830 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Deo. S3, 1894. 
S or &mttmz pending. 
CHARADE. 
My first and last together make 
The ribboned steel that binds the world, 
My first alone your thirst can slake 
From hissing urn with steam upeurled. 
My second is a little bird 
That flutters from the reeds and grass. 
My whole compressed in one short word, 
Can climb the dizziest mountain pass. 
H. G. Dulog 
KELSY AND THE SHERIFF. 
Uncle Jerry and I were pushing through the yellow 
branches and white stems of second growth bushes in 
the supposed line of flight of three partridges that had 
gone booming away unseen toward the rocky steeps of 
Shellhouse Mountain. 
Presently we came upon a gnarled and decayed old 
apple tree, its hollow trunk knee-deep in yellow and 
brown ferns that filled the space which the shade of the 
dense branches had kept clear of woody undergrowth, 
while they held off at arm's length the intruding ranks of 
birches. Evidently it was not originally a wild apple 
tree, chance sown by bird or beast, for there were hollow 
stumps of great limbs that though overgrown with lich- 
ened bark, around the black cavity still showed that they 
had been cut close and square by the primer's saw, and 
among the diminutive, pale yellow fruit that lightly 
burdened t*>e crowded, interwoven sprouts matted with 
dead leaves and twigs, one half -decayed branch struggled 
upward to display a few fair, red apples to prove the 
skill ol some foi'gotten grafter. 
If further evidence wasneeded that this was the survivor 
of an orchard or perhaps one cherished fruit-bearer of a 
home that it far outlived, it was given by an adjacent 
cellar, a mere shallow pit, with grass-grown sides brim- 
ful of rank golden rods and asters. 
The sodded dry bank offered a pleasand seat, for it lay 
in the full sunshine, while there was a creeping autumnal 
chill in the shade not inviting one to long rest therein. 
"I guess them pa'tridges has gone clean on t' the hill," 
said Uncle Jerry, speaking aloud for the first time since 
we began our quest, "an' I believe we'd orfcer seddaown 
here an' hev a smwuk." 
Taking a step down, he seated himself on the bank, 
and laying his single-barreled gun conveniently across 
his knees, began filling his pipe from a heart-case of long- 
cut tobacco. 
I had not outgrown the youthful desire of the race to 
taste the fruit of every strange tree, and my lips were 
puckered over my latest acquisition of useful knowledge, 
so that I did not open them to ask for more, till I was 
seated beside iiiy old friend and a whiff of smoke had 
loosened my tongue. 
"Who ever lived here, Uncle Jerry?" 
He picked up a broken brick and turned it slowly be- 
neath his meditative eyes as if its blackened surface might 
give some clue to the moldered hands that kindled fires 
on a hearth long since cold and forgotten. After much 
thoughtful contemplation, he laid the brick beside him 
and answered: 
"I ruther guess it must ha' been ol' Kelsy." 
"Do you remember him?" 
"Good land, no. He was gone furder'n the smoke of 
his own chimbly 'fore my day. But I've hearnmy father 
tell on him an' haow he got treed." 
"How was it?" I asked, pricking my ears for a thrilling 
tale of wild beasts. 
Uncle Jerry took up the brick again, as if its touch 
might aid his recollection, passing it from hand to hand, 
with his elbows resting on his knees, like a shuttle that 
wove the thread of his story. 
"Wal, ye see, the way on't was, ol' Kelsy bargained for 
a piece o' land here, an' put him up a lawg haouse, right 
here where we're settin', proberbly." 
He dug away the thin soil with a corner of the brick 
and disclosed the red dust of the dead and buried house. 
"He an' his ol' womern lived here quite a spell, long 
'nough for him to git in debt to ev'ybody within a mild o' 
here. I do' know what possessed anybody to make a pitch 
here; the sile ain't much to brag on, an' it was a lunsome 
place even for them days — no neighbor nigher 'n Shell- 
naouse, a mile off, but there was lots an' sacks o' game all 
raoun', an' traout in the brook over there, so I've hearn 
tell, an' I've seen minnies in 't myself, not thirty year ago. 
