. SlO 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 18, 1896. 
UNCLE LISHA'S OUTING. — XIX. 
Sungahnetook. 
Sam's comrades were in delicious, semi-torpid enjoy- 
ment of a morning nap when he quietly left his place 
among them and, after making a breakfast of stealthily 
gathered fragments, set forth in fulfillment of a promise 
made to himself of a day alone in Sungahneetook, the 
fish-weir river of the old Waubanakees. He was not 
unsocial, but yet at times was fonder of solitude than of 
company. Like a true lover of nature, he desired not to 
go with a crowd to woo his mistress. 
Creek and lake were thickly shrouded in a tattered web 
of mist whose gray shreds slowly undulated in the mo- 
tionless air, disclosing near glints of unruffled silver water 
and further away brief glimpses of russet and green 
marsh, beyond which the unveiled forest glowed in the 
faint dawn with all the divers hues of autumnal flame. 
Every single-pointed willow and many-pointed maple 
leaf was giving its contribution to the slow shower of 
crystal drops that pattered on rushes and fallen leaves, or 
tinkled on the quiet waters. The soft continuous sound 
was punctuated at intervals by the louder voices of awak- 
ening life, the sharp whistle of passing wings, the rau- 
cous diminuendo of a duck's call. Then came from afar 
inland the challenge of a cock, the mellow lowing of kine 
and quavering bleat of sheep, or from the lake the clatter 
of an anchored sloop's capstan, the echoed voices of her 
crew, mingled with the crazy laughter of a loon. 
To these drowsy sounds of awakening day Sam added 
the dip and drip of his paddle, as with head above the 
mist that wreathed the canoe he shaped his easy course 
across the shallow head of the bay. Then he entered the 
stream's gateway, gorgeous with the autumnal colors of 
the water maples. Looking around and backward, he 
could imagine himself in the solitude of the primeval 
wilderness, for there was no visible sign of man's intru- 
sion on the wooded banks at either side, nor on the silent 
lake, nor on the rugged crags of Split Rock Mountain, and 
these were the bounds of vision. 
A few rods up stream the illusion was dispelled where 
the cleared bank opened to an old pasture. The turf was 
cut with wheel tracks of wagons that had brought apples 
to the Canadian boat, signs of her recent presence that 
set Sam to wondering how it fared with her contraband 
freight. 
Passing the next bend, he was between wooded shores, 
where ferns and other moisture-loving plants crowded 
each other in rampant growth. Ducks frequently arose 
before him, singly and in flocks, taking wing from the 
water or jutting logs, out of range before he discovered 
them or could bring his unready gun to bear on them. 
He saw that shots were only to be got by prowling along 
on foot, and ran in behind a little island that hugged the 
left bank. It was crowded with great trees; most con- 
spicuous among them was a towering elm and an im- 
mense buttonwood, whose trunk shone unearthly white 
amid the forest shadows, like the ghost of a giant, and all 
were embowered in a tangle of wild grapevines. 
As Sam stepped on shore he caught a glimpse through 
the treetops of a flock of ducks whistling with lowering 
flight toward some spot below him and back from the 
stream. Thither he cautiously made his way and pres- 
ently saw an open space among the trees, toward which 
he made a stealthy approach under cover of a clump of 
alders. When he reached this he discovered a narrow 
lagoon lying close before him. It was some twenty rods 
in length, bordered by a growth of wild rice and covered 
with duck weed. A great branchless tree lay lengthwise 
of it at the nearer end, an inviting roosting place for 
wood ducks, a score of which were occupying it with 
heads uplifted and alert, or comfortably resting on their 
mottled breasts or tucked beneath their wings, the males 
resplendent with bright color, the females shining with 
gilded bronze, yet all strangely inconspicuous in nature's 
nice adjustment to their environment, never failing so to 
blend them with the hues Of her changing seasons. As 
many more swam idly to and fro, meshing the green 
scum of duckweed with a network of watery paths. 
If Sam was aware of a qualm of conscience it came too 
late to withhold him from the unfair chance, and he 
raked the log with such deadly aim that more than half 
its happy crew tumbled overboard, killed outright or in 
the last extremity, splashed aimlessly, sorely wounded, 
struggled instinctively toward the cover of the weeds, 
while the affrighted survivors jostled each other in flur- 
ried flight, knowing not what to make of the catastrophe 
which had befallen their comrades, but wheeled and 
pivoted in confused wonderment till Sam came forth to 
secure his victims, when they took flight, yet returned to 
circle and hover overhead, reluctant to leave a haunt 
where man so seldom intruded. Another shot fired to 
secure a cripple served to convince them of its present un- 
safety, and when Sam bore away his abundant trophies 
he left the pool as silent and deserted as it is to-day, when 
it is known to every gunner of this region, and even the 
poor heron and bittern avoid its precincts. 
