May 3, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



287 



marten, of which more anon. To reach, it I usually 

 hired a man to take me as far as wheels would reasonably 

 go and then slung the knapsack for a hard four hours' 

 tramp. If I happened to get a little off on compass points, 

 which I was apt to do in cloudy weather, the four hours 

 might mean six with added weariness. To make such 

 tramps pleasurable one must needs be young, hardy and 

 an eager hunter, all of which I was in those days. I 

 prided myself on going light, but could never reduce the 

 duffle for a, week's huut much below 251bs. For two 

 weeks I allowed about 51bs. more. Not a heavy load you 

 will say. But try it for half a day. up and down steep 

 mountain spurs, through tangles of laurel, shin-hopple 

 and brier patches, over and under fallen logs and all the 

 debris of swamp and forest. I'll wager you would wel- 

 come a glimpse of the low roof that covered the Chest- 

 nut Shanty. 



But '"Tis not in mortals to command success," and it 

 has happened on one or two hunts that I hunted faith- 

 fully all the week and came into camp at dark on Satur- 

 day with the same bullets in the gun that 1 had driven 

 carefully home on Monday morning. Better hunters 

 than I am have had the sanie hard luck without being in 

 the least discouraged thereby. 



It is thirty-six or thirty-seven years ago that on a 

 bright November day I climbed over the tail-gate of 

 Farmer B.*s light wagon and swung the knapsack for a 

 weary tramp to Chestnut Shanty. It was within an hour 

 of sundown, when reeking with perspiration I deposited 

 knapsack and rifle in the Shanty and proceeded to make 

 a lively fire against the huge hemlock trunk that served 

 for a back log. 



And all that afternoon 1 had been thinking how grate- 

 ful a modest nip of old Bourbon would be from the little 

 flask that I knew was riding safely rolled up in my 

 blanket. And so, when the fire was doing its best and 

 the camp kettle was simmering and singing sweetly, I 

 unrolled and spread the blanket, lay down on it with the 

 knapsack for a pillow and drew the cork from the little 

 flask with a sense of luxurious ease and perfect content- 

 ment. For a few minutes I indulged the pleasure of an- 

 ticipation and then placed the flask where I thought it 

 would do most good. Great heaven! There was no taste of 

 whisky about it, but on the contrary a sickening flavor of 

 rain water. I held the flask to the light and discovered a 

 huge bloated angle worm floating about in the tepid 

 water. And I had packed this piece of concentrated 

 villainy twelve miles, to my own confusion! I did not 

 swear: there are griefs too" great for words, but I was 

 nearly heart-broken. And I remembered with bitter 

 regret that I had been fool enough to leave the ready- 



Eacked knapsack under the very noses of Ben and 

 iewey, two red-headed onion-eyed practical jokers, who 

 never missed a chance of "hanging it on to" me, as they 

 graphically expressed it. Ah, well, I suppose there are 

 men in W all street who could lose a hundred thousand 

 dollars with less feeling of vexation and disappointment 

 than that little joke cost me. I know I lounged all the 

 evening on the fresh browse, watching the bright camp- 

 fire and the shifting shadows of the dark hemlocks 

 beyond and thinking what a fine addition to the picture 

 would be a couple of well-stretched red-haired scalps 

 slowly drying by the fire light. I never got even. 



On the following morning I was out at early daylight, 

 and hunted as long as I could see the sights on the rifle, 

 but the leaves were too dry and noisy. I .did not get a 

 shot. And on the next day it was still worse. The bright 

 sun and gentle west wind dried the leaves into a rustling 

 forest carpet, which, although I hunted in moccasins, 

 permitted the deer to hear me more than a hundred yards 

 distant. And the second day was even as the first — a 

 blank. 



