4BO 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Deo. 25, 1890, 



THE WINTER CAMP-FIRE. 



A BOVE the mountain, bleak and bare, 



Below the noisy stream, 



The few soft snowfiakes in the air 

 Are diamonds in the ruddy gleam 

 That flashes from my lire. 

 And, from the blaze, bright, silvery lines 



Flit in and out among the pines. 

 Sorrow and pain aTe put to flight, 

 And all the cares and fears of night 

 Are laid upon the pyre. 



But at the charmed circle's bound 



Grrim Winter stauds, with icy hands; 

 And from the barren, frozen ground, 



Their lair, leap darkness and despair. 

 Threatening now, and now deciding, 



Never stops their ghostly gliding; 

 Never ends their awful moaning, 



Triple curses oft intoning. 

 While, anon, their goblin shrieks 



Are re-echoed by the peaks. 

 Thus, with eyes foreboding danger. 



Keep their watch upon the stranger. 



Up to heaven leaps the flame, 



And the spectres, put to shame, 

 Backward fly. From the sky 



Softly steal, with many a blessing, 

 Shades of dreamland. They, caressing, 



Bring lotus and Falernian wine, 

 Olympian nectar, all divine. 



And, while I sleep, they vigils keep, 

 Till, from the valley, rosy day 



Has chased the sprites of night away. 



STILL-HUNTING. 



A WINTER IN MICHIGAN. -III. 



BT NESSMUK. 



IT was, if I mistake not, the first day in December on 

 which. I got a most beautiful shot at a large buck elk, 

 and it proved my last shot for that season. 



Nearly a mile above the camp there was a most notable 

 crossing place for deer, and half a mile further up was 

 another one nearly as good. These two runways were 

 merged in one at the distance of a mile or so from the 

 northwest bank of the river, the point of convergence 

 being a gap between two high knolls, where there was a 

 well worn path some lOin. wide and several inches deep, 

 cut into the soil entirely by the hoofs of deer. After 

 passing the gap the path branched again and again, until 

 at the distance of two or three miles it was lost in the 

 multitude of trails which crossed the openings in all 

 directions. The practiced hunter will see at a glance that 

 the gap aforesaid must have been rather a promising 

 runway to watch when deer were stirring about the 

 openings— as they always are during the acorn season. 



The few last days of November had been cold enough 

 partially to close the river, but had moderated consider- 

 ably on the first of the succeeding month. I had been 

 keeping camp for a few days through feeling agueish, 

 but on the day above mentioned I took the rifle and 

 sauntered out to the gap for a shot. How vividly I re- 

 member every little incident of that day's hunt— because, 

 I suppose, it was my last in that region. First I went to 

 the runway, took a seat on the log by the thick clump of 

 hazel bushes, where I had already killed some ten or 

 twelve deer, and had a meditative smoke; then a flashing 

 glimpse of something white bobbed along the trail at the 

 distance of 100yds. or more, and along came a fawn, 

 large and in good condition. I did not want him and he 

 went on his way scatheless. Then an hour or two of patient 

 watching and waiting, at the end of which a plump, 

 short-legged buck came trotting unsuspiciously along up 

 the trail, still wet from his swim over the river. He was 

 what we call in the backwoods a "swamp buck," and 

 had a symmetrical, well-branched pair of antlers. I 

 wanted him for something besides the meat; so a short, 

 sharp cry stopped him, the pea ball whistled through his 

 lights, high up and well back, that he might have life to 

 give the trail a wide berth in his dying struggles, and he 

 ran out into the opening a few rods, where he turned 

 over and I shortly cut his throat secundem artem. 



An hour, two, three hours passed with nothing save 

 the numerous black, gray and fox squirrels to vary the 

 monotony of a dull, cloudy December day, when, far 

 down the trail I caught sight of an enormous pair of 

 antlers above, the bushes, and wagging toward me at a 

 rate which would have speedily left the little bay mare 

 nowhere. I am not subject to panic, or buck fever, but 

 my heart did give an extra jump as he broke from the 

 hazel thicket into the open, and I saw before me the 

 finest buck elk I had ever seen. He had most likely been 

 frightened by wolves or Indians and was laying his course 

 at a rate that promised to take him far enough out of 

 harm's way in an hour, but the sharp yell that every 

 hunter knows how to give brought him up standing, and 

 he stood staring at me, the wildest, gamest looking animal 

 imaginable. All varieties of the genus Oervus have a 

 peculiarly game look, but none more so than the elk. 

