246 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Oct. 16, 1890. 



SLIDE ROCK FROM MANY MOUNTAINS. 



* XI. — AT LAST. 



FEW long lanes are without some turning, and our 

 long lane of scanty or evil fortune took a sudden 

 bend. The autumn of our discontent was changed to an 

 Indian summer of late but grateful glory. 



The chief sheep grounds of the Stnilkameen lie up a 

 small river called the Ashnola, fed by numerous tributary 

 creeks. Facing the creeks and the river the mountains 

 are steep, often precipitous. Further up lie miles of "bull 

 pines" and other miles of down timber, with now and 

 then a grassy slope, while the sheep, except in winter, live 

 still above among the bare peaks and jagged ravines of the 

 summit. To reach this highest country, one must either 

 know the old trails or discover new ones, for unless the 

 greatest care be exercised one will soon get into ground 

 that is utterly impassable, and the road is hard at best. 



Certain natives named Ashnola John, Ashnola Pierre 

 and Ashnola Tom (whom I hereby consign to infamy), 

 relying upon their knowledge of the geography, and sure 

 that any foreign hunters must come to them for aid, had 

 not only tried to extort absurdly large sums from us for 

 guidance, but had done this evil with a manner so inso- 

 lent as to excite indignation. 



Ashnola Tom is said indeed to be a good Indian, but 

 as he promised to join us and deceived us, influenced by 

 fear of the superior villain. Ashnola John, I class him 

 with the others on account of his weak mendacity. We 

 were therefore guideless, but (with the exception of one 

 man who wailed a little now and then) all the party were 

 determined to find the way alone. 



Dick, an unrivaled woodsman, had, along with my 

 friend, discovered the secret of one cherished and hidden 

 resort, and blazed a trail to it for the good of posterity. 



Dick and I had also penetrated another nook where 

 black-tails were too numerous to be exciting. One inci- 

 dent that happened at that place is worthy of note. As 

 we were riding near some scattering timber we startled 

 a band, of deer and amused ourselves by seeing how 

 many of them offered good shots. I was just looking at 

 one half -tame creature about a hundred yards off when 

 Dick called my attention to a doe sleeping not thirty 

 paces distant from me. Her head, turned back on her 

 flank, pointed the other way. I dismounted and walked 

 carefully forward. When I was fifteen feet away from 

 her (I stepped the distance afterward) some subtle aroma 

 or faint rustling aroused her. She raised her great ears 

 and looked in the opposite direction. Then, slowly turn- 

 ing her head, she stared at me for fully a quarter of a 

 minute before she jumped up. Never had I seen a deer 

 so gentle. 



Up to the last moment, however, we had seen no rams 

 and the only ewe we had got had been bagged by my 

 friend, who, to the sorrow of us all, was now kept in 

 camp by illness. 



One day Johnny, Batiste and I started, with horses 

 lightly packed, to look for the "Twin Buttes," the last 

 resource of the despairing ram-hunter. At first we tried 

 to go up the creek near its channel, but that path was 

 soon blocked. Then we started up a trail unspeakably 

 steep and got into timber at once. For a distance of 

 perhaps three miles we found blazed trees to go by. Then 

 the blazes occasionally ran out. We would make a 

 voyage of discovery, and in several instances we found 

 new tines of spots and followed them until they vanished. 



Whoever it was that had marked the path he had a 

 singular method. Where the trail was plain the spots 

 were frequent. Where the route was doubtful the blazes 

 were rare. When the ground became very bad they 

 stopped. Either the trail was laid out by somebody who 

 had lost his way or it was meant for a snare. 



About 3 o'clock in the afternoon we found ourselves in 

 a mass of down timber from which there seemed no issue. 

 We cast about for a way out with no success. We were 

 without water and without grass, and had only too much 

 wood. I decided to turn back and try to reach our main 

 camp by night. Johnny, who was full of cheerful pluck, 

 was ready for any effort, but thought my plan wisest; and 

 by rapid work we managed to get through. 



A few days later, Dick, Batiste and I renewed the 

 search for the Twin Buttes; and it is of this trip that I 

 write the history. 



We saved a good deal of time by starting on the right 

 road. We followed the old blazes first, and then traced 

 out the connecting links that Johnny had marked in our 

 previous endeavor; so that by 11 o'clock we had already 

 reached our former sticking point. Here a long and care- 

 ful scout was made, and we succeeded in finding evi- 

 dences of chopping through the down timber made by 

 earlier hands. A little further on we came to a path cut 

 through the bull pines, and, blazing as we went, at times 

 striking the tracks of our predecessors, at times catching 

 glimpses of the surrounding mountains, and at times feel- 

 ing our way by a general sense of the direction as shown 

 by the position of the sun and the slope of the country, 

 we came, about 3 o'clock, into view of the Twin Buttes 

 and the promised land. One more wide and intricate 

 patch of windfalls was conquered, and the traveling be- 

 came easy. We had been told that there was water at 

 but one place. This turned out to be a mistake. At all 

 events, we found a level spot with the prime necessities 

 of wood, water and grass, and we went into camp with 

 the first difficulties handsomely overcome. 



