June 1, 1895.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
439 
Meanwhile my attention was given to the little band 
and then to my surroundings. And first of my surround- 
ings. As I looked in a general way, we saw only a wide 
lake of snow, bordered by the distant evergreen hills that 
might be ten miles away. Then as I looked more atten- 
tively I saw larger or smaller dark patches, and in one 
place what might have been a small stream. It was 
more th an simple patches, they seemed to run too much in 
places, and I thought they must be the general run of the 
bog. Then as I looked closely, I saw that this was not a 
mere waste of snow — like a lake or a prairie. No, I 
could see above the snow and small spruce trees, and 
some of them just above the top of sticks and bushes. 
And I could see two bleached dwarf ed beeches and life- 
less alders, and mixed among them the withered leaves 
of oaka that trembled in the air. 
But now the sun is shining and the crust is glistening 
in my eyes, and I can see a deeper shade of color than 
that that fringed the border of the barren. But, above 
all, my attention is fixed most closely on the little island, 
as we have called it, with its higher spruces and longer 
fringe of trees. I can see these quite plainly. One of the 
caribou seems to be pawing at the ground, and his front 
feet and his nose are beneath the snow. And just beyond 
him, not two rods away, is a large boulder. It is perfectly 
white, and the rock might be thought to resemble an im- 
mense white elephant lying down. 
But see those caribou — two seem to be lying down. 
They are so mixed up with those browned oaks that it is 
hard to tell what they are. I wonder will Nuel get any? 
I have waited for a long time now, it seems to me (only 
two hours), since Nuel left. I don't see him. He was to 
return in an hour to try and see if he could not get a shot. 
I am looking most carefully to see if I cannot detect his 
approach. But no. Nothing in sight but a few stunted 
spruces. But what is that? It seems to me I see anew 
place is coming under my vista. Does it change? It does, 
I declare. See how this bush changes! Yes, I see some- 
thing like a spruce bush. I did not see those same bushes 
nor in the same position before. Take a line. Yes, the 
bush has changed. That bush was not there before, and 
now — see, the spot is coming this way. Yes, yes, there 
is a thick-branched spruce — nearing an i nearing, It 
stops and then turns to the right and then to the 1H t, and 
although Nuel is approaching — sometimes almost straight 
to my watch tree — I can see his dodge to get under the 
boulder and the island fringe. 
Now I watched, as I suppose I never watched Nuel be- 
fore. I cannot see him distinctly. Maybe I imagine, but 
he is approaching. I think I can see the heel of his moc- 
casin as he steps. His body is too close to the bush for 
me to see more. Now he is very cautious He turns to 
the left. Now he makes a few6teps forward. Now I can 
see the skirt of his short coat — now his shoulder — now 
hia English cap. Now he pauses and I pause, too. 
I can see the caribou. Three are aigging under the 
crust and two are lying down. A fine stag, I could see, 
was pawing, and I judged hooking up the crust. 
But look! I see a bluish puff of smoke. Then four 
animals as for a moment in consternation stood and 
circled around, and the fifth made off in a straight line, 
with his head lower than when he came from the timber 
to the island. 
But this is no time for me to look. I must be down as 
soon as I can and try to intercept the flight. 
It did not require more than six minutes to get to my 
station and I was ahead of the caribou, but I could hear 
him as he came along crushing through the crust. The 
four were in advance of the stag — two females and two 
yearling males. And the stag I could see was tired and I 
thought badly hurt. He comes right along though, only 
pausing for a moment as though he wanted to rest. This 
was my chance and I fire. The ball struck the animal 
just behind the fore shoulder and with a convulsive shud- 
der it was dead. 
"When it fell I must confess a curious sensation over- 
came me. It was a kind of remorse — as much as to say: 
"Well, you have obtained what you wanted and the poor 
harmless thing is dead. Does it pay?" Bat men do not 
analyze their sensations. It is not good perhaps at times, 
and, as I heard Nuel iushing on through the brush I for- 
got those death spasms only a few rods away. 
Nuel's exclamation was: "Well, Doc'or, you got um 
shot. Did you kill um?" 
"Oh yes, Nuel." 
"W'at! got um dead?" 
"Yes." 
"Not run more?" 
"No. There he is, See him?" 
"He! ho! horoah! Ain't me glad ! Me so glad me wan' 
to shake um nan' like Engleee do." 
"Well, come along, Nuel. Now the thing is to get 
home." 
"Ugh. Never mine 'bout die. Me know de ways to 
get back. Blenty eat for a good long time." 
With Nuel we inspected the stag. His question was: 
"Now, Doc'or, done you i'ink dis good 'pecimen? No 
poin's broken." 
"Yes, Nuel, it is a very fair specimen. Not so large as 
some I have heard of, but a very good one indeed." 