The beautiful weather and glorious autumn hues were 

 some compensation for poor hunting, but a man is not a 

 cow to eat leaves, and when one is, at much trouble and 

 travel, in a deep lonely forest, a little venison seems about 

 the right thing. And so I was glad when, on the third 

 night in camp, there came a steady, light, warm rain, 

 that made the leaves like wet paper, and early in the 

 morning I was again out on Chestnut Ridge, with a fair 

 show for a successful day's hunt. And it was on this 

 day that I made the acquaintance of Pete — an acquaint- 

 ance that ripened into f riendship, much to the advantage, 

 I think, of both dog and man. I had been hunting all 

 the forenoon with no success, and had taken to a log for 

 rest and the chance of a stray deer, when a slight rustl- 

 ing in the leaves caused me to turn quickly but quietly, 

 and there I saw a strange animal coming in on my trail 

 that I scarcely recognized as a dog. But a dog it was, 

 and, at first sight, a most unpromising cur he looked. 

 Thin to emaciation, bow-legged, low on the ground, long- 

 bodied, with a head too large, and muzzle disproportion- 

 ately long and strong, a dingy, faded, red coat which 

 covered a skin that seemed only a loose bag for holding 

 a lot of looser bones, and he carried a. pair of mismated 

 ears, one of them standing "cocked" while the other 

 iapped meekly over the side of his head and in two parts, 

 having evidently been torn in a fight, also, his muzzle 

 was marked with scars in a dozen places, and his chest 

 was simply immense for a dog of his size. It was safe to 

 infer that a lack of courage was not among his failings, 

 and there were points about him that any hunter would 

 be sure to note. A dingy, worn streak around his neck 

 showed that his days had been largely spent at the end 

 of a rope, doubtless because he was given to wandering 

 off on independent hunting trips, and he was "orderly" 

 or he would ha ve gnawed his rope. That he was a plucky, 

 indefatigable hunter was certain, else he would not be 

 found lost and starving in the depths of such a forest, 

 and I judged that he had got fagged through following a 

 bear too long and too far. Had it been a deer the race 

 would have been on better ground, and would have ended 

 in time for him to back- track himself out. Anyhow, 

 there he was, a gaunt, hollow, starving canine reality. 

 And, as he planted himself on his haunches and looked 

 me appealingly in the face with a pair of full, intelligent 

 brown eyes, I felt that no hunter with a heart in him 

 could go back on such a dog. though it cleaned out the 

 last crumb in his knapsack. Grudgingly I took out the 

 frugal lunch in my pocket and fed him by small instal- 

 ments — to make it go further. The morsels vanished 

 like snowflakes in a camp-fire, and he looked, hungrier 

 than before. 