The next morning we breakfasted with the earliest 

 birds, though on more savory diet, and Dick and I set 

 out on foot. 



We saw deer. We saw antique foot-prints of sheep, 

 but nothing fresh. 



A gale, of happy omen to hunters, was blowing in our 

 faces when we skirted a bold ravine with rocky sides, 

 heading in the neighboring peaks. In the bottom was 

 timber and swampy land with little ponds at intervals. 

 Above stretched the stony, grassy slopes of the highest 

 ridge — an ideal spot for big-horn. We scanned every 

 little hollow before and after we passed, that no sheep 

 might lurk unobserved in any bidden cranny, and at last, 

 after a res.t and a smoke, ascending a little "swale," Dick 

 caught sight of the back of a ram. For a moment I 

 thouerht the beast a deer and refused to fire, but an im- 

 perative whisper and a second glance righted my error. 

 I fired. The shot broke a hind leg and ranged forward, 

 stopping the ram and inflibfeing a mortal wound; and in 



a few moments the prey was ours. Beautiful unscarred 

 horns swept around in almost a perfect spiral. My joy 

 was great. Some of us bear misfortune with an equal 

 mind when the bad luck is well past; but in my belief the 

 sternest philosopher loves victory; and in that I am as 

 one with the sternest philosopher. 



The morning was yet young. We wandered on. Far 

 up on a snow bank that crowned the opposing wall of the 

 gorge Dick made out with the glass an object that he took 

 to be another ram. 



It was an appalling climb up there, but we decided to 

 try it. Only, as "good medicine" in the Indian sense, we 

 first rested again and smoked. The medicine worked. 

 We had hardly risen and passed over a little swell when 

 Dick called my attention to a ram lying down within 

 shot. I did not see that one clearly, but I did see one 

 standing; near him and hit my ram. Three or four sheep 

 (we are not yet certain of the number, they twinkled past 

 each other so fast among the trees), including the disabled 

 one, sprang down the bluff Dick broke two hind feet of 

 one creature, while I finished both the wounded. Two 

 move perfect heads! with all the pleasing kitchen supplies 

 that go with them — ribs and hams, livers and tid-bits, 

 from the fattest and choicest of mountain game. A day 

 to be marked with a white stone! 



The night before, I confess, I had been inclined to 

 compromise with fate and take one ram as my share of 

 booty. But I had hardened my heart and insisted in- 

 wardly on at least four victims, and clearly my deter- 

 mined attitude had effected a reasonably good settlement 

 with a frowning destiny. I will say, too, in passing that 

 the next day I added the fourth pair of horns to my fist. 



And now, tired and content, we made our way back to 

 camp in the mellow glow of sunset, in the cool dim 

 purple of early starlight, while breeze, stream and tree 

 soothed us with inarticulate murmurs. 



And, above the churning rush of the waters, shriller 

 and more brassy than the rustling drone of the wind in 

 the treetops was a certain iEolian music, corning some- 

 times in single notes, sometimes in phrases like the play- 

 ing of some far, far off orchestra, whose faint strains 

 are caught now and then from down the wind when 

 the gale half lulls. Perhaps the elusive tones came from 

 fading revelries of the mystic worship of gods, un- 

 throned indeed, but sadly, patiently waiting the restor- 

 ing of their ancient honors in the fullness of the revenge 

 of time — the neglected spirits of the three great powers 

 of unfettered nature. 



Three is the number of the Graces and of the Fates. 

 A triad also is that dreadful company moulded by a 

 master-hand from the poppy's dream-fumes, the Mother 

 of Tears, the Mother of Sighs and the Mother of De- 

 spair. 



Three other spirits are there, born at one birth, fast 

 knit by bonds closer than those of kindred, ruling over 

 federated dominions with united sway, young with the 

 freshness of perpetual change, old as the secrets of for- 

 gotten mysteries— Powers of wonder that gloomed 

 through the fogs, shrouding the dawn of humanity; 

 Powers of wonder that will reign over the untenanted 

 globe, when the last offspring of our withered races shall 

 have been sunk to his lonely grave. 