Of course, the caribou was measured and at once the 
skinning commenced. It was nearly noon now, and as 
Nuel said, "Skincomeoff good now," maybe he had some 
idea too of a caribou steak for dinner. Not many miuutes 
after the skinning began he remarked: "No more gquaw 
meat." And pausing, as it were, to think of what he 
said, he added, "but Doc'or, you make so good as Englese 
an' F'ench cook." 
Dinner over, Nuel told me about the stag. "Well, Doc- 
'or. me berry glad here. Only luck. Berry bad walkin' 
firs'. Snow all pile up in heap un'er tree. Little cradle 
hill, you call, an' den crust won't bear me some time. 
Take long time to get to bop:, an' den dat white field. 
How me get there 'cross dat snow lake — it was guessin'. 
Me t'ink can't crawl, can't hide myse'f behin' brush. No, 
no brush in some place. Den me say me get big brush, 
wide, get two, make dem t'ick an' me walk behin' bush. 
Had to go berry careful. Only more slow on line where 
we see little stag. Udder ones not see him. But leetle 
stag he see, dough he was lyin' down. Saw him rise up 
he head more 'an once, an' his ear, too. But me had 
leetle peep-hole, an' w'en stag seem 'larm, me stan' long 
time. Not move till head down. Den I move, get side- 
way, get tudder, get 'nine again of bush. Now me gin 
to tumble. No care for calleboo, but for you. You wan' 
dem so much. 
"But w'en me got 'hine^ big white rock den me walk 
fas', an' more slow away from rock. Me see udder bushes, 
get 'bine udder bush, creep up. Big, fine stag, me say, 
'He no smell um me. Win' away.' Big stag, he pawin' 
wid his big hoof an' me t'o't punch some crus' wid his 
horn. He w'at we call moss, eatin' it. W'en he not hab 
his head up me crawl, an' young stag 'nine brown leaves 
an' udder tree away from leetle one, me not see um till I 
fires. But 'reckly me t'ink me near 'nuff for shot. Can't 
get no near widout me fright him. He head to me. Dat 
not good. Say, 'mus' shoot in neck, close to shoulder. 
Me make prayer. Bang! An' jus' as me shoot me t'inke, 
'You said cuss word 'bout Paul,' an' away went stag an' 
udder calleboo. An' me said in my mine de Good Spirit 
punish me for my cuss word. An' me say cou'n't help. 
Me sorry now. 
"But big stag he weut off. He some sick. Me saw 
some spot ob blood an' he leetle lame, but he not blood 
much. (You say me hurt him bad — blood inside,) Den, 
you know, me run fas' as me can. Felt [hem-hem hem] 
ticulum all de time. Me t'ink a leetle rum would cure um 
now. Wat you t'ink, Doc'or?"' 
"Oh, I only have a little, Nuel. Must save it. You 
might be sick or I might." 
"Dat berry sad, yw get sick. Me wish you hab blenty 
rum, dough." 
"It would be bad for you, Nuel " 
"He! be! Me like to try one bad. Not w'en it hurt, I 
s'pope, me like um rum. Nev°r mind. Calliboo here. 
Paul did not fool me. Me will be good wid him. He try 
me. Me done like deceive — you call. Hoo hoo, jus' as owl 
say, an' dat snicker," 
"What do you mean by this snieher, Nuel?" 
"Well, me mean w'at you call squirrel. W'en he run 
upside down — make he tail w'en he head down — flat he 
body, like fly squirrel, say 'smiichet, amitcheV — dat 
one kine ob him. Den, w'en he turn up he body — run 
up tree berry fas' — mock — say snick, snick, snick; he 
'nudder kine. Den mose importan' is dis — up, chit — me; 
me, me, fit, fit; peffer, me, seeket, fee. an' sit on rump, 
an' wag he tail up an' down; shake it." 
"Well, Nuel, what does that mean?" 
"All de same as good luck. Mean um same. Calleboo 
gone dis way. Look out. Be careful an' you catch him. 
"But de worse of all is what you call um blue jay. He 
be a beiry debbil. He make me lossun more 'an once." 
"Why, what does he do, Nuel?" 
"Oh, dat bluejay, w'en you hear him say pe-ya, pe-ya, 
pe-ya — fas' as he can — den look out. De fun is end den. 
An' dat deebird, he putty bad, too; w'en he say dee, 
dee, dee, he mean somethin', too. But w'en he say 
pe, tee — whistle [slow, high up, low down], dat not 
bad. He mean he happy. Sing more in late spring. 
Bluejay he say run, run, run. Deebird — dee, dee, dee, 
mean same as see, see, see — somefin' goin' on. Meat hawk, 
moose bird, Canada jay, you call. He putty quiet 'cept 
w'en he berry hungie. He too busy to pay 'tension to 
animal. He say wht, wht, wht, or somethin' like dat. 
