out with the remaining canoe and 

 dunnage, reaching deadwater at about noon. While the 

 boys were getting lunch Pierce, Lavan (our head guide) 

 and I paddled up the stream, when on rounding a bend 

 the°sickening spectacle of more rapids presented itself. 

 It was pretty hard luck. We found the blaze on the left 

 bank at the head of the deadwater, and leaving Pierce 

 at the canoe Lavan and I took it up. We lost it almost 

 immediately, but kept on over a little shoulder of the 

 mountain toward an apparent openiDg in the forest. 

 After a time we again found the trail, which without 



A CAMX J WITH ALL THE MODERN CONVENIENCES. 

 Photograph by H. X. Curtis. 