 The two sunken dead-eyes belowthe real eyes give him a 

 strange, wild appearance, and his odd-looking movements 

 as he trots off with the speed of a locomotive, his nose 

 sticking straight out and his antlers lying along either 

 side of him — the trick he has, too, of staring at you like 

 a statue for two or three seconds, then, just as you were 

 beginning to touch the trigger, wheeling like lightning, 

 and at a few tremendous steps placing himself beyond 

 your reach; all lend such a fascination and gaminess to 

 elk hunting that I have seldom known a hunter who did 

 not prefer a shot at a buck elk to any animal which runs 

 the American woods. 



I did not give him time to dodge. As he came to a full 

 stop the bead filled handsomely on his breast and I pulled, 

 sending a small, sharp cone of lead directly into "the 

 sticking place," which must have ranged nearly the whole 

 length of him. Away he went over the opposite knoll, 

 and I loaded quickly, whistling meanwhile to convince 



myself that I wasn't a bit excited. He bled most pro- 

 fusely from the start, and I would not have given a man 

 one shilling to have insured the saving of him; but 

 "there's many a slip." An elk with a small, sharp, 

 conical ball in his breast may keep his feet strongly for 

 half an hour, or even more; likewise, he can do his little 

 mile in two minutes over rough ground and fallen logs; 

 "hinference is hobvious." 



Mile after mile I followed the trail, finding plenty of 

 blood all the way, but seeing nothing of the elk, and at 

 last the sun (which went down at a preposterously early 

 hour on that day') gave indications of sudden leave-taking 

 — it began to grow dark. I still hurried on as best I 

 could, feeling hot and anxious, until, at the edge of an 

 immense swamp, night overtook me and I could keep 

 the trail no further. Here I decided to let the dog go; 

 he had been showing unwonted eagerness all the way, 

 and I was sure he could find the elk in a few minutes — 

 also having found it he was sure to notify by howling 

 long and loud; so I sent him in. For some five minutes 

 after he started all was silent; then came the howl I was 

 waiting and wishing for. Good ! the elk was safe and 

 within half a mile of me. 



There was no use attempting to penetrate such a 

 swamp after dark— a man would be a fool to try it— so I 

 commenced collecting wood for a fire, and making other 

 little arrangements for passing the night endurably. 

 Hardly had I begun to fix a rough camp, however, when 

 from the swamp arose such a series of yells and howls 

 as few nervous persons would care to hear in close prox- 

 imity on a dark night; and in a marvelously short time 

 Pete, the dog, was cowering and growling at my feet in 

 an agony of terror. 



The swamp seemed literally alive with wolves. They 

 collected about the carcass of "the elk, and in the stillness 

 of the night I fancied I could hear the bones crack under 

 their powerful jaws, as they fought, snarled, gormandized 

 and howled by turns. It was in vain that I went as far 

 into the swamp as I could get, shouting myself hoarse 

 and firing toward them repeatedly. The rascals seemed 

 to know I was impotent to do them any harm, and only 

 howled the louder. 



The opportunity which this incident afforded for ob- 

 serving the traits and peculiarities of the sanguinary 

 cowards would have been worth the sacrifice under other 

 circumstances, but I was very anxious to possess the 

 head and skin of a buck elk entire, and I knew the brutes 

 too well to expect anything more than the bare antlers 

 after they were done with it; so I gave up trying to scare 

 them and listened to their beastly snarling and wrang- 

 ling as they gobbled and tore at my elk, inwardly swear- 

 ing that while I lived I never would let slip an opportun- 

 ity for taking a wolf scalp. They soon finished the elk, 

 and after that kept up a hullabaloo at intervals all night, 

 to the extreme terror of Pete, who shivered and watched 

 incessantly. 



Some time after midnight it commenced raining most 

 furiously, the wind blowing almost a hurricane at the 

 same time, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I 

 could keep the fire alive. To make matters worse, the 

 weather grew rapidly colder, and before morning I was 

 shaking to the point of dissolution with the ague. I had 

 nothing to eat, had left my half-pint flask at the shanty, 

 and had neither blanket nor axe. On the whole, it was 

 one of the nights to be remembered, and more or less of 

 them are chronicled in the memory of every genuine 

 still-hunter. But for the confounded ague I could have 

 managed to extort some fun from it, too. 



After the fire got low and gave out but very little light, 

 the wolves grew very bold, coming within a few rods and 

 howling as if for a wager; at every fresh yell Pete would 

 shiver with redoubled vigor, pressing his ribs against the 

 log and whining piteously; at last, in the very extreme of 

 cowardice and fear he jammed himself as far under the 

 log as possible, where he lay whining and shivering until 

 daylight. Few hunting dogs will face a wolf singly — 

 very few indeed but will cower when near a pack of them. 