I thought sadly of the scanty store in the old knapsack 

 as I rose from my log and started for a still-hunt to camp, 

 with a hope that my new-found friend might somehow 

 help me to a deer. He did. He came to heel of his own 



accord, and crept along with the stealthy, noiseless tread 

 of a cat. I noticed, too, that he kept a little on one side, 

 where he could have a clear view past my legs, and he 

 was all alert of ears, eyes and nose. "This looks well, if 

 he don't break," I muttered; and we went on thus for 

 may be a mile, when I felt a decided nudge at the calf of 

 my leg. I thought it accidental, and paid no attention to 

 it; but a minute later I felt it again, more decidedly, and 

 then I looked at the dog. He was a picture Of animation 

 and excitement, and was trembling with eagerness. His 

 large bright eyes glistened as he looked me in the face, 

 with his head turned knowingly a little aside, and then 

 pointed with his long muzzle to a thicket some two hun- 

 dred yards ahead. The hunter who did not understand 

 such a dog would be dull indeed. Of course there was 

 big game in easy distance: but how the dog would behave 

 in roading up to it was the question. Well, he behaved 

 admirably: nothing coidd be better. Keeping a few paces 

 in advance, he crept slowly and noiselessly along, with 

 his nose pointing steadily toward his game, until we were 

 near some large rocks, when he sank silently to a crouch- 

 ing position and came to a dead point at the rocks, I 

 thought he must be mistaken, and that the game must be 

 in the thicket beyond; but he was right. Just as I had 

 crawled on to the nearest rock and straightened myself 

 to an upright position, a big doe sprang from the shelter 

 of a bigger rock and went for the thicket at her best 

 speed . It was so sudden that I was a trifle rattled at 

 first, but I pulled myself together with a passing thought 

 that now, if ever, the camp had some need of venison, 

 caught the bead fairly on the white hah, and sent in two 

 .bullets in quick succession. At the second shot I saw a 

 hindleg swing helplessly out of place, and the next instant 

 the dog flew by me like a red streak, showing unlooked- 

 for speed and gaining rapidly. I thought then, and still 

 think, that he only broke when he saw that it was to be 

 a three-legged race on the deer's part, and he could end 

 the race by a minute's sharp running. In fact, before I 

 had finished reloading there arose the agonizing bawl of 

 a deer in its death struggle, and when I reached the spot 

 the doe was dead, with the dog still at the throat, drink- 

 ing like a starving savage of her life blood. It was cruel. 

 I admit it. I felt somewhat like a savage myself. But 

 the camp was out of meat, and here was "man's best 

 friend" in starving condition, while I too w-as hungry for 

 venison. I cut off the head and gave it to the dog to 

 gnaw while I dressed the deer, hung up the forequarters, 

 and fitted the saddle for toting to camp. 



When I had succeeded in seating my load where it 

 would ride easily, ivith the rifle resting across the legs in 

 front. I gave the word and we started for camp, the dog 

 not forgetting to bring along the head, which had a way 

 of slipping from his jaws every hundred yards or so. My 

 load, too, grew heavy long before reaching camp; but we 

 made the shanty without a rest, and with an horn of day- 

 light to spare. And when the saddle was hung in a tree 

 a little back from the fire, with juicy venison steaks broil- 

 ing and a pot of strong green tea simmering over the 

 bright coals, the whole made a sylvan picture that does 

 not need photographing. As for the dog, he was too busy 

 with the head to pay much attention to anything else; 

 and when supper was over, and the camp had relapsed 

 into silence, his teeth could be heard grating on the hard 

 skull from beyond the back-log, making a most discordant 

 accompaniment to the silvery murmur of the little rill 

 back of the shanty; so I called him in and tied him to a 

 corner of the shanty with a fight tump rope. He took it 

 patiently and without a whine, settling himself in the 

 warm glow with a long-dra wn sigh of canine satisfaction. 

 Then I wondered what his name might be, for you can't 

 get on well with a nameless dog or man in camp. To 

 call out "Mister Man" or "Doggy, Doggy," is ungenial 

 and subversive of all good fellowship. So I tried him 

 with half a score of the most common names in vogue 

 with still-hunters, pronouncing them at intervals and in 

 an ordinary tone, but he took no notice until I spoke the 

 name of my old-time favorite still-hunt dog, Pete. At 

 once he sprang to his feet with such an eager, inquiring 

 look as proved that the name, if not the exact thing, was 

 near enough to it for all practical purposes. And from 

 that time, so long as he was with me, he was only known 

 as Pete. 



The new partnership opened auspiciously for both dog 

 and man. We had met as strangers at noon, and at dark 

 were lying full-fed by a bright camp-fire, with more 

 venison ahead than we were likely to use, for which I 

 freely gave the dog full credit, and it struck me that I 

 had found a canine bonanza. Imagine a dog that will 

 wind a deer half a mile to windward, will lead you up to 

 it unerringly, and end by crouching within shot and 

 making a dead set on it. Such a dog was Pete. I hunted 

 faithfully from dawn till dark during the next three 

 days, not that I cared to get another deer, but to test the 

 dog and learn all his peculiarities; and I was never more 

 interested in any phase of woodcraft. 