After depositing the ducks in the canoe and following 
the bank a little further, Sam came opposite a landing 
where a scow was moored and a dugout lay with its nose 
in the bank. On the level sward a seine was spread and 
a man was kneeling upon it, busily engaged in mending 
it. A little boy with hair like sun-burned tow stood, 
watching the net-mender and making frequent proffers 
off help that were ungraciously refused. The man's in- 
quisitive eyes Boon made him aware of Sam's presence, 
but he made no sign of his discovery except to bawl out 
without raising his head: 
"Haow d' du, Capt'in Tawmus," and he did not change 
his position till he had finished the rent he was tieing. 
Then he threw down his netting needle and rising to his 
feet came to the bank with a peculiar awkward swagger- 
ing gait and a swing of the arms that contmued after he 
stood still, like the slowly ceasing vibrations of a pendu- 
lum, motions by which Sam recognized an old acquaint- 
ance, one of the money diggers of Garden Island. 
The child followed the man to the bank, dividing his 
gaping attention to the stranger with inspection of a cedar 
fish pole that was set with its sharpened butt in the bank 
and supported by a crotched stick at the waters edge. 
He skipped from one occupation to the other with an 
awkward agility that seemed to have been acquired in 
dodging gratuitous cuffs. He drew out his hook, spat 
upon it and cast it with such faith and skill of a true 
angler that Sam's heart warmed to him, the more for his 
forlornness. 
"Why, goodness gracious, Peter-ahl" the man cried in 
dull surprise, "I took ye tu be Tawmus Baker, an' conse- 
quently I called you Captain Tawmus. Haow's your 
folks-ah? Crops tol'able good? I do' know's I c'n call 
your name. What is 't when you're tu hum, any way-ah?" 
Sam gave him the desired information and he con- 
tinued: 
"You don't say! A-huntin' ducks, be ye? Wal, you 
won't git none. The' ha' none-ah up the crick ner no- 
wheres. I b'en daown the crick myself an' all I got was 
this 'ere-ah." He took a coot out from the log canoe and 
held it aloft for Sam's inspection. "I do' know what sort 
o' critter he is, but I'm a-goin' tu see haow he'll eat. I 
fooled that 'ere duck, sir. He sot right aout in plain 
sight, but I went a-sploshin' along in the ma'sh an' a- 
lookin' t'other way, an' made him think I was arter 
su'thin' else, an' I got right up tu him. Fooled him, I 
did, by gracious, Peter!] The' hain't no use in your a-goin' 
up the crick ner daown crick nuther," the man declared, 
giving meantime no more attention to the presence of his 
child than he would have done to that of a dog. 
"I'm 'bleeged tu you for tellin' me, but I guess I'll go 
'long up a piece. I kinder want tu see what the crick 
looks like, an' I don't care no gre't abaout ducks any- 
way." 
"Wal, go and be darned,"; the other snarled, "but you 
might jest as well leave your gun-ah. An' you'll come tu 
a gut o' the ma'sh 'at you can't git acrost-ah." 
In spite of such discouraging advice Sam went on with 
his ready gun in the hollow of his arm and his thumb 
and forefinger on hammer and trigger, and a watchful 
eye on the stream as each bend unfolded a new reach. 
He crossed the formidable gut at one stride and at the 
next turn came to a long westward reach down which the 
rising sun shone full in his face, dazzling him with level 
beams that sheeted the rippling water with a sun glade of 
wrinkled gold, and glorified the mist with more and 
brighter colors than the rainbow bears, all minutely mir- 
rored in the innumerable drops that beaded every twig 
and be jeweled every leaf. 
Shading his eyes with his hand, he searched the re- 
splendent reach to its further end, and there discovered a 
figure skulking swiftly along the bank. The form and 
motion, though revealed but in glimpses, were unmis- 
takably those of his late interlocutor, whose purpose of 
forestalling Sam was easily guessed. 
"Wal, go and be darned," said Sam, quoting the man's 
ungracious godspeed with a chuckle. "I guess I'll lay 
low right here a spell." 