Wal, bimeby , some o' them 'at he owed got sick o' waitin' 
an' made up the' minds 'at he wa'n't makin' no cal'lation 
on payin' nobody, so they hed the papers made aout to 
jail him; they useter jail folks for debt them times, ye 
know, an' they started the sheriff off arter him. 01' Kelsy 
sot eatin' his breakf us, an' happenin' to look aouten the 
winder, he seen the sheriff clust on't the haouse. He 
knowed what was up the minute he seen him, an' he 
jumped up an' grabbed a hunk o' col' johnnycake off 'm 
the table an' cut aou' door, pocketin' it as be run, an' int' 
the woods quicker 'n scat, an' the sheriff arter him, an' it 
was nip an' tuck f er a few minutes, but Kelsy was tew 
spry fer him, fer he was a leetle, cat-hammed, wiry feller, 
an' the sheriff was a re'lar lummux 'at weighed tew hun- 
ded an' a quarter, so when Kelsy got start enough he jest 
shinned up a tollable-sized hemlock tree an' hid in the 
branches, thinkin' the sheriff hadn't seen him gwup. But 
he hed, an' pooty soon he come saounderin' up to the foot 
on't a-smilin' up at Kelsy like a basket o' chips. 
" 'Good mornin', Mr. Kelsy,' says he. 
" 'The top o' the mornin' tu ye, Mr. Tucker, an' that's 
what I've got up here,' says Kelsy. 
" 'Won't you jest step daown here a minute, Mr. Kelsy, 
I wanter see ye?' 
" 'If you wanter see me wusa 'n I da you, you c'n step 
up here,' says Kelsy. 
" 'O, come naow, what's the use o' foolin'?' says the 
Sheriff. 'I got papers tu sarve on ye.' 
" 'What's the use o your foolin'? Sarve 'em, why don't 
ye?' says Kelsy. 
" 'Wal, I will when you come daown, an' I'm goin' tu 
stay till you du,' says Tucker. 
" 'When I du, you sarve 'em,' says Kelsy; an' he lit his 
pipe wi' a flint an' steel an' some punk, an' begun smoldn' 
as comf'table as you please, an' Tucker, he looked up a 
good spot an' daown he sot. 
" 'I guess I c'n stan' it tu set here as long as you can 
up there,' says he; an' he took aout his pipe an' he begin 
tu smoke, tu. 
" 'Mebby,' says Kelsy; an' he fixed himself comf'table 
on a big limb, with his back again the body of the tree, 
an' then thinkin' he might 's well improve the time bein' 
socierable, says he, 'Haow's yer f wolks, Mister Tucker?' 
" 'They're tollable well. Yourn is, I s'pose? I didn't 
seem to hev time to stop an' inquire abaout Mis' Kelsy's 
health when I was passin' the haouse.' 
" 'No, you didn't sca'cely seem to.' says Kelsy, laughin'. 
'Yes, she's consid'able kinder middlin' 'ceptin' rheuma- 
tiz.' 
" 'She got rheumatiz?' says the sheriff. 'Wal, naow I'll 
tell ye what she wants tu take fer them. You take an' 
dig a good ha'f'l o' bloodrut an' put it intu a pint o' rum, 
an' hev her take a spoonful on 't three times a day. It'll 
knock the rheumatiz higher 'n Gilderoy's kite.' 
" You don't say. But seems 'ough so much bloodrut 
'ould spile a pint o' good rum. Haow 'ould it du tu eat 
the bloodrut an' drink the rum 'long between bites, er 
haow 'ould it du for the ol' woman tu chaw the bloodrut 
an' me drink the rum?' 
" 'Jest as you an' her c'n agree,' says Tucker. Says he, 
"skated by my old friend." 
'It was a High Jarmany Indian darcter tol' Amasy Baker 
on 't, an' it cured his rheumatiz, an' he tol' me. You've 
got it as cheap as I did.' 
" 'Any news wuth tellin'?' Kelsy ast, changin' the sub- 
jeck; for he begin tu git dry talkin' o' spirits. 
" 'I do' know as the' is, nothin' pertic'lar,' says Tucker, 
considerin' an' chawin' a goold thread rut; for he was be- 
ginnin' tu spit cotton, tu. 
" "Be you goin' tu run fer sheriff agin this fall?' Kelsy 
ast, an' Tucker pricked up his ears an' sot up, considerable 
interested an' says,' 'I be if the folks is satisfied with the 
way I've done business an' wantu keep me in the office. 
I hope you haint layin' up nothin' agin me fer a-duin' of 
my duty, Mr. Kelsy, but '11 vote fer me just the same as 
if I hedn't ben 'bliged tu take ye?' 
" 'Not if I'm in jail I shan't vote fer you ' 
" 'O, sho, you'll be out 'fore 'lection er anyways you'll 
be on the limitsl" 
" 'Wal,' says Kelsy, 'I haint in yitan' I haint nonotiern 
o' bein' hove in, not 'fore 'lection. If you'll go off int' 
woods an' stay an hour, I'll vote fer ye.' 