Spirits of Rivers and Forests and Mountains! worshipped 

 by the skin-clad^avage; Spirits whose realms, studied by 

 the brain of science ever open further vistas of intermin- 

 able territory as each new advance is gained; Spirits, 

 tamed for the moment to the daily uses of our toil, yet 

 breaking out in swift, short spasms of revolt by flood and 

 fire and earthquake, as foretaste of final triumph over 

 your sometime lords: Spirits more lasting than the ever- 

 turning cycle of life! you I approach, not as a fearful 

 worshipper shuddering at your blind, your resistless force, 

 not as a suppliant seeking unmerited favor, not as a 

 student prying into the recesses of your life, but as a 

 humhle, a loving friend, thankful for the kind sympathy 

 and consolation you have so often given; thankful even 

 for the harsh and tonic medicine dispensed in your fiercer 

 moods. 



Spirit of Rivers! though you feed the sea by a thousand 

 historic channels; though by Nile and Ganges you roll 

 fertilizing waters, enriching fields that have nurtured 

 nations, though by petty Thames or shrunken Tiber you 

 have floated navies to the capitals of the old and modern 

 worlds, not there is found your refreshing power, your 

 breathing grace. 



Among the scents of the infinite wilderness, trickling 

 from immemorial ice banks, spreading prismatic arches 

 over the dark walls that break your currents' rapid flow, 

 there where you dwell hand in hand with your sisters, 

 there I seek you; there I ask to be sprinkled with your 

 spray; to catch the wild or joyous music of your voice; 

 to watch the rush of your tumultuous march, and know 

 your beauty at its fountain head. 



Spirit of Forests! your temples are falling on plain and 

 lowland, razed by eager hands intent on gain. The pio- 

 neers of destruction have advanced even to your loftier 

 levels, and the ring of axe and the hum of sawmill are 

 invading your more sacred retreats. 



Driven from the sunny groves which tell of winter by 

 their fallen leaves, you have fled indignant to the eternal 

 green of the upper ridges and more Alpine slopes. There 

 I seek you, not to mar the living columns of your shrines, 

 but to hear those messages that speak without words in 

 the wind-swayed branches, to see you darkening the cur- 

 rents of your* sister of the rivers with quivering gloom, 

 to be stunned by the crash of the dead pines felled by 

 the tempest. 



Spirit of Mountains! last and greatest, your domain 

 rises even above your sisters' kingdoms. 



On those more aspiring heights all is stern and strong 

 on nearer view. But grant me power to toil up those 

 rough shoulders, to see encircling me the glittering snow- 

 clad summits that rise above the dark green of the s well- 

 ing range, to mark the birth place of infant glacier, the 

 spring head of infant stream, to feel my face buffeted by 

 winds whose might is not broken by any barrier and my 

 heart warmed by rays filtered only through purest air, 

 to wind down through the bouldered mass of old moraines, 

 through busby swamp, through juniper and tamarack, 

 down to the pines and the streamlet, where, in the kind 

 embrace of the inseparable sisters, I find my rest. 



. H. G. Duiog. 



Wet Matches. — When you are in camp, wet and cold, 

 and the damp matqh won't light, rub it gently in your 

 hair and it will go all right. — GcASd Luck. 



MOOSE RIVER AND THE WEST BRANCH. 



rj%y -n 1 mSrl 



SOME weeks after the time of my visit to Francis my 

 two companions and myself set out from Boston for 

 the rendezvous at Moose River Bridge, 800 miles distant. 

 Two-thirds of the journey was by rail to the pretty village 

 of Skowhegan, situated at the falls of the Kennebec and 

 the terminus of the railway. 



We left Boston in the morning and early in the after- 

 noon had our first view of the Kennebec, whose banks we 

 skirted for several hours till our arrival at our destination. 

 All along the river were indications of activity in two 

 great industries of Maine, the ice business and the lumber 

 interest. Huge ice houses stand on the banks, at which 

 vessels were taking in their crystal cargo, while other 

 vespels rode at anchor in the stream; some light and with 

 decks high out of water as they awaited their turn to load; 

 others heavily laden and ready for the bustling and un- 

 fortunate little tug which would tow them to the open 

 sea. 



At Gardiner are the first piers and booms of the lum- 

 bermen and the last ice houses. Men were busily at work 

 rafting the logs, and moored beside the booms were sev- 

 eral flatboats on which were houses for them to live in. 

 Above Gardiner the river was full of logs, and they were 

 coming over the dam at Augusta. In one place, where a 

 boom held them back, they had collected in immense 

 numbers till they formed a solid mass between the two 

 banks for a mile. These logs had come from the far 

 headwaters of the river, the Dead River and Moosehead 

 regions, to which we were going. 



