Oar. 31, 1890.] 
FOREST . AND STREAM, 
849 
loads was offered I got "the lion's share." With more 
experience in the ways of "Mr. Lo," he would not have 
been offered the choice of loads; at the risk of being 
thought a d, h. I would simply pick up the poles of the 
lighter load and leave him to choose the other. 
It was quite a pull, and our freight had to be unloadied 
several times to get it around the bad places on an Indian 
trail, for an old path ran along this stream which some- 
how was indistinctly visible even in winter by marks, such 
as fallen trees which showed where they had been worn 
by being stepped upon or by having lodge poles dragged 
over them, clumps of bushes which had been avoided, 
and the many things which an observing eye notes. At 
times it required both of us to take hold of one load and 
lift or drag it over or around an obstruction and then do 
the same with the other. I gave my companion frequent 
opportunities to exchange, but he didn't take them. I 
was too polite to pick up his poles, but Antoine said after- 
ward: "By gar! Wen you want for change load, you 
mus' change. He t'ink you big fool w'en he gotta da 
light one all a tarn. Nax tarn you tak-a de small load. 
He lak-a de big one w'en dat's w'at he got. He gotta lak 
heem." 
When we came to the cabin the sun was well past me- 
ridian. Clocks and watches had been left far behind us. 
"We took no note of time but by its loss." Ah-se-bun, 
the Raccoon, was hungry. What does half a dozen 
pounds of bear's liver eaten in the morning amount to 
half a day later after hauling part of a bear five miles 
over crxisted snow that often had a sidelong slope toward 
the stream, and over a crooked and log-barred path? I 
was hungry also, but had never got into the Indian habit 
of eating enough in one day to last for three, and so I 
started in to get dinner. I plucked up courage and told 
Lo to go and get some dry wood. He pointed to a pile in 
the corner that was kept for such an emergency as severe 
weather and intimated that there was plenty. I was 
tired, hungry and cross, and just in the humor to lay aside 
all notions that I must treat an Indian as a gentleman, 
and I then put away the bear steak, hung up the frying- 
pan and merely said "Nish-ish-shin" [goodj and lighted 
my pipe and sat down; in other words, 1 "struck." I 
thought it out something like this: Here was a lazy, gor- 
mandizing Indian who came and went at pleasure, and 
could eat as much as four hard-working white men and 
then sleep for a week after it; who would probably stay 
by me as long as the bear lasted and eat the greater part 
of it, after shirking the heaviest load on me, and now he 
was too lazy to get wood to cook his dinner because there 
were a few sticks in the cabin which were kept for bad 
weather, After smoking a few minutes . and feeling no 
less angry I lay down and slept as only a tired man can 
sleep. A noise awoke me, it was my red friend bringing 
in wood. It was dark outside, he had thought the matter 
over and had concluded that he wanted to get some 
wood and had got it. This was comfortable to me, and I 
cooked a great lot of bear steaks, baked some bread and 
we had dinner. He cared nothing for bread unless soaked 
with fat, but the amount of meat he could secrete was 
enormous. It is surprising what an amount of animal 
food a white man can consume in the clear, cold winter 
air of the woods, whether in Wisconsin, Maine or the 
Adirondacks, especially if he is running a line of traps or 
hauling half a big bear over a trail that is covered with 
crusted snow, but an Indian can discount him. From 
that time forward I had no fear of asserting myself and 
of bossing the ranch when our guest and I were left 
alone. I dropped all my civilized notions of etiquette and 
got along nicely. This, of course, does not apply to 
Antoine, for he and I vied with each other in doing camp 
work, and he had all the consideration for a companion 
that could be expected of a man who had been reared 
among different surroundings; but for an Indian I began 
to entertain different feelings. I understood and appre- 
ciated them better afterward, but just then I was in the 
transition state of being disillusioned. 
When Antoine came, two days later, he had some skins 
and a woeful tale of broken dead-falls and of traps carried 
off. Ah-se-bun had gone. A wolverine had struck An- 
toine's line and the old man was tired and cross. He sat 
with his head in his hands before the fire, while I made 
him some coffee and broiled him some venison chops on a 
grill made from some wire we had brought for tying 
traps or other purposes, and then I fried some fish in bear 
fat, and set out the tin cups and plates and we ate in 
silence. It was a good dinner, fit for a hard-working 
trapper who had come in tired and angry at having lost 
the fruits of his labor. I would not use the hackneyed 
phrase, "Fit for a king," because it was too good for most 
of the kings who have come to my notice — the dinner was 
good for Antoine and for me, two American kings of the 
forest, who held dominion over all the beasts and exacted 
tributes of fish, flesh and fur from them. And another 
marauding wolverine was invading our realm I 
By some unwritten law my stool was always at the left 
of the fireplace and Autoine's on the right. The tobacco 
bag hung on my side, and when we were in executive 
session it was my duty to hand out "the weed of Ole Vir- 
ginny." So after we had removed our stools from the 
table, which was half an oak log with legs set in holes 
made by an inch auger, we sat down in our places and I 
handed the old man the plug. After his pipe was filled 
and emptied he said: "You stop here till I keel de dev'. 