Maybe he mean scrap, an' he quiet only so all kine 
of animal may eat up w'ot left. Me goin' to gib meat 
hawk now. Me so glad to give him feas. Now me goin' 
begin toboggan. Two better dan one. Me tell you reason 
morrow. Me glad to look out ob wigwam an' see skin an' 
horn right un'er my eye." 
After dinner I left Nuel to his own devisings, nor did I 
see him again until just before tea time. Then he returned 
with some large hoop poles, I would call them, with pieces 
of wood, I sa,w, for pins. He looked very much pleased, 
and his remark was, "Got w'ot me wan', Doc'or. Make 
toboggan— two of 'em. Good for crus' — easy. Hope it las' 
t'ree day. Guess it will." 
Soon after supper Nuel said, "Doc'or, me goin' morrow 
mornin' to our firs' place for hunt, w'ere me left canoe. 
Wan' to see canoe. Good trabbling now. Can go an' 
back 'for dinnie. Not so far as we walk. Me goin' to 
carry one nine leg for calleboo along wid it. Day af'er 
morrow me wan' you come if wedder fine. Get early 
start. Go all way to 'foolhouse.' Den if freese hard 
all way to you inn. You un'erstan', Doc'or? You be 
ready?" 
"Yes; and I think it is a good plan. I will get ready by 
to-morrow and we can start the day following. You had 
better take my heavy gun with your leg of caribou." 
"Yes, make lighter. Very easy af'er we get to canoe. 
Run right along, 'cept rapids or airhole. I watch." 
And so, after an early breakfast, Nuel started, as he 
said, on his toboggan, with his venison and gun, and re- 
turned home just before dinner. 
"Firs' rate," was his exclamation, "Canoe not spoil at 
all, only on one bow, high up, leetle crack. Branches 
came down on snow heavy, pile um all up. But moccasin 
berry thin. Me can't get you skin — he, he! Nev' mine, 
me fix 'em 'enight." 
But now I was so absorbed in my cleansing of the cari- 
bou head that I hardly gave a thought of the herd until 
Nuel came. Moose bird, meat hawks, chickadees, squir- 
rels, all left me alone. At least I did not hear them until 
after Nuel came. I even forgot to climb the watch tree, 
much to Nuel's disgust. 
[to be concluded next week.] 
The Cat and Game. 
There is no kind of vermin so destructive to bird life as 
the oomestic cat, if that animal acquires habits of roaming 
and hunting. The fox is not nearly so bad as he is painted. 
An examination of the contents of the stomach of those 
killed will show usually that field mice are largely con- 
sumed, and when hungry they will eat grasshoppers and 
crickets with evident relish. The otter is supposed to be 
a rare animal in settled regions, but from its shyness and 
noctural habits, it may escape observation even when 
traces of its existence are frequently found. It is said that 
eels are its favorite food. I am told that a specimen or two 
still haunt Rockland Lake. — Haverstraio {N. Y.) News. 
Canoe Trip to Hudson's Bay. 
Messrs. Kirkwood & McKinnon, the enterprising Sault 
Ste. Marie guides, write us that they have six sportsmen 
already booked for their first Hudson's Bay expedition, 
which will leave June 20. 
They will journey by steamer to Jockfish Bay on Lake 
Superior, from which point their route runs north through 
numerous lakes and rivers to the Albany River. This 
river will furnish them a highway to James Bay. The 
whole trip, including the return, will only take about 
thirty days. 
" t MUD-PLUGGING." 
Once in a great while a slur hits me in a tender spot 
and I feel inclined to squeal. "H. W. D. L." did that last 
week. Hence this squeal. 
Now, I don't claim to be a bit broader-minded than the 
average man ; yet I do try to get in as much enjoyment 
out of diverse things as possible, and if I light on some- 
thing that I don't enjoy I try to believe that some one 
else does and thus admit that it has its own excuse for 
being. 
Fifty weeks in the year I'm a "shut in," I wasn't 
made for one exactly. I may growl to myself because I 
am. Yet duty to others may after all be as good a 
motive for an existence and demnition grinding as charg- 
ing a battery to order. So I try to make up for it through 
imagination. 
I admit that much of the. dog chat is Greek to me. 
Thirty years ago my last dog died by poison, and to this 
day I know how a man feels who wants to commit justi- 
fiable homicide. And yet now and then I light on a 
column that is not outside of my capacity of hearty en- 
joyment — often enough, too, to make it worth my while 
to be patient for the search through unknown and un- 
knowable matters, and to be glad that there a,re others to 
whom there is so much enjoyment which is a sealed book 
to me. 