Just beyond the confluence of the Sebasticook River 

 and the Kennebec we saw the ancient log block house, 

 Fort Halifax, which is a relic of the old Indian wars, 

 erected in 1754. The banks of the Kennebec are for the 

 most part abrupt and steep, and the current is broken by 

 numerous falls "and rapids. Below the falls, at Skowhe*- 

 gan, the channel is through a rocky gorge with pre- 

 cipitous walls, between which the river rushes, swift and 

 foaming, for half a mile. 



v. 



The next morning, after a good breakfast at the hotel, 

 where we spent the night, we started on the second stage 

 of our journey. 



A double-seated wagon drawn by a pair of fine-looking 

 horses was brought to the door, and after stowing our 

 luggage under the seats we rolled merrily on our way. 



We each had a pair of gray blankets, a rubber blanket, 

 rubber coat and boots and a change of underclothing, 

 with a few small articles of toilet and emergency use. 

 Our rods and fishing tackle and three cameras, with a 

 supply of dry-plates, completed the list of our impedi- 

 menta. The bulkier portion of the. luggage — the tents, 

 provisions and camp utensils — the guides were to bring 

 with the canoes to the bridge at Moose River. 



An important rule to be observed in preparing for a 

 trip to the backwoods is to reduce the luggage to a mini- 

 mum. It does not add to the enjoyment to have a lot of 

 useless or superfluous articles about, for such things have 

 a tormenting way of increasing in weight the more they 

 are lifted and the further they are transported. Except 

 in the fall shooting season a gun is a useless incumbrance. 

 Therefore we traveled as light as possible. Our cameras 

 were a 5x8, a and a "detective." The last named 



was a small affair with a round tin case something like a 

 canteen, and it gave us much amusement independently 

 of its legitimate use, for more than one thirsty citizen of 

 the Prohibition State thought it was a receptacle for 

 liquid enthusiasm. 



Once out of Skowhegan we rode through a beautiful 

 rolling country with a charmingly diversified landscape 

 of green fields, sunny slopes and wooded bills, with 

 glimpses of distant mountains. We were on the Canada 

 road, which stretches away through the wilderness to 

 Quebec, and follows pretty nearly the course taken by 

 Arnold's expedition of 1775. 



Between us and the Canada line, one hundred miles 

 distant, were only two villages, the first fifteen miles 

 from our starting point, and the second eight miles 

 further on. Beyond that a few isolated farms and two 

 or three small settlements were all we should see of civil- 

 ization. Yet the Canada road is well traveled, a stage 

 carries the mails between the settlements and the rail- 

 road; the lumbermen use it to reach the scenes of their 

 operations, and at certain seasons of the year it is alive 

 with French Canadians. 



i As the season for the hay harvest in the States draws 

 i nigh, the French laborer, with an eye for earning a few 

 I dollars which are a scarce article with him at home, 

 ■ makes his preparations for a journey across the line. He 

 I may go alone and on foot, with his staff in one hand and 

 ' his bundle in the other, or he may travel with several 

 companions. If he is a man of family he will likely 

 transport his whole household to the land of promise, and 

 many a ramshackle, antique vehicle, drawn by some poor 

 old rack of a horse, goes rattling along the Canada road 

 loaded down with a whole family, even to the infant in 

 arms. They camp by the road side in true gypsy fashion, 

 wherever night overtakes them, and appear to enjoy this 

 nomadic mode of living, When the haying is over the 

 procession returns whence it came. 



The morning was hot when we started, but a fresh cool 

 breeze came up which made riding a pleasure and brought 

 to our nostrils the seent of the wild roses which were 

 blossomiug by the fences. From the summit of a hill 

 five miles on our way we saw in the valley below the 

 placid surface of Hayden Lake, and a rugged range of 

 mountains began to show on the northern horizon, which, 

 as we drew toward them, became more and more defined, 

 Mount Bigelow being the most prominent, with its rocky 

 sides scarred and torn. After a while we saw again the 

 water of the Kennebec and the road then followed its 

 banks all the way to the Forks, fifty miles from Skow- 

 hegan. We walked a mile down an old road to the falls 

 of Carratunk, where we exposed a number of plates. 



We dined at the tavern in the little village of Bingham, 

 a quiet, sleepy place, where the only excitement is the 

 arrival at noon of the two stage coaches which stop for 

 dinner. In the afternoon, as the shadows of the trees 

 began to lengthen across the road, we drew rein at the 

 door of a wayside inn, where "accommodations for man 

 and beast" were to be had. We had traveled leisurely, 

 halting how and again to use the cameras. In trie morn- 

 ing we continued on the river road for a few mile?, and. 

 then turned to the right into another road which leads to, 

 Pleasant Pond. We hatl a steady up hill pull for three 



