Ncrr. 7, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM^ 
S67 
lean-to that we found on the side of the road. Fred ex- 
pressed a desire for a big fire, and I think he will admit in 
confidence that he got it. Henry and the teamster soon 
started a conflagration that bade fair to drive us out of the 
lean-to completely. At first the water found its way 
somewhat freely through holes in the roof, but when these 
were plugged with strips of bark and the small tent thrown 
over all, the roaring of the wind and the ceaseless fusillade 
of the rain gave us no concern. Henry argued stoutly 
that a fire would burn better on a wet night than a dry 
one. 
In ths morning the rain had abated. The route was a 
new one both to the guide and teamster. We wandered 
over a variety of very rough and very wet roads, went 
several miles out of the most direct line of travel, and 
finally one of the shoes of the sled gave out. It took the 
men just an hour to shift the load, make a new shoe and 
place It in position. We encountered a porcupine in the 
road, which Henry promptly dispatched with the axe, as 
he considered it a destructive animal. He remarked that 
about the only animal that would deliberately tackle the 
porcupine was the black cat, into whose anatomy the 
quills do not seem to have their usual power of penetra- 
tion. 
At 4 o'clock we reached Richards's main depot camp on 
Forty-nine Mile Brook and remained there for the night. 
Late in the evening a small digitigrade animal, black in 
color, with white stripes down his back and a white- 
tipped tail, meandered freely over the floor of the camp, 
inspected our provisions, and incidentally traversed the 
lower bunk where Mr. Hunter was executing a trombone 
solo. Fred and I lit the lantern and watched the move- 
ments of the intruder with some anxiety. We aroused 
Henry from his slumbers in the hope that he would take 
vigorous measures, but that worthy surveyed the scene 
with an air of impartial equanimity. He remarked as he 
curled his blanket again about him that he would "fix 
that chap in the morning." Before we left the camp 
Henry constructed a dead-fall similar to that which he 
sets for the sable and pine marten. When Mr. Hunter 
returned to the camp on his way out to the settlement he 
found the animal in the trap. Mr. Hunter found this 
to be the case when he was about two miles from the 
camp. 
It was early in the forenoon of the 2l8t that we reached 
Fullerton's camp, the terminus of the portage. There 
was a large quantity of logging supplies at this camp, as 
well as at i'orty-nine Mile Brook, in charge of a man 
named Patc'^ell. For months at a time during the sum- 
mer season Patchell never saw a human face. He was 
cheerful and contented with his lot, and showed every 
disposition to render us any aid in his power. He gave 
encouraging reports as to moose in the locality, also in- 
formed us that we could haul OTir luggage three miles 
further over a winter logging road which led in the 
direction of the Deadwater. This was important, as it 
would shorten the distance the men would have to pack 
the supplies upon their backs. Acting on his advice, we 
tackled the logging road, but found it so rough and the 
footing so treacherous for the horses that after going 
about a mile we decided to dispense with the team and 
pack our traps from that point forward to the Dead- 
water. While preparing for dinner we were joined by 
Henry's assistant, Uave Douglas, who had been for some 
days on the lookout for us, and also cutting trails in 
various directions, preparatory to Henry's winter trap- 
ping. We wrote a few short letters to the absent ones over 
the horizon's rim, and intrusted the same to Mr. Hunter, 
who at once set out upon his long and toilsome voyage to 
the settlement. It was pitiful and yet amusing to see the 
sturdy old gentleman light his pipe, board his chariot and 
resume his everlasting battle with the rocks and snags of 
the portage. A portion of our effects was placed under 
the big tent; the smaller tent we carried to the end of the 
logging road, about two miles north, and camped there 
for the night. 
The next morning Henry and Dave carried up two more 
loads from the big tent, and as Fred and I were impatient 
to reach the himting grounds a dash was made for the 
Deadwater through the trackless woods that afternoon in 
a storm of rain that soon developed into a liquid blizzard. 
Henry had never before attempted to reach his camp on 
the Deadwater from the Fullerton logging works, and did 
not know the exact distance we had to go. He endeav- 
ored to find a route on the high grounds, which afforded 
easy footing as compared with the barrens, and this made 
our tramp somewhat circuitous. From time to time he 
consulted his compass, and all the while the cold rain fell 
in torrents, drenching us to the skin. In some places we 
had to clamber over slippery, moss-covered rocks which 
threatened the integrity of our limbs at every step; in 
others we had to fight our way through a riotous tangle 
of water-laden whitewooda, and then a dense growth of 
fire would bar the way. I certainly could not recommend 
that aquatic excursion to the Deadwater for dudes and 
invalids. It was the hardest four hours' travel I ever 
experienced in the woods. We made few stops for rest, 
plodded steadily on, every particle of our clothing soaked 
with water, and still no signs of the camp. For a time 
the wild idea possessed us that Henry had lost his way. 