I go watch for heem. My trap all fix, all right— he come 
to-night an' I keel a-heem, he keel a-me, it make no dif. 
He run my line all a-tam an' I no git heem; he break all our 
trap like hell a'most. Gimme some tobac." 
Tobacco had a soothing effect on Antoine, as it has on 
many men, and a second pipe quieted his anger, but did 
not interfere with his determination. I filled his haver- 
sack with provisions, and with blankets and snowshoes on 
back and rifle on shoulder he started on his mission of 
revenge. He did not say with Shylock: 
"If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him." 
He had never heard of Shylock, but he had in his heart 
all the revengeful feeling that the poor persecuted Jew 
felt for his enemies. 
It was well along toward sundown when he left, and I 
. cleaned up our table and got in the night wood, and spent 
the evening in the unpoetic work of darning my woollen 
socks, filling the box in the stock of my rifle with greased 
patches of proper size, putting new strings on the ear-laps 
of my cap, overhauUag my mittens, examining suspenders 
and buttons, and doing all those little things which men 
WhoUy cut off from the deft hand of woman must do for 
themselves in their own bungling way — or have a break- 
down when there is neither time nor opportunity for re- 
pairs. It is wonderful what a man can do when thrown 
on his own resources, when there is the sajme imperative 
word "must" which always confronts the soldier. He 
must, or — 
Boiling up in my blankets, I fully expected some adven- 
ture or visitation before morning, but nothing happened. 
Three nights passed in this way. I fished, cut fire wood 
and busied myself with other things, but always with a 
thought of Antoine. He was a long time coming, per- 
haps he mieht be caught in a bear trap — there was a big 
one on his line — or perhaps he might be crippled by some 
accident and be starving! He did not come, and these 
thoughts by repetition became probabilities. I filled my 
sack with provisions and shouldered my rifle. I would 
meet him on the back track, and I followed his return- 
ing trail all day and crossed the divide between his two 
streams and crawled into his camp at night. His trail 
was plain, although I had never been over it before. He 
had rigged a sleeping place beside a huge log and had 
made a shelter with poles and brush. A bed of leaves 
was inviting and I rolled into my blankets and slept 
tmtU morning. 
He had not left the trail so far, that was plain, After 
breakfast I started down his line on the other stream 
and after a few miles found one of his dead-falls broken. 
Here was the first evidence of the robber. Further on I 
found where Antoine had left the trail and gone off to 
leeward, and had made himself a sort of breastwork camp 
in good range of the rear of a trap, and on examining the 
latter there was evidence of a tussle and some blood, but 
about an inch of snow had fallen in the night and the 
affair had occurred at least twenty-four hours before, but 
Antoine was still missing. I saw where he had left the 
trail and where he had returned to it 100yds. below, and 
again where he had stepped on the stones in the creek 
which led a long way down as well as across and I took 
the trail down the valley home. He was not there and it 
was nearly night of the fourth day. He had been out 
four nights and I was alarmed — perhaps "scared" would 
express it better. Here I was hundreds of miles in the 
wilderness alone. The feeling was not entirely one of 
selfish helplessness now. I could care for myself fairly 
well in the woods and did not mind its solitude, but I 
found that I had a feeling of love for my companion 
which had been latent and only brought out by his long 
absence, which it seemed must be caused by some acci- 
dent. I ate supper and tried to sleep, but for the second 
time in the woods I was tired, but not sleepy. 
Morning came. I cooked enough to last me several 
days on a trip after my companion. I would go back to 
the stepping stones where I had lost the trail, and find 
it. Dead or alive, I must know where Antoine was. He 
had not been hurt in a dead-fall, that was aure, for I had 
seen them all, but, if living, he would surely have baen 
back before this. I slung my haversack and blankets, 
and started back on his outgoing trail, determined to find 
him if possible, and to look closer along the banks of the 
stream, where the new snow might have covered his 
track for a short distance. I had hardly got lOOyds. from 
the cabin when I heard Antoine call: "Hello! where you 
go now? Come back here, I want some grub for to heat. 
You run 'way w'en I come lak you doan want a see me. 
W'at for you go off dat-a way?" 