" 'Do you s'pose I'd shirk my duty that sorter way?' 
said the sheriff stan'in' up an' speakin' tumble indignant, 
'no sir, but I'll tell you what I'm goin' tu du. I'm comin' 
" SARVE 'KM, WHY DON'T YE?" 
right up there an' pull you daown by the laigs', an' he 
begin to pull off his cut an' spit on his han's. 
" 'If you come here, I 'spect I'll be 'bleeged tu kick a 
hole in the top o' yonr head,' says Kelsey, 's cool as a 
caowcumber ,an' Tucker put on his cut an' sot daown agin. 
" 'Wal, I'll git yer axe an' chop ye daown,' says he arter 
a spell. 
" ' Wal, ye3, you go an' git the axe,' says Kelsy, snick- 
erin' right aout. 
" 'You'll h after come daown sometime an' git some- 
thin' to eat. It's gittin' towards noon an' I'm hungry 
myself. Come, what's the use o' foolin'? Come along 
daown an' we'll gwup tu the haouse an' git us suthin tu 
eat an' go 'long peaceable an' friendly.' 
"'Thank you', says Kelsy, 'I've got suthin' tueat', an' 
he hauled aout his johnnycake an' begin eatin'. You 
orter fetched a bite in your pocket. There haint a thing 
t' eat in the haouse but taters an' I was jest a goin' off 
arter some necessaries when you come an' upset all my 
cal'lations.' 
" 'Wal,' says the sheriff, 'ef you feel any 's I do you 
mus' be a-gittin' some dry. Come daown an' go 'long wi' 
me an' when we gifc tu Tupper's we'll have us suthin' 
tu take. Come naow.' 
" 'You talk temptin',' says Kelsy, 'but I know where 
there's a quart o' good rum nigher 'n Tupper's, an' if 
you're a min' tu be reasonable we c'n ha' some.' 
"Tucker looked up kinder wishful and Kelsy went on 
explainin'. 'If you'll promise me, honor bright, to drink 
fair an' pass it up to me in a way I'll pervide I'll hev us a 
bottle 'o rum in less 'n no time!' 
" 'I will,' says Tucker, 'Hope to die if I don't, fer I'm 
drier 'n a graven image.' 
"An' then Kelsy begin tu holler like a loon. 'Lyddee, 
Lyddee,' tu his ol' womern, an' she answered, an' he tol' 
her tu fetch the bottle o' rum, an' she did, an' he tol' the 
sheriff tu take a drink, which he did, an' meanwhile Kelsy 
was onwindin' a fishline 't he hed in his pocket, he most 
allers hed one, an'^lettin' on 't daown through the branches, 
an' then he tol' his ol' womern tu hitch the bottle ontu it, 
which she did, an' he hauled it up an' took a snort that 
was tumble comfortin', fer he'd got pretty dry a-roostin' 
up in a tree, goin' on three hours. Pretty soon he took 
another tu make sure on 't an' then he lee daown the 
bottle tu the sheriff an' says: 
" 'Drink hearty, for you haint got nothin' 't eat.' An' 
he did, for be was a thirsty crutter, an' not havin' nothin' 
tu eat since airly in the mornin' it took rank hoi' on him 
an' it wa'n't long afore he was happy as a king He tol' 
Kelsy stories and sung him songs an' says he, 'I never has 
sho mush fun takin' prishners sin' I hel' er offish. String 
shong, an' I'll taker ten stepsh.' 
"An' Kelsy begin tu sing 'Hey Betty Martin, tip-toe 
fine,' an' Tucker flopped around a-takin' his ten steps like 
a frozen-footed raster, till bimeby he stubbed his toe er 
tangled up his laigs an' daown he went kerflop, an' Kelsy 
sung aout You 've took 'em an' more tu! ' 
"Kelsy's womern kinder hung raoundaspell till she 
seen haow the ol' man's medicine was a work in' an' then 
she suddenly scuttled off tu the haouse wi' the corner of 
her apron stuffed intu her mouth tusmudderher laughin.' 
"'Tucker hung ont' the weeds an' grass tu keep from 
fallin' up, an' Kelsy was cocksure he was gettin' a leetle 
over the dam. when he went off saound asleep as a lawg, 
a snorin' like a blacksmith's bulluses. Kelsy hove daown 
a sliver o' bark an' it hit him right in the face, but he 
never stirred; an' so Kelsy come shinnin' daown, an' 
satisfied himself 'at Mr. Officer hed outlived his usef lness 
fur a spell, an' he picked up the bottle 'at was wuth savin' 
for what was left in it, an' puther fer the haouse, an' there 
was lively times fer about an haour wi' him an' his ol' 
womern a pickin' up the' duds. 