At last the guide turned abruptly to the left, we forded a 
swollen stream, and found om'selves at once within the 
shelter of the Deadwater Camp. Never was haven of rest 
more welcome to storm-stricken mariner than this home- 
ly trapper's camp to us that night. A rousing fire soon 
sent the sparks hissing through the smoke hole into the 
watery gloom, and after the kettle was boiled and a sub- 
stantial meal of woodland fare stowed away, that terrible 
march over the trackless mountain side became a thing 
to joke about. It is these abrupt translations of light and 
shadow, storm and calm, vacuity and venison, that give 
to life in the woodlands its everlasting charm. 
On the morning of the 23d there was a partial clearing 
of the sky. Dave left for Henry's camp on Little Sou'- 
weat Lake to bring up a load of provisions. Henry has 
twelve of these camps in all, stretched over a distance of 
eighty miles upon his trapping grounds. In the after- 
noon Fred and I accompanied Henry down the trail about 
half a mile to a point on the shore of the stream, where 
he had a dug-out canoe nearly completed. She was 
about 25 ft. in length, and would accommodate three per- 
sons with ease. Henry devoted an hour to grubbing her 
out with axe and adze, then launched her and poled her 
up through the rapids to the landing in front of the 
camp. Right across the stream from the landing Henry 
showed us the spot where, three years ago, he called up 
two bull moose and shot them, as late as Nov, 15. 
Henry never calls moose after dark, relying upon his 
marvelous skill with the birchen horn to outwit the ani- 
mal in the daytime; but as it was a beautiful moonlight 
evening he consented, at Fred's suggestion, to give us a 
taste of calling moose by night. After supper we took 
our places silently in the canoe and proceeded up the 
Deadwater. We had gone about a mile and a half when 
the guide, with that inimitable art which has rnade him 
famous, gave the call of the cow moose. The night was 
still and very cold, the fog rose in ghostly wreaths from 
the glassy surface of the water, and the thick palisades 
of spruce and fir on either side of us were traced in jet 
against the moonlit sky. The muskrats were out m force 
swimming around among the lilies, and in front of their 
house on the western bank a pair of beavers dived at our 
approach. The call rolled up the level expanse of the 
Deadwater, and returned to us in scarce diminished vol- 
ume from the far-off southern hills. At once a wave of 
excitement swept over the stolid features of the guide, 
and he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "Hark! by thun- 
der, there's an answer I" 
Sure enough, we could plainly hear off to our right, up 
the west branch of the Deadwater, the oft-repeated and 
never-to-be-forgotten sound, "Oo-wah, oo-waii, oo-wah, 
oo-wah!" 
The moose was probably not half a mile away and we 
could hear every intonation of his note with the utmost 
distinctness. Henry picked up the paddle and shoved 
the canoe swiftly and silently toward a rocky point cov- 
ered with hardbacks that jutted out into the stream 
from the eastern shore. Fred and I tumbled out of the 
canoe as beat we might and took up our station on the 
point. Then arose from the opposite shore, but further 
up the stream, a long, loud, weird, wailing cry that 
eddied and echoed from bank to bank and died away in 
a low, convulsive sob, We heard the guide as he sat like 
a statue in the canoe mutter between his teeth: "Listen 
to that cussed cow !" 
Fred and I laughed silently to ourselves, but it was 
evident that the guide failed to regard the matter as a 
joke. He did not relish having to compete against the 
real thing. We remained at our post for perhaps an 
hour, and if ever we had any doubt that we were in a 
genuine moose country our experience in that space of 
time effectually removed it. Not only did the old bull 
up the branch continue to grunt at intervals, and the cow 
up the stream to lament her lonely state, but another 
bull away up the Deadwater commenced a solo on his 
own account. His notes sounded like the distant strokes 
of an axe upon a hollow tree. There was scarce a 
moment's intermission in the programme. Henry said 
there were plenty of moose around ; all he was afraid of 
was that the larger bulls were mated and hence would 
not respond to the horn. Just as we entered the canoe 
to return to the camp we heard still another sound — 
surely the most awe-inspiring that ever is heard within 
the wild woods of this continent — the hoarse, angry bel- 
lowing of bull moose close at hand engaged in mortal 
conflict for the mastery. We heard their roars at inter- 
vals long after we had reached the camp. 
