May 25, 1895.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
409 
"Well, that is not a large clearing, Nuel." 
"Me guess not, 'bout as big you call door-yard; 
p'haps half acre. An' he most starb last year; rabbit 
scarce, no moose, trout mose frees in. Only he eat um 
skrils an' one porkapine." 
"Why, didn't he catch any animals?" 
"Oh yes, he caught in fall 'bout dozen muskquash, two 
mink, one otter. Mose caught his own bear trap. Gabrel 
had to send him an' bring him to camp, fifteen miles 
away, an' de foolish man caught cole. He gone to Lun'en 
now an' sell his gun an' tings. But hush! Hark! What 
dat?" 
We listen for a few moments and directly a screech 
owl was heard. At this Nuel said, "Oh, I sorry, I sorry." 
"Why?" said I. 
"Ah, means bad luck. Never like to hear ke yo he e 
[low, high sound]; wan' to hear 7ioo, 7ioo, o first." 
"1 guess it will make no difference, Nuel. Why should 
it?" 
"Ugh! A Irishman used to say he a bankee, an' I notice 
his pappoose die an' he man cut he foot an' his cow got 
sick." 
"Well, did he and the cow get well, Nuel?" 
"Oh, yees; he got well. His squaw have two nice pap- 
poose, an' he cow can eat as good as any one. But I t'ink 
it mean bad luck. Goin' rain morrow." 
Before we sat down Nuel relaid the old heaxth and 
braced up the falling door so that it would stand against 
intruders. Of course we could see out of the chimney, and 
there were many cracks and places where the light was 
visible. A rickety bench served as a table, and my seat 
was an old shingle block. Before 7 o'clock I saw that 
Nuel was tired. He hardly smoked his pipe out before I 
saw his lids closing, nor could I get more than a mono- 
syllable from him before he was asleep. 
Left to myself. I had time to reflect. Perhaps I solilo- 
quized. I wish that screech owl would stop his howling. 
Of course I do not believe in signs, but I am sorry Nuel 
mentioned it. I wonder is there a vein of superstition 
among men. Now what is that scratching at one of the 
holes, something as though a cat were jumping up? And 
a rat or a mouse is climbing over the roof. But we hear 
a squak, and something like a flap of a bird is heard, and 
he screeching ceases at once. 
Now I hear only the sound of hoo-hoo, and the snapping 
of the fire and the sizzling of green wood, and the report 
of push, as though gas was trying to force steam out of 
the heated bark. But I sleep, and not until I awoke did I 
perceive that something had run over my face. It is 
totally dark here, except in just one live spark; and as I 
began to realize to myself, I hear that pushing or jumping 
under the floor. At once I feel for the hearth and push 
aside the ashes, and then I hear the hurrying away of 
mice and see a long-tailed one close under my bed. I 
have to awake Nuel and tell him "The mice are eating up 
our breakfast." It was not difficult to arouse him. He 
simply said: 
"Um, ha. Injin had good sleep. Wat you wan', 
Doc'or? Skunk can't get in here." 
"No, but the mice will eat up all our provisions." 
"Dat so? Mus' keep fire blaze. Me sleep. Me forget." 
I looked at the watch. It was 2:30, and in a little time 
we were asleep again, nor did I awake until Nuel said, 
"Doc'or, you need not fear dis time about mouse or skunk. 
Mose breakfas'. Sorry— rain hard " 
It was raining hard, but not a cold rain. This led Nuel 
to say, "Maybe stop soon." But it did not cease until after 
12, too late to start for our voyage. 
Meanwhile we had breakfast, the last of our partridges" 
while Nuel had to satisfy himself with the hindlegs and 
back of a rabbit. One of his remarks was singular, ' 'Mus' 
hab somefin better for dinner dan dis." 
"Why, don't you like rabbit, Nuel?" 
"Like it? Ugh! No— only fit for squaw or pappoose. I 
wan' bear or calleboo." 
However, there was nothing but bacon for dinner. He 
deplored it, but added, "Never mind, Doc'or, me have 
more partrie after rain stop." 
When the trees had somewhat dried off, with my shot 
and gun, he started off for partridges, first around the 
clearing and then a little to the left of s,ome low bushes. 
But not a feather could he raise. He had passed around 
the edge of the clearing, I watching the new farm, and 
not a sign of life there. When he got through he said, 
"Me done understan' dis, Doc'or. To't we fine some 
'round dis. Oh, yees [an afterthought], me know w'at 
to do. You not mine me go 'way— two hour— maybe 
more. Mus' go to beech— w'at you call ridge. Dat best 
place for partrie at dis time. Will kill anyf ing for eat? 
W'at you say? Shall do?" 
"Oh yes, moose or caribou or bear." 