He had come in on my branch of the stream, and if I 
had got out of sight or hearing before he arrived there 
would have been a long and useless tramp for me — and 
perhaps one for him to find me. Who knows, but we both 
might still be going the rounds in the wilds of Wisconsin 
on each other's trails. I made him hot coffee, while he 
unslung his pack and washed, and then it was good to 
see the old man "heat." Slices of cold boiled bear ham, 
hot broiled venison steak, tin cups of coffee, and more 
bread than I dare tell, went in quantities, and it seemed 
a long time before he pulled his stool to the fire and said: 
"Gimme dat tobac'." 
It took three pipefuls before he felt like talking, and 
then seeing that I betrayed no curiosity he said: "I got 
dat ole dev'," and then paused. I knew him too well to 
make any reply or ask a question. He had taken his first 
liking to me because I had happenea to betray no curios- 
ity, and I knew that if he was questioned he would give 
short answers, but if let alone he would tell it all in his 
own way and be anxious to do it. His pack of skins lay 
on the fioor unopened. I sat and looked at the fire, for I 
could not smoke as much as he, and when the spirit again 
moved him he said: "I got hees skin dere in de pack, 
w'en I hopen it you see heem. He make me hard run 
all-a night after I break his laig f 'um where I hide by my 
trap, an' it was his front laig, so he go 'long good, an' I'll 
ruji all de night w'en I can see heem or hees track, an' I 
shoot-a heem free time on a run an' I no hit heem, 
W'en day come I see da track plain, an' I stop for res' an' 
heat my grub. Ole Carcajou he no lak-a daytam for be 
hout, an' I t'ink me he fin' some hole for lay hup in. So 
I go 'long slow for give heem tam to fin' hole, an' he go 
ali-a day 'way off to nor'eas' lak he go to-a Wiscons' Riv'. 
Nex' night I fin' hees hole an' I make fire an' sleep 
by heem. Mornin' I see it was all a rock an' not hees 
deep hole in a groun' for to have to smoke heem hout, so 
I pull some rock down and see heem, an' he growl, an' I 
shoot. He was too much tire to go on to fin' deepes' hole, 
I'll tole you, hees skeen a'n't wort' much, but w'en I no 
getta heem we no do more trap in dis part. Dat was 
good htmt. W'at you say, hey?" 
That was a long story for Antoine, but he felt proud 
that his enemy's hide was in his pack; for this wolverine, 
sometimes called "glutton," seems to take delight in de- 
stroying traps or in befouling the bait if he does not care 
to eat it, and the trapper who finds one on his range must 
kill it or go elsewhere. It is very cunning and has great 
strength, a combination of bear and fox, and is well 
characterized by Antoine as "de ol' dev'." The skin has 
some value for robes and rugs, but to the trapper whose 
line it has discovered its hide has a greater value than any 
fur dealer would give for it — a hundred times more. 
When Antoine unrolled his pack he had a lot of skins, 
mainly from one of my lines which he had come down. 
In the lot was a silver fox, the first I had ever seen, and 
several pelts of the white weasel which we call "ermine." 
It was my turn next day, but as one of my lines had been 
recently run by my partner the work was light be- 
cause there were few traps to reset. 
In the morning I thought to make a quick run, and as 
there was only a couple of inches of snow on top of the 
hard crust I left my snowshoes in the cabin, but Antoine 
called me back, saying: "I'll tole you, w'en I'll see da 
ring on da moon las' night we go gat some snow bambye, 
and you'll want some ah-gim for walk home, I'U tole 
you." So I went back and slung my snowshoes and 
started again. 
About a mile from camp a fox had killed a rabbit, and 
left the story of the tragedy recorded in the snow. There 
was the track of the rabbit, with its three holes in the 
snow made at each jump, but as the leaps were only 
l^ft. apart it was evident that it was not frightened. 
The ambush of the fox was plain where it had crouched 
in the snow, and the hole scooped out where it bad struck 
its prey; and then the single line of footprints where it 
had trotted off with the rabbit, all the feet set in one 
straight line, fox fashion, 
I amused myself in picturing the midnight scene by the 
evidence of the snow and went on to the first trap. It 
was a strong double-spring steel trap set under a log in a 
place which a mink or fisher would be likely to take on 
its way to or from the creek. The snow had drifted 
lightly over the pan, concealing it, and in the trap was 
the foreleg of a fox and a rabbit lay near it. Here was 
another story of the woods, briefly told. I reset the trap, 
smeared rabbit blood about it, took the rabbit for bait for 
other traps and went on. About noon it began to snow 
and I ran the rest of the line in haste, taking out a mink 
or a fisher, resetting traps and rebaiting some, and pushed 
on for my old resting place. I had improved my first 
nighf s camp with poles and bark and now had a good 
warm shelter, free from the snow, which now came thick 
and fast. Antoine was right. If the storm kept up all 
night no man could move next day without ah-gim on his 
feet, and I thought myself in luck. The intense stillness 
of a snowstorm we have all noticed. How every sound 
is mufiied and all nature seems hushed by its white 
mantle! 