A group of lusty basswoods, sprung from the moulder- 
ing parent tree, overhung the bank with a drooping 
spread of branches, and Sam crept beneath the leafy 
tent, stretching himself on the green sward to wait at 
ease for what might come to him. The monotonous bab- 
ble of a shallow rapid not far above him, and the softer 
irregular swirl of deeper water around a half-sunken log 
near at band, were the loudest sounds that reached his 
ears for awhile, and then the quiet of the morning was 
broken by an echoing roar, and before the echoes ceased 
there was a rush of wings, recurring again and again as 
flock after flock of frightened ducks came hurrying past, 
unseen but in fleeting glimpses through openings in the 
branches. At last there was a clattering splash of an 
alighting flock, and in a few moments he discovered 
tbem swimming down stream toward him. When they 
came near enough he fired into the thick of them, with a 
result that would have sickened with envy the heart of 
his rival had he beheld it. Six ducks lay feebly beating 
the water with their wings, or clawing the air with up- 
turned paddles, and a seventh dived and fluttered down 
stream in a futile attempt to escape, till Sam reloaded his 
gun and ended its struggles. 
Then with the aid of a pole he gathered in the game 
and again retired to his ambuscade. Laying his loaded 
gun within easy reach he sat down to the enjoyment of a 
comfortable smoke, idly watching the patch of water glid- 
ing past him, tangling in its eddies the quivering reflec- 
tions of the other shore with floating frost-painted leaves, 
some waterlogged with far-away voyaging, others newly 
launched and buoyant, sailing across the current in wafts 
of the breeze till stranded on the bank or swept onward 
in the stronger current. 
Then as silently, but more swiftly and suddenly, and 
scarcely less gayly colored than the drifting leaves, a flock 
of wood ducks swam into the narrow arena. After tack- 
ing up stream a moment to inspect an evidently favorite 
resort, they crept in onto a willowy sand spit that jutted 
down stream and formed a tiny cove almost beneath 
Sam's hiding place. Instinctively he stretched his hand 
toward his gun, but withheld it as he became more inter- 
ested in watching the unsuspicious birds crowding and 
jostling each other for the best places, then one after 
another standing upright and shaking out their wings, 
then settling down and preening their plumage. They 
were so near him that he could see the flash of their bright 
eyes, the red and olive markings on the drakes' bills, the 
colors of their crests, and almost count the arrow-shaped 
spots on their breasts. 
"By the gre't horn spoon!" he whispered to himself, 
"they're tew harnsome tu spile, an' they're so clust tu, I 
sh'll knock 'em all tu flinders. I've got 'nough anyway, 
seben here an' 'leven in the canew, bo what's the good o' 
murderin'? But they be turrible temptin'." 
Just then he caught sight of the money digger at the 
bend above. It was evident that he saw the ducks, for he 
stopped a moment, then cautiously backed away and 
began a wide detour to reach a point opposite them. 
Sam drew a stout piece of a fallen limb to him, carefully 
balanced it in his hand, and then watched intently the 
crest of the other bank. After a considerable time the 
crown of an unkempt head slowly arose from behind a 
log of driftwood stranded among the trees in the spring 
freshet, and then a pair of eyes slowly scanning the shore 
till they fixed on the object of their search, then sank out 
of sight, then reappeared behind the rusty barrel of a 
slowly leveled rnus&et. 
As Sam saw a brawny hand reaching out to cock the 
clumsy hammer after assured aim, and wondered that 
the audible double click did not alarm the ducks, he threw 
the club at them. Before the hurtling missile splashed in 
the margin of the sand spit the ducks sprang into the air, 
uttering quavering wee-uks, wee-ulcs of alarm. 
For a moment the musket held to its blank aim, then 
was uplifted as the disappointed gunner slowly arose to 
his feet and came out upon the bank, craning his neck up 
stream and down stream to discover the cause of the mis- 
chance, till at last he drawled: 
"What in all smutteration scairt them 'ere ducka-ah?" 
and then after vainly waiting for an answer, "Gol dum 
the tarnal luck." 
Shaking with smothered laughter, Sam watched the 
man vent his disappointment in stamping and fuming, till 
at last he saw him depart, bearing a couple of ducks, the 
sole trophies of his stolen march. 
Sam resumed his exploration of the stream, and after 
coming to a great raft of driftwood that bridged it he 
discovered another little lagoon in the edge of the narrow 
intervale, so close to the level upland that it was shaded 
by its hemlocks, and ducks and partridges were near 
neighbors, each in their favorite haunts. 
Then he came to banks clad with willows, and they in 
turn with wild grapevines, purple underneath with clus- 
ters of frost-ripened fruit. Out of one of these wild 
bowers a partridge and a wood duck took sudden flight 
from their interrupted feast, one making for the woods, 
the other for the water. Sam tumbled the duck back 
among the willows by a snap shot that he was prouder 
of than of those which had given much greater scores. 
The next bend of the stream disclosed the majestic peak 
of Camel's Hump through the vista of a willowy bank 
and a pine-crowned knoll, and when the hunter had 
warmed his heart with a long look at the grandest of his 
beloved mountains he turned back, for the landscape 
was beginning to show more farmsteads than woods. 