For a time I amused myself in chopping down a tree 
and closing up the skunk holes under the floor. I had 
noticed that a second growth had sprung up around the 
clearing. This made the place appear all the more deso- 
late. A few raspberry canes lying near the ground and 
broken-down ferns near the house; then some scrub oaks, 
with two or three short beeches, with the leaves brown 
and bleached still on them. There was no need of fences 
— the clearing was defined well enough— a gap in the 
woods, with plenty of leaning trees— just behind the little 
river, and now the most forlorn house that some one had 
hoped for so much. 
The afternoon was lovely. It was as pleasant as it 
could be. The sun shone out almost like an early sum- 
mer day. I saw three or four wood flies buzzing around 
the doorstep and a red-looking butterfly flew across the 
clearing. Of course there were no summer birds— not 
even a hermit thrash— but in the distance I heard a blue- 
jay, and six or seven chickadees came along, and several 
squirrels chippered at me. One even presumed to mount 
upon the roof— tail up— and snicker at my loss. Yes, 
the afternoon was perfect. It was perfectly quiet. We 
could hear even a leaf falling near, and the noise of the 
nuthatches and the downy woodpeckers could be heard 
a long way off. I thought I heard Nuel's shots, too; and 
so it proved. He returned at 3:30 with a bunch of nine 
partridges, the fattest I had ever seen or tasted. His re- 
mark was: "Got some fat partrie, an' scare a bear. Me 
not expect him. He smell me. He was on top hill. I 
lookin' for brush near foot of hill. Dey fill belly wid 
beechnut on hill an' walk down an' wait till belly get 
empty. Dat de time me kill dern an' bear get away. 
Goin' to be fine morrow. We mus' start early." 
Neither skunk nor mice disturbed us much. From time 
o time Nuel threw some dried spruce on the fire and it 
ept up such a snapping as to alarm the intruders. It 
was hardly light enough to see clearly when we left one 
of the most dreary places I had ever seen. A wigwam in 
the midst of a forest was a palace to this place. Gray 
and weather-beaten and dilapidated hardly describes it. 
The only thing I could conceive of it was, a lone barred 
owl standing alone, a type]of his desolation. 
The stream narrowed as we came up, but while it was 
narrow it was deeper and had not so much current. I 
could see we were drawing toward a bog somewhere. 
From time to time it twisted and turned. Sometimes it 
seemed to me we did not make a mile in a straight line, 
when we had traveled two hours. Alders and yellow 
birches, and occasionally a large spruce hemmed us in. 
No duck nor even a muskrat, except one that dove near 
the canoe. For several hours we saw nothing at all of 
note. It was as poky as we could conceive. Even the 
beauty of an Indian summer with all its lovely haze 
could not enliven the birds. And if there were any beaver 
or otter in this vicinity we did not see them. A solitary 
moose bird (meat-hawk, Canada jay) passed over and the 
squirrels were too far to be heard. The high grounds and 
spruce trees were too far away. I looked for some life — 
chickadee or nuthatch — but missed it this time. May be 
we only happened to escape them. Well, we did escape 
them until nearly 12 o'clock. But the air and haze and 
quiet were pleasant, and the indescribable smell of dying 
leaves cannot be surpassed. 
But now a change; a kind of point projecting amid the 
flat level gave us some chance to stretch our legs, and a 
bright squirrel at once challenged me with a pile of spruce 
corn husks to tell us how busy he had been. But the 
afternoon was as eventless as the morning. The squirrel 
challenge was the end of animate life, except a few 
chickadees and a bluejay. We noticed the trees got 
shorter and the stream contracted as we paddled up. 
About 3 o'clock I saw we were nearing to the higher 
ground, A rounded point amid the lower level seemed 
to approach. It did until Nuel said: "Now Doc'or we 
mus' stay here. Can land here. Not get wet." Indeed 
that seemed to be quite a bank, as the stream touched the 
edge, and then branched away to what it seemed to me 
was a bog or barren, four or five miles away. 
"You not mine sleep uner canoe dis time, will you 
Doc'or. Goin' to be fine. We make some branch for 
me. We wan' to hunt 'morrow mornin'." 
The boughs were secured as Nuel proposed, and in early 
morning we were off. But no luck. We searched the 
neighborhood of our place, then two miles away to a 
smaller indentation, as though there was once a large 
lake and here was a bay. There was no trace of caribou. 
Only the track of a large moose was seen, and this made 
some days before. We could see this; the rain of Tues- 
day told us; it was nearly washed away. 
Nuel's remark was characteristic. He ate his supper in 
comparative quiet. "Me don't understand Doc'or. 
No sign ob calleboo. I know he wander around an' 
trabble all time from place to place. Dat de kine of he. 
I t'ink we better go to other place. Hard trabble too. 