"Lo 1 sifted through the winds that blow, 
Down comes the soft and silent snow. 
White petals from the flowers that grow 
In the cold atmosphere. 
These starry blossoms, pure and white. 
Soft falling, falling, through the night. 
Have draped the woods and mere." 
The night was grand for sleeping, for it is never very 
cold when the snow comes in big flakes, and the morn 
was also grand. The snow had ceased falling and the air 
was bright and clear. The same silence brooded over the 
woods and was only emphasized by the tapping of a 
woodpecker or the hoarse croak of a raven. I would 
cross the divide and run the line down the other stream 
after all, for it only meant a few more miles, and then 
the week's work was done. It was in heavy timber all 
the way; my old trail was hidden, but I knew the bear- 
ings and had only to keep the sun on my right until I 
struck the stream and then follow it eastward. After 
breakfast I started. The sun was bright and dazzling, too 
much so for comfort. Ttie traps were under 30in, of 
snow, and I dug most of them out with a snowshoe and 
got a few skins and set things in shape as well as possible. 
When I stopped for a noon lunch my eyes were so in- 
flamed that they were painful. My soft cap was pulled 
down in front and I went on in the bright sunshine and 
the drip of the trees, using one eye at a time, until I could 
no longer see. I could not be more than two miles from 
home, but could not avoid logs or choose my steps, and I 
was in despair. I shot off my rifle and yelled. Surely 
Antoine should hear a shot that distance in such clear 
weather. I shot again and again, perhaps a dozen times, 
and then I heard an answering shot down the valley. 
My eyes were streaming, and I could not have gone a rod 
further. It seemed hours before I heard Antoine's inquir- 
ing yell and then he found me. 
"So you gone snow blin', hey? Why, you don' take 
some sof inside bark an' make some spectacle an' make 
leetly hole in him w'en de ole sun come on a snow, hey?" 
"O, Antoine! get me into camp! My eyes are ruined, 
and I'll never see again! I felt 'em getting weak and 
sore, but never thought I'd get stone blind, but maybe if I 
get a chance to rest I'll come out all right." 
"Yes, you com-a all right. I t'ink you was got ketch 
in dead-fail or got into some hole an 'break you laig w'en 
I hear you shoot nine or 'leven tam. Gimine you' pack 
an' you' gun, an' keep hoi' dis string an' come 'long o' me. 
Dat snow blin' make no dif w'en you keep in camp ten 
day. Come 'long." 
And so he towed me into camp by a string, stopping 
and helping me over a fallen tree or other bad place, for he 
had bandaged my eyes and all was dark. When we reached 
the cabin he sat one Of the wooden troughs, which his 
handy axe had made, by me and told me to bathe my eyes 
with the cool and soft snow water it contained, and not to 
look at the fire or anythingelse. A fever came on, and for 
the first time in my life I knew what it was to be per- 
fectly helpless in a wilderness. Coming into it in the f uU 
strength of youth and health, no idea of anything that 
could disable me ever came to mind. Here I was, laid up 
and despondent. There was no belief that youth and an 
iron constitution were sufficient to cure my ills; all I 
knew was that I was a wreck and a hindrance to my part- 
ner. 
"I'll tole you dat make no dif," said Antoine, "you 
doan min' a-me, keep-a still, I'll got some bark an' stop dat 
feve', an' you come 'long all rite. I'll tole you, you lie 
down an' doan min' noding. Keep-a eye shut— dat 
snow blin' he make no dif, I'll tole you he'll be all right 
in ten day." 
This was consoling, and might be true. Antoine cared 
for me like a mother. He steeped some bark — perhaps 
white oak, I knew at the time— and my fever left me in a 
few days, but my eyes could not even bear the fire light. 
Ah-se-bun came into the cabin. He was hungry, as usual, 
for I never saw an Indian that wasn't, and after filling 
himself with bear meat he rested, and Antoine said: "Ole 
Miss'r Coon, he says he stay here an' take care you, an' I'll 
run my trap. Ba gosh, day hain't been run in long tam, 
I'll guess, I'll tole you der is plenty for heat, an' Miss'r 
Coon, he mus' cook w'en he got hunger. AU you got for 
do is keep-a eye shut an' wash heem in snow water. I'll 
be back in free day, an' dere is plenty for heat, an' you 
eye he make no dif, he come good w'en you doan' go on 
de snow." 
The Ojibwa tongue had seemed very easy to use with 
jintoine, who could translate what I did not understand. 
It seemed to be merely to learn another name for a thing, 
and I had only learned some nouns. To talk with a 
native was another thing. Ah-se-bun wanted the axe 