The way back over a path once traveled seemed so long 
that Sam had been expecting to come upon the bowery 
island for some time before he caught sight of its ghostly 
guardian buttonwood shining afar off through the shadows 
of the water maples. He was about to shorten the way 
by a cut across the bend when he heard the agonized 
scream of a child. It apparently came from the landing, 
and he bent his steps that way with a premonition that 
help was needed. 
He was running at top speed when he came to the place 
and at a glance saw the dugout adrift slowly rocking on 
the agitated water with a cedar fish pole floating near it. 
With eyes intent on the water he dropped his burdens 
and threw off hat and coat and waistcoat. 
In the same instant a scared little face and a pair of 
clutching hands broke the surface. Making a long leap, 
Sam plunged and found himself not beyond his depth, 
but so near it that he could swim faster than he could 
wade, and a few strokes brought him within reach of the 
child. He caught him by th-j hair and bore him to the 
shore. 
The little fellow had life enough in him to impede his 
rescuer with wild clutohes and to cling desperately at the 
grassy margin when he was brought within reach of it, so 
that when Sam had dragged his own waterlogged self up 
the steep, slippery bank he had less trouble in pulling the 
boy up it than in bringing him to it. 
The poor little fellow had not much breath to spare, but 
plenty of water, to rid him of which Sam laid him across 
a log and gently rolled him from side to side, his patient 
moaning and crying feebly between fits of strangling. 
When he had recovered speech and natural breathinp 
and a disposition to cry continually, Sam took him up 
tenderly in his arms and carried him toward the house, 
which stood a quarter of a mile away behind a straggling 
orchard, whose un pruned lichened trees were as old, for- 
lorn and neglected as the weather-beaten house and ruin- 
ous barn. 
"Haow old be ye?" Sam began, catechizing his charge. 
"S9ben, goin' on eight." 
"Haow come ye in the crik?" 
"Fishin'," was the laconic response, and then with 
sudden interest the child added, "Say-ah, 'd ye git my 
fish pole?" 
"No, I had all I wanted tu git you." 
"Wal, you'd ortu git it. The's an oF roncher on it-ah. 
Pulled me right in. They'll lick me for losin' on't, ah," 
the boy whimpered. 
"No, they won't, nuther. Don't you worry, they'll be 
glad 'nough tu git you. Naow, you look a-here. You're 
tew leetle a feller tu go fishin' alone. Your father 'd ortu 
known better 'n tu left ye. The' won't allers be some- 
body 'raoun' tu pull you out. Don't ye go again. Naow, 
don't f ergit." Sam gave him a gentle shake to emphasize 
his injunction and the boy nodded assent. Then dis- 
covering they were drawing near the house he struggled 
to get down. 
"You lemme go," he whimpered, "I wanter go an' dry 
me. Marm '11 lick me for gittin' wet." 
"By the gre't horn spoon! if she does I'll draowned the 
hull fam'ly. Haow many on 'em is the'? Wal, nev' 
mind, you keep quiet," Sam added, guessing the computa- 
tion was beyond so young a head, when he saw a full 
half dozen tow- thatched heads swarming out of the door 
to stare at him a moment and then vanish as suddenly as 
a litter of frightened woodchucks. 
A gaunt, unkempt woman appeared, shading her in- 
quiring eyes and blank, wonderiDg face with both hand* 
till she recognized the visitor's dripping burden, Then 
her face grew white with terror and she wailed out with 
her hands piteouely outstretched". 
"Oh, Joby's draounded! Oh, dear! oh, dear!" 
"No, he hain't draounded, marm," Sam declared in a 
cheery voice, "but he's almightedly soaked an' you'd 
better dry him off an' put him tu bed." 
Her face became a little less woeful, yet she would not 
be assured, but cried out: 
"O, Joby, hain't you draownded?" 
"No, marm, I hain't," the boy answered feebly. 
"Yis, you be tew draounded," she protested. 
The children gathered behind her in an awed semi- 
circle that broke to let Sam and their mother pass in, 
and closed in again in their rear while he kicked a rock- 
ing chair to a place by the stove, motioned her by a nod 
to be seated in it, and put the child in her lap. 
"You take off his wet clo's an' put him tu bed," he 
commanded, "an' I'll roust up the fire," and while she 
began to obey him he fed the cracked old rotary stove 
with an armful of wood. 
"Sis, you run aout an' git a han'ful o' catnip an' sfeep it 
up in a tin o' b'ilin' water," he said to a girl of 12 who 
stood staring at him in abashed amazement, then address- 
ing the mother, who was struggling with the clinging 
ragged garments: "You give him a good lot on't, hot as 
he c'n take it." 
After seeing the catnip tea a-brewing, Sam went to the 