Can you stan' um? Have to walk more 'an ten. Can't 
walk short cross. Bog not frozen at all." 
Next morning found us on our way and it was as diffi- 
cult as Nuel said. But we need not speak of this. About 
10:30 we laid down our packs. Nuel's first exclamation 
was. "Ugha! Oha! wigwam blown down. Win' blow 
him down. Me 'f raid he spoil um. Break de back. An' 
I 'fraid ifgoin' to rain enight. If hejonly wait um until 
afternoon, me fix um." 
Meanwhile, after Nuel went back for his second load, 
I busied myself in repairing the camp. It was indeed 
badly injured on one side, but by wrapping my fly tent 
around the bark and covering it with branches, it was 
not so bad. And so it proved. 
The camp was well protected. I could not see how in 
the world wind could possibly have blown it down. It 
was protected on every: side but one and the injured side 
was not the one we would expect to be injured. In our 
rear was quite a high rock and above it a dozen or more 
large spruces. One of these trees was intended as a "look 
out" for caribou. We could see some distance from this 
place. 
But the camp was made as comfortable as I could make 
it. All the old brush was cleared away and a trench 
made, except in front. If it should rain I did not want 
our beds to be flooded. And I set a flat stone for a hearth 
with sides to protect the fire. I know of nothing much 
worse than to be aroused in the night by fire, when our 
beds were blazing and our provisions perishing. Or hav- 
ing our hearth sinking down and down until the turf is a 
foot and a half below the fireplace. I would rather run 
the risk of snapping stones to a hole below the surface. 
But we suffered very little from this. 
Of course we had to use billets for wood. We could 
not burn large sticks. My fear was that we could not 
keep warm should cold rains or a storm come on. 
However, the camp was a great success, nor did I won- 
der at Nuel's remark on his return at 3 o'clock: "Mose so 
good as me could do." 
He could not bring everything, but he had the flour and 
the ' 'hardtack." The first time we had brought the bacon 
and the coffee and the sugar with the utensils. The next 
day Nuel brought my shotgun, my snowshoes (we 
thought they might be necessary), my heavy coat with 
two comfortables. That I knew Nuel and myself would 
require. 
Nuel's special charge on his last trip was this: "Doc'or, 
you watch um from dis tree. You can see um long way 
ober de bog an' barn [barren] too. Look for what you 
call um islan' an' small wood an' edge ob barn. Calleboo 
hard to see. Look mose like dead leaves hang, like oak 
or beech tree. Watch him, if som'fin move an' hark when 
you hear like leaves move." 
I attended most carefully to Nuel's directions. I only 
came down three times from my perch. However, I saw 
nothing, search as I did. I thought for certain I must 
find something. Again and again I was sure I saw a cari- 
bou. But no hallucination could deceive me. There was 
not a bird — not even a crow nor a bluejay. Out in the 
bog and opposite the barren was as lifeless as a waste. 
What a dreary, lonesome place it was! We looked upon 
a bog and beyond it a barren, and some miles away the 
coniferous hills. Here and there you would see a thread 
of water. Choked up it appears, with little pools that 
shimmered in my eye. There appeared to be a line of 
dead cattails in some places, and alder bushes and a growth 
of birches. There were some dwarfed spruces, and a 
mile or more large boulders, with dead trees — with beeches 
and oaks interspersed. Some of these places looked li— 
little islands amid the bog. But the barren was not so 
very unlike the bog itself. The barren rose up slowly 
from the lower level. The only thing that distinguished 
it was that there was usually a fringe of bushes that de- 
nned the edges of the barren growth. 
But on the barren we could see the turf through the 
dead blueberry bushes, and pieces of rock were scattered 
around, as if they had dropped down . This was the sight I 
saw from my "watch tree," so far as I can describe it, 
when Nuel called me at noon to inquire, "Well, Doc'or. 
Me here. You see some calleboo?" 
"No, Nuel, not one." 
"Den we mus' eat an' go right off." 
Our preparations were soon made. As we started Nuel 
said. Now Doo or, mus' not shoot 'roun' here except for 
calleboo. Not for partrie or rabbit. Me set snare for rab- 
bit right near here. It good for rabbit. Me eat um if me 
have. Me hate squaw food. But me hope me find calle- 
boo. You save two partrie." 
Meanwhile Nuel set five snares. I could see, too, on 
very good paths. They were well defined. A mile away 
Nuel stationed me. He said, "Doc'or, you see calleboo 
come roun' here-two-five-six-maybe. Good place. 
You watch um. You know-climb up tree. Can see 
pretty long place." 