 In justice to Pete, and as I may not have occasion to 

 mention him again, I will say that he turned out, all 

 things considered, the best still-hunt dog I have ever 

 owned or trained. 



Morning dawned at length, and, sick as I certainly was, 

 I determined to have a look at the scene of the previous 

 night's carnival. Taking a large pine for a guide I found 

 the spot without difficulty, but there was nothing left of 

 | my elk save the antlers — gnawed and broken apart — a 

 , few fragments of bone and part of a jaw. The antlers 

 ! were very long and heavy, but badly mutilated; still, as 



i'they might "adorn a tale," I lugged them with much 

 labor to the openings and deposited him in the branches 

 of an oak for safety, intending to call for them some time 

 / when I felt more like packing. I never saw them af ter- 

 ward, nor the buck which I had left in the morning. 



Late at night, and in a blinding snowstorm, I managed 

 to stagger into camp with reeling senses and the delirium 

 of fever in my veins; I was sick. All day I had been 

 trying to reach the shanty through the driving snow, 

 setting the compass every half hour and finding myself 

 on the wrong course nearly as often, wandering in a kind 

 of absent stupor hither and thither, conscious that to miss 

 the shanty in such a state and in such weather was little 

 better than death, yet unable to keep on the right tack 

 for an hour without the aid of a compass. "Weak from 

 sickness and the loss of food, and half delirious as I was, 

 it was a mercy that I found the camp at all. To say 

 truth, the dark little den did not look over cheerful as I 

 crawled in, but a roaring fire and dry clothes, with a hot 

 dish of tea and a nip, improved matters a little, and if I 

 could have shaken that fiend of the West from my vitals, 

 the prospect was not at all a bad one; but I could not. 



Late in the evening the fever left me and was suc- 

 ceeded by a dull, spiritless stupor, which was not so 

 much a positive distress as an effectual bar to all enjoy- 

 ment; this lasted for hours, and was followed in its turn 

 by that "quotidian tertian," shaking me until my backbone 

 seemed a huge string of loose beads and my neck threat- 

 ened to dislocate itself with the violence of the exercise. 

 This in turn again was followed by delirium and fever, 

 during which the little den of a shanty would dilate and 

 expand before my very eyes like a living, breathing 

 thing, until it grew to palatial dimensions, then, taking a 

 sudden turn, would contract and shrink, shrink toward 

 the ground, until I would spring toward the door to avoid 

 the fate of the man in the Iron Shroud. Strange, weird 

 shapes flitted about the fire at night, grinning and mew- 

 ing at me; owls, with immense wings like a bat's, peered 

 at me from the rude fireplace, and even poor Pete seemed 



changing to a wolf and to be waiting a chance for throt- 

 tling me. In vain I took double and treble doses of 

 quinine through very desperation ; the disease would not 

 be balked nor checked, but worked me up with a sys- 

 tematic, regularity that would have done credit to an 

 eight-day clock. Every day from early morning until 

 near midday the detestable shakes racked me to the verge 

 of human endurance; then came on the fever accom- 

 panied with delirium, which reached its height during 

 the early part of the evening, and was followed by great 

 weakness and languor, during which I dozed and slept 

 until the never-failing chills warned me to make a rous- 

 ing fire, roll up in blankets and bearskin, and get to 

 shaking. 



Of all the twenty-four hours, the horn- or two in the 

 evening when the fever was at its height was the most 

 horrible. I knew that the weird sights and sounds which I 

 saw and heard were but illusions for the most part, yet I 

 did see. and hear them to all intents and purposes, and 

 how long would I be able to distinguish them from reality? 1 

 Suppose I should become so far delirious as to rush out in J 

 the bitter winter air and wander off into the wilds, to 

 perish alone miserably when the fever left me, or worse, 

 have strength sufficient to reach the shanty by back- 

 tracking, to die by inches with frozen feet and hands? 

 Not a pleasant reflection, but one that was ever torment- :: 

 ing me, and I think the dread I had of such a fate tended , 

 to keep me from leaving the shanty when I was really 

 unconscious of my acts. 



I cannot say how long this state of things lasted — all ■ 

 through the month of December certainly, and, I think, 

 through the first half of January. The weather got in- 

 tensely cold, the days were short, chilly visitations of 

 ghastly sunlight, and each night seemed at least a week 

 long. 