His list of accomplishments as a hunter was not a long 

 one, but included the most important points, and he was 

 very thorough. His trick of nudging me to call my at- 

 tention to the fact that he had winded a deer was a point 

 on which be never failed, and it might be placed to the 

 account of instinct. But when I purposely refrained 

 from noticing his signals and he plunged his muzzle into 

 the calf of my leg. taking at the same time a fine, sharp 

 nip that raised a blood-blister, why, that was plainly 

 reasoning. It was simply saying, in the only language 

 he could command, "There, take that. Now wake up 

 and 'tend to business." 



It was when I shot, however, that he showed his best 

 dog wit and wisdom. On such occasions he would stand 

 erect on his hindlegs, watching the effect of the shot 

 with his keen eyes, and if he saw the cut hair fly at the 

 crack of the rifle (as it always does when a deer is hit), 

 he was off like an arrow. Evidently he understood that 

 to wait until the gun was reloaded and a slow-going man 

 had time to examine the track, was giving the deer a 

 long start, when, by rushing the race at once he might 

 end it in a short half mile. I thought this the highest 

 development of canine reasoning that had ever happened 

 to come under my observation, and any dog trainer will 

 see, on a little reflection, that it could not have been 

 taught. He must have evolved it from "the depths of 

 his inner consciousness." When the shot happened to be 

 I a miss, and it happened often enough, Pete was all 

 broken up and became decidedly comical. He would 

 stand on his hindf eet, tiptoeing and craning until the 

 deer had taken the last inch of its tail out of sight, then 

 I drop slowly to all fours, give me a look of sad reproaoh, 



and come to heel in a dejected, woebegone manner that 

 was highly amusing, 



And he had his failings, even as a hunter. For in- 

 stance, no matter how promising the day or how plenty 

 the deer, the fresh trail of a bear or a mountain cat 

 would start him off without a moment's warning. The 

 mountain cat was his favorite aversion. It was to this 

 animal that he was indebted for most of the scars that 

 ornamented his muzzle and missmated ears, and he 

 hunted them with undying spite and vigor; also, with 

 notable success, owing to the fact that he always roaded 

 up to them silently and pounced on them unawares, 

 usually closing before the astonished cat could make the 

 nearest tree. "Of course the cat would fight itself free in 

 a few seconds, for nothing short of a powerful mastiff 

 can hold a fullgrown mountain cat, but all the same it 

 was ready to tree at the first chance after such a surprise 

 and scrimmage. I got an inkling of Pete's ways on the 

 cat question as we were skirting a dense, tangled wind- 

 fall on the second day's hunt, when, without a sign of 

 warning, he suddenly broke and disappeared like a flash. 

 For a few minutes there was silence, and then, from the 

 densest part of that dense, briery thicket there arose a 

 great racket. The sharp angry bark of the dog was 

 punctuated by the snarling of a cat, while an occasional 

 shrill yelp showed that the dog was not having it all his 

 own way. Then the racket settled down to steady, per- 

 sistent baying, and I tore my way through laurel", shin- 

 hopple and briers, to a spot where the dog was 

 raving with bloody nose and ears, at the foot of a 

 gnarled hemlock, while a sleek mountain cat was calmly 

 taking in the situation from a comfortable seat some forty 

 feet above. A minute later the cat was on the leaves 

 with a bullet through his head, and Pete was getting sat- 

 isfaction by shaking the carcass to his heart's content. The 

 cat was a fat young male, and would hardly scale less 

 than 401bs. I took off the skin neatly for casing, and also 

 took the tenderloins and a ham to camp; for the meat of 

 a young mountain cat, or a panther, is sweeter and 

 juicier than, venison. If you doubt this, try it the first 

 chance you have. I may mention just here that there 

 was a bounty of 75 cents on these cats, and a prime pelt 

 would bring as much more, which made the animal worth 

 saving with most hunters. But he was mainly hunted 

 down through a feeling of hatred and vindictiveness, 

 being decidedly the worst enemy the deer has to look 

 out for. 