Nuel had left me near a spur of the mountain. It was 
almost as good a place as above the camp. But I waited 
and I waited, and not a sign of anything did I see but 
squirrels and spruce partridges, and three or four moose 
II d8 T~ anada jays— with some golden-crowned wrens, 
attended by a few chickadees. It seemed to me that I 
had waited a half day for the caribou to come, but I 
found it was only 3 o'clock. At this time I heard Nuel 
coming along and muttering as he came. He had on his 
back a load of birch bark. But he was in great excite- 
ment, I could see. His words were: "Doc'or, me is 
awful mad. Want to say cuss words all detime. Feel 
like to kill dat man." 
"Why ! I am surprised to hear you say this, Nuel." 
dat JJmph! You would not be s'prised if you knew w'at 
"Come, there; tell me about it." 
"Me tell you when we get home. Mus' fix wigwam first. 
We make um all right; but me awful mad." 
I said no more until we got home and the crushed bark 
was repaired, Nuel saying hardly a word except to mutter 
to himself. My idea was that plenty of pancakes and 
coffee would restore him. But you could see a scowl on 
his face. At last he said, "Me teU you why me so mad, 
Docor. Dat, dat [mus' say dis time] he, dat Yangee, 
Mehcetes (he no Micmac) been lyin', an' he soger officer, 
too. bay he not go to our place, but way off near big 
barn; two day away. An' I believe he was de one dat 
threw down the wigwam. Dat not win'." 
"But what makes you think so, Nuel?" 
"Oho me know Paul. You know he my uncle son. 
You call un cousin. All de same. He big liar. He say 
he not come my way, an' he gone 'sackly [exactly] dat 
way an cross to udder bar'n, big one, me tole you " 
"But how do you know? Tell me about it." 
"Well den, you see we hunt um free day now. Watch 
you place firs —den watch big tree, twice every mornin'. 
You not see only ole track, two day ole. No sign. While 
me was goin' on very careful— creep under broken twig 
an knot— me see berry little wool'n hair on knot. He 
what you call um homespun jacket. He had dat on him. 
l)en Paul he loss him small toe an' de nex' to it. Small 
dent not on in moccasin on right side. Me saw dat place 
in mud free time. He no cheat me. 
"An' he soger capf n with him. He good hunter, too. 
Me know him. He stan' berry sideway. Like to hab his 
footstep berry stiff— what you call reg'lar. An' w'en he 
creep his knee make um large dent in moss an' mud- 
larger dan Injun make. Soger fell in mud hole. Me see 
de place. Me guess he not look wait to see, an' ban's an' 
gun fall into hole! Uchluch! make him say cuss words, 
me guess, he! he! 
"But now we better get ready, me fink. Maybe we 
hab to wait sometime for calleboos. Day come back affer 
few day. Maybe week. We wan' to fix up good wig- 
wam. He better than shanty. Wigwam more warm." 
This was very disappointing to me, but there was no 
help, and I had no doubt about Nuel's truth. The last 
three days had been very pleasant— as fine as summer, 
only cooler, with a heavy air, though not like October. 
It was as Nuel said, "berry fine," and had been for three 
weeks, off and on. But now a change was approaching. 
I noticed my watch at 3 o'clock, and I saw that the night 
was very dark, and a little sprinkle of rain had com- 
menced. And soon after this we heard a hoo-hoo. For 
Nuel's sake I was glad we heard this. He noticed it, 
too. "We not hear any ke-yo-kee first. Me glad. Mean 
'good luck' all same." 
But Nuel was mistaken, as you will see. It was pour- 
ing at morning, nor did it stop until late in the afternoon. 
(TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.) 
Expensive Robins. 
Port Richmond, N. Y., May 18.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: At the last circuit court held by Justice Gaynor 
for the county of Richmond two Italians were arraigned, 
tried and convicted for the offense of shooting robins. 
One of the men was unfortunate enough to have de- 
stroyed 59 birds and the other had killed 13. The former 
paid $1,475 for his day's sport and the latter $325. The 
man who was responsible for the capture of these two pot- 
hunting Italians was John Fisk, who had gained fame 
previously by arrestingj.the Rev. Dr. Dixon for a like 
offense. Edward Sidney Rawson. 
New York State Association. 
Rochester, N. Y., May 16.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
There will be a meeting of the Executive Committee of 
the New York Association for the Protection of Fish and 
Game, at Buffalo, Tuesday, May 28, 3 P. M., at the 
Broezel House, to consider our finances and other mat- 
ters that may be brought up. Frank J. Amsden. Pres. 
Caspian Tern in Michigan. 
Holland, Mich., May 16. — A fine Caspian tern in 
elegant plumage was shot here Monday, May 13. I have 
secured it and will mount it for my own collection. It 
was pretty badly shot, one wing being nearly severed 
from the body, but by working carefully a very nice 
specimen was made from it. Arthur G. Baumgartel. 