"When Tucker 'd slep' off the liquor, it was gettin' con- 
sid'able darkish in the woods an' the August pipers was 
tunin' up an' a hoot aowl a-hootin' up on the maountain, 
an' he couldn't think fer a minute where he was, er haow 
he come there. Then he sot up an' suthin' slid offem his 
breast ontu his lap. It was a gret hunk o' col' johnny- 
cake 'at ol' Kelsy 'd put there the last thing, an' then it 
-come tu him where he was an' what fetched him there, 
an' he got up an' went slyin' up tu the haouse. 
"But there wa'n't no danger o' his 'larrnin' nobody, fer 
when he shoved opeu the door the place was as empty as 
a contribution box 'cept the fillin' o' a Btraw bed scattered 
abaout on the floor, an' there wa'n't a sound in 't but a 
maouse a-squddlin' 'mongst the straw, an' the las' dyin' 
snappm' of the burnt aout fire on the hearth. 
" 'By gosh,' says Tucker arter gawpin' an' hearkin' 
abaout five minutes 'thout takin' a breath, 'He's gone, 
hook an' line, bob an' sinker 1 An' I'd orter hev a 
guardeen!' An' he didn't git the 'lection that fall." 
As Uncle Jerry finished his story, he pitched the broken 
brick in the bushes in front of us beyond the cellar, 
having no further use for it. 
There was a startled Jcerrrr quit, quit, and a ruffed 
grouse shot up like a rocket through the tangled briers and 
almost as soon as seen vanished among the yellow birch 
leaves that swayed and tossed in the wind of his impetu- 
ous flight. 
An abashed smile began stealing over the blankness of 
the old man's gaping face as he turned it slowly toward 
me, and said, "Wal, he fooled us, an' went julluk ol' 
Kelsy!" Rowland E. Robinson. 
MOOSE AND CARIBOU. 
Fifty miles almost due north of Boisetown *is Little 
Sou'west Miramichi Lake, in which locality are the best 
moose and caribou grounds in New Brunswick. Within 
a radius of twenty miles of the lake are hundreds of 
other lakes, big and little, many of them nameless and 
not traced upon any map of the country. It is a great 
timber region, but there are parts of it in which the 
sound of the chopper's axe has never yet been heard. On 
every side are hills and mountains of considerable height, 
which form the watershed of the Little Sou'west, Dun- 
garvon, Renous, Clearwater and Rocky Brook to the 
south and east, and to the west of the waters of the 
Tobique. 
The reigning monarch of this game paradise is Henry 
Braithwaite, the finest all-round guide and woodsman 
that ever wore a moose shank. For a quarter of a cen- 
tury he has trapped and hunted over it for bear, moose, 
caribou and all the small fur-beailng animals. He has a 
line of traps stretching over about seventy miles of 
ground, along which his camps or cabins are located at 
convenient intervals. His trapping is done chiefly in the 
winter when all this region is a silent waste of snow. Of 
recent years he has in the autumn taken several moose- 
hunting parties in upon these grounds, and has never 
failed to show them the living target. As a moose-caller 
he has no rival. Unlike the Indian guides he calls only 
in the daytime, when the game is plainly to be seen, and 
no one who has had the good fortune to see the consum- 
mate skill and patience with which he coaxes a wary old 
bull to his doom will ever forget the experience. When 
the marksman is the victim of buck fever, it is only by 
calling the game within very close range that the death- 
shot can be given. 
The woods of Maine, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia 
are full of guides (so-called) who make a bluff at calling 
moose. The genuine artist who can really fool the old 
fellow into the notion that he hears the voice of his lady 
love is a very rare bird indeed. In the mating season a 
bull moose is readily excited by unusual scents or sounds 
and he is liable to investigate. He is intolerant of the 
presence of man but not much afraid of him. He will 
follow upon the trail of the hunter, or he will come to 
the camp to see what all the racket is about anyhow, and 
now and then he will plant himself in the road and. dis- 
pute the right of way. Old Peter Gray, an Indian caller 
of the usual sort, expressed the whole thing in a nutshell. 
Being asked if he could call moose he replied, "Sartin, me 
call moose. Call um all m' lifetime. Sartin never come 
yet. Sposeni a lot come when do come." 