His trick of crouching on an overhanging limb by a 

 runway and dropping on the first deer that passes is very 

 deadly, and I think he never misses his "tip." I have 

 followed the trail of these dgadly struggles several times, 

 both on leaves and light snows, and it always ended by 

 finding several conical heaps of leaves, under one of which 

 was sure to be found the remains of the deer. Just why 

 he should cache his venison under one heap, and then be 

 at the trouble of scratching up four or five more round 

 about it, is one of the things no fellow will ever find out. 

 If it is done for a blind it must be a decided failure, as 

 any carnivorous animal would detect the right heap at 

 the first sniff. But all the same he does it, and the 

 panther always does the same thing, as every old still- 

 hunter knows. And neither of them will hunt or go far 

 from the spot until his larder is exhausted. His mode of 

 fife at such times is very simple. He goes to his cache 

 with the first gray streak of dawn, fills himself to reple- 

 tion, then to the nearest running water for a drink, 

 thence to his lair, sometimes in a straight course, but 

 often in a zigzag, roundabout way, probably intended to 

 throw out any chance pursuit. He only takes one meal 

 daily, and passes all the hours of daylight dozing supinely. 

 When found under such circumstances he is easily treed 

 by a sharp dog, for he dislikes to go far from his "game, 

 and will often take the nearest large tree, waiting like a 

 feline idiot to be shot, when he might easily knock the 

 dog out with one blow and make his escape at leisure. 

 It was the thorough knowledge of these traits and habits 

 of the feline tribe that rendered the extinction of the 

 panther so easy to the old-time hunters of northern 

 Pennsylvania. 



Felix eoneolor is never very plentiful anywhere; his 

 modes of life require a wide range of forest, and he breeds 

 slowly. But there was a time when he was probably 

 more numerous and more evenly distributed along the 

 mountain spurs of the upper Susquehanna than any other 

 range in the United States, and I could name "half a 

 dozen old hunters, each of whom had a record of seven 

 to twelve "painter scalps," and all of them, with one 

 exception, sleep with their fathers. The panther is ex- 

 tinct, or nearly so; but the game-destroying, deer-killing 

 mountain cat is a diabolical certainty and unknown 

 quantity, not so easily gotten rid of. And all these dis- 

 cursive remarks on the cat question were induced by the 

 recollection of a little circus that Pete and I had with him 

 on the head of Bear Run. I started in to tell the story, but 

 this paper is already long enough: if it be found readable 

 as well, I may try my hand on the stray in a future 

 number. * Nessmtjk. 



LAKE M1STASS1NI. 



OTTAWA, Apiil 25.— Editor Forest and Stream : 

 Having read the correspondence in the columns of 

 the Forest and Stream in relation to the great "un- 

 known" Lake Mistassini, and seeing my name mentioned 

 in Mr. E. T. D. Chambers's communication of April 19, I 

 think it but right to say a few words on the subject. So 

 far I have not taken the trouble to correct Mr. Murray's 

 statements, not being in favor of newspaper controversy, 

 and I only write now to let your readers know that the 

 special correspondent of the Boston Herald has either 

 been sadly misled by certain persons in the ancient 

 capital who are loth to acknowledge their "second Lake 

 Superior" a very ordinary body of water, or he is making 

 a big thing out of nothing, as some special correspondents 

 will do. 



Mr. Chas. Hallock-, in his letter of March 22, is in the 

 main correct as to the size and position of the lake, and 

 the manner of reaching it. Having been over the ground, 

 I can supplement his advice to Mr. Murray. Reaching 

 Blue Point, Lake St. John, as Mr. Hallock advises, Mr. 

 Cummins of the Hudson's Bay Company will provide him 

 with guides who can take him by either the Ashoua- 

 pruouchouan or Mistassini rivers to the height of land, 

 crossing which he can descend one of the small streams 

 to the lake. 



There are over twenty men, Frenchmen, half-breeds 

 and Indians, who have been as far as the Hudson's Bay 