I grant that yachting is largely an imaginative pleasure 
to me. But once did I ever handle the tiller (of a eatboat 
lobsrermg). Yet sea terms are familiar words to me, 
and the old skipper doubted my veracity when I stated 
that I had never steered a sailing craft before— till events 
half an hour afterward convinced him. For this practical 
ignorance means simply that what friends I have are not 
yachtsmen, and one naturally doesn't get sailing invita- 
tions from friends who don't know him; so I enjoy as 
much of yacht talk as I can understand, and am too grate- 
ful for such crumbs to grudge the more knowing their 
technicalities. 
I confess that I am no sort of a shot,— eyesight must 
stand the bruntjof that excuse. Still I could probably hit 
one of friend Hough's bears if I was near enough — and 
not too near, just right, so to speak, And I dearly love 
one of J. G, Rich's reminiscent yarns, knowing the dear 
old man as I do. A rattling, racy description of a trap- 
match is a joy to me, though I couldn't hit a driver to 
save me, and never bet a dollar in my life. [I'm a little 
weak on that point perhaps, for I confess I never could 
see the fun of betting — perhaps from lack of capital which 
I could afford to lose. Still, I know there are plenty in 
the world who can afford to, and if they can get more 
happiness — and do more good with it — in that way, why, 
o. k.] 
I own that I never saw a salmon outside of a fish market 
or a dinner-course. No friend of mine owns a salmon 
stream that I am aware. Nor did I ever catch a 41bs. 
black bass. Yet the half-dozen odd two-pounders which 
I have taken for my share of the world's sport have edu- 
cated me enough to read with avidity every angling line, 
and — up to 2^1 bs. I have been high line in more than one 
trouting party. The Magalloway is not altogether aqua 
incognita to me, and I would rather fish than eat any 
day. [By the way, what on earth do the fellows do with 
the "five or six tarpon a week" which they are catching? 
Can such celestial hunger exist in terrestrial stomachs?] 
And yet again, rain or high water have made my last two 
lake trip3 failures, since I cannot afford expensive guides 
and must take my outing when it is allowed— in mid- 
summer. So I take it out in reading about the fun of 
others. Good boys! I'd like to pat you all on the back, 
if I had the fingers of Briareus. 
But now here comes "H. W. D. L." and in one stilleto 
innuendo accuses me, together with the great army of 
bicyclers, of "mud-plugging," i. e., riding with eyes glued 
to the road. My dear Alphabetical Section, I must cry, 
"Holdup! Ye know not what ye do." 
There are lots of duffers, of course, in any sport. There 
are still more tenderfeet, and must be, or where would 
the veterans come from? Look sharper, friend, and you 
will find that as a rule it is not the vet. who rides that way. 
Ten to one you will find him as erect as a gentleman; 
at least, so you will find him in this latitude. To the young 
and rapid, speed is the all in all, be it with horse, yacht, 
bike or balloon. As we grow older and acquire some edu- 
cation we find that the world around us is of a beauty not 
to be overlooked save by the few and rare nature-blind, 
color-blind and note-deaf, who are mercifully unaware of 
their disadvantages and thus are still open to the happiness 
that their limits allow. With my love for outdoor sport, 
and my out-of-the-running for most of it, a world of en- 
joyment is still open to me at five o'clock every pleasant 
morning. I have but to descend from my eyrie, take my 
wheel from the basement, and in half an hour I am five 
miles away from the roar of the c'ty. Eyes on the road? 
Not much! Eyes every where else. Eyes roaming across 
the hedges, with best glasses on, watching the birds 
getting their breakfasts, the squirrels all undisturbed by 
my noiseless approach [I barely escaped running over a 
big gray] at their matutinal skirmishing, the sunlight, 
the sweet notes twittering from the leaves ! My physique, 
H. D., is not up to long tramps. A four mile walk is apt 
to weary me beyond comfort. Yet my wheel gives me 
the power to enjoy the shifting scenes in a morning for, 
say, three hours — one out, one back, one roamin g around 
perhaps with my "horse" locked to a tree— and a distance 
of say 25 miles comfortably enjoyed. How much time 
did you have to devote to that 50 mile tramp, did you 
say? 
I have wondered just how much agony a painometer 
would have measured in your small boy before his boyish 
pride would permit him to own that he was played out. 
Had you taken that trip on a tandem, you would have 
had the same enjoyment, as your nature well indicates, 
and as much more as new scenes, permitted by the extra 
space per hour that could be covered, would allow. More ; 
when the little fellow was tired, your greater strength 
would be able to assist him without much strain on your 
own resources. You could even "go it alone" for a time 
with fair comfort, and thus afford him a good rest. Then 
how much happier you both would be, whirring along to- 
gether afterward! Yes, H. D., WheeL and be happy. 
In the rain? Certainly, if you see fit.* One of my hap- 
piest rides was a burst through a rainy section at high 
speed, with the water whistling down in sheets and the 
♦Moreover, ia it not better to exercise even thus than to study street 
loafing as a fine art, as would be the course of instruction of many a 
now moBt rapid youth if he were wheei-less? 