I was so feeble and nerveless as to be under the neces- 

 sity of taking advantage of the strength afforded by high 

 fever to back wood enough for daily use, and daily getting 

 weaker, lknew there must be a lumbering establishment 

 at no great distance below, but how was I to reach it? I, 

 who could not go a mile from the shanty with the cer- - 

 tainty of having strength to return? So I shook and 

 burned by turns, toted wood when I had strength to do ■, 

 it, and wrapped myself in the bear skin in a spiritless j 

 stupor when exhausted. I was becoming a moral Micaw- I 

 ber — waiting and hoping for something to turn up. 



Something did turn up— in the shape of old Peter the 1 

 Indian guide, who stuck his copper-colored mug through ; 

 the rat-hole of a doorway one cold Januaxy evening, say- 

 ing as he did so, "Ugh! you Nessmuk — you 'live, eh?" 



I jumped from the bear skin and seized his hand with 

 a heartfelt joy and thankfulness that I cannot describe. 

 I was dying for human sympathy and companionship, 

 and, had he been an own brother, I could hardly have 

 been more rejoiced to see him. It would not do, how- 

 ever, to show it by acting childishly pleased, so, after the 

 first greeting was over, I brought out the blackstrap, 

 hard tack and bear meat, after which we filled a couple 

 of pipes and smoked in taciturn mood, although I was 

 burning to talk. The pipes finished, Peter, quite as a 

 matter of course and in true Indian fashion, gave a terse 

 account of his doings, and incidentally the doings of his 

 band, since he had left Ned and I in October. They had 

 killed much deer, some elk, a great many bear, and had 

 caught mink and otter enough to buy plenty of blankets 

 and powder for two years; the squaws had much corn 

 and berries laid up on which to feast in the sugar season. 

 He was a great hunter — had killed his fingers ten times, 

 over with deer, besides six full-grown bear and three elk. 

 He could keep two smart squaws skinning and packing 

 all the time, but he was tired hunting so much, and had 

 come to visit his white brother and hear of his success. 

 Had Nessmuk (Pine Marten) been lucky in the fall 

 hunt? Had his traps fastened on the otter with a sure 

 grip? 



I have taken the liberty of mending his broken English, 

 but the above is the substance of his speech, and in answer 

 to his queries I replied that Nessmuk had killed as 

 many deer as he wished, but, having no one to share the 

 meat with, had killed only bucks for the most part, letting 

 the does and fawns go free — the one to grow up, the 

 other to breed. As to the traps, some evil spirit had 

 taken them away with the otter in them, and the Pine 

 Marten had been very sick — too sick for hunting — for a 

 long time. It was doubtful if the Pine Marten ever saw 

 his wigwam beyond the lake again. 



He looked me steadily in the face for some moments, 

 with glittering but expressionless eyes, such eyes as none 

 but an Indian head ever carries by any possibility, and 

 then said, "Umph! me know— know all 'bout it. Know 

 when you hunt; how much deer, how much bear; kill one 

 buck elk, let wolf steal 'um — dam fool! Know when you 

 sick; come mos' every day; come to stay now. Take care 

 you — hunt with you- rifle. How you like that? Bimeby 

 ole Blackbird squaw come— he great squaw doctor, make 

 you well in leetle while. You say yes?" 



I said yes most gladly. Not that I had much faith in 

 Indian honesty; I thought it quite likely to be a plan for 

 stealing my gun and whatever else tould be handily got 

 at, but, as I was likely enough to die anyway and felt that 

 I could not hold out long as I was, it seemed to offer a 

 chance worth taking, and I took it. I did the Indian 

 wrong. He kept faith with me nobly. 



From early dawn until dark, when the weather was 

 favorable, he hunted and tended traps, for his own bene- 

 fit as it turned out (though he offered to divide fairly), but 

 he never left me at the shanty without a fair supply of 

 wood, which he hacked up with infinite labor — for he was 

 no axeman — and he made it a point of conscience to be 

 present when the fever was on me. This, I have little 

 doubt, saved my life. For several days succeeding Peter's 

 arrival I was much worse, raving about the shanty in-> 

 sanely at night, rushing out into the frosty air half naked, 

 with the snow waist deep, cutting up wild in -various 

 ways, and trying insanely to pummel him when he found 

 it necessary to restrain me by force or to lug me back into' 

 the shanty after a crazy attempt to start down the river 

 barefoot, "with the thermometer at zero. 



After a week or ten days the fever somewhat abated; 

 and Peter, taking my double-barreled rifle by way of 

 armament and half a dozen hard biscuit by way of grub,! 

 gave notice of two days' absence, and buckling his blan- 

 ket about him went off up the trail. 



Late in the evening of the second day, wmile I wi 

 lying on the bear skin with swimming brain and a f everei 

 brow, he came back, but not alone. Two strong, athletii 

 squaws, each toting a large pack, were his companions.il 