Within a stone's throw of the rocky point aforesaid the 
Deadwater, whose ordinary width varies from 50 to 
lOOyds., forms a narrow pass which is very appropriately 
called the Jaws. By reason of its narrowness and the 
shoalness of the water, which runs over a rocky ledge 
into the deep basin below, this is a favorite crossing 
point for moose and caribou, and, as we afterward ascer- 
tained, a path worn deep and hard in the solid turf by 
the traffic of many generations of animals, comes down 
to the water's edge on either side of the Jaws. While 
we were listening to the moose concert all around us we 
heard the rustle caused by some heavy animal making 
the passage there. We could not see what it was, though 
it was within easy rifle shot, and, taking our experience 
as a whole, we were united in hearty condemnation of 
the practice of calling moose by night. Had Henry con- 
tinued to call and succeeded in bringing up a moose, 
either upon the opposite shore or at any point within 
reach of our rifles, we were satisfied that the prospect of 
our missing or maiming the animal was almost a cer- 
tainty, and that even if we killed him the glory to be 
derived from such chance shots was very limited. We 
returned to the cheerful warmth of the camp-fire greatly 
impressed with the Deadwater region as a moose country 
and satisfied to take our chances for a shot in the day- 
time. 
A slight flurry of snow greeted us in the morning, the 
earliest on record for this country. Henry employed 
himself in making a paddle and knees for the canoe. In 
the afternoon we embarked upon the Deadwater again, 
and as we followed its windings realized that it would 
have been a serious mistake to call it anything else than 
"Crooked." It was about three miles and a half from the 
camp to the head of navigation, while a straight line be- 
tween the same points would not have exceeded a mile in 
length. To the north^of us as we left the landing stood 
the towering peak of the County Line Mountain, where 
the counties of York, Northumberland and Victoria con- 
verge, and where Will Chestnut and Henry in December 
last started sixteen bull moose in one day. As we paddled 
up the stream the wind was blowing from the northwest. 
Henry called at the Jaws and got a distant answer, but 
after waiting for some time gave it up, and we continued 
on our course. From a barren to the west of us we heard 
two bulls fighting furiously, their roars of rage resound- 
ing through the woods for miles around. Fred and I sug- 
gested a still-hunt, but Henry said: "Better take it easy 
or we'll all run out of a job. We will tackle those fellows 
later." 
We used to wonder afterward whether Henry's de- 
cision was dictated by reason, instinct or luck. The next 
turn we rounded revealed to us, in full open sight, on 
the left bank of the stream, a trifle over lOOyds. away, 
his head facing inland, a monster moose, motionless as 
the hills — a statue of ebony against a wall of green! 
I was in the bow, and as the canoe glided around the 
point was the first to see the moose. His ears showed 
that he was on the alert, but he did not see us. Appar- 
ently he had heard Henry's call at the Jaws and was pon- 
dering whether he had better desert the faithful partner 
of his bosom who was peacefully browsing in the 
bushes near at hand and go in quest of the phantom 
maid. His ponderings were brief. The wind was blow- 
ing from us toward the moose, and as it would have been 
hazardous to attempt to work any closer, Henry turned 
the canoe, with a silent sweep of the paddle, broadside to 
the animal, so that we had both a chance to shoot. 
Fred was very rapid on the pull and the Harbinger 
belched forth 550gr8. of lead propelled by ISOgrs. of pow- 
der. The spiteful crack of the Martini followed immedi- 
ately. The moose at this time seemed to think the local- 
ity was unhealthy. He surged inland through the hard- 
hacks, looking neither to right nor left, and was evidently 
hard hit. Another broadside from the canoe and the 
moose sank to the ground within 40ft. of where he had 
stood when we first saw him. We paddled ashore and 
Henry proceeded to dress the carcass with about as much 
visible concern as he would ha,ve displayed over the skin- 
ning of a partridge. He was evidently proud, though, 
of the kind of stock he raised on what he called his 
"farm," 
A great deal has been written by those who are wise, 
as well as otherwise, in the ways of the woods, as to the 
weight of moose. I will freely confess that I do not 
know what this moose weighed. I know he was so 
heavy that the three of ua with a united pull could not 
shift him a foot in any direction. Henry is not a man 
who exaggerates, and he thought this moose would weigh 
at least l,1001b8. We took a few measurements. Hd was 
7ft. Sin. high at the shoulder. The neck, where it was 
severed from the trunk, measured between 5 and 8ft. 
around. The length of the moose as he lay stretched on 
his side on the ground, from the tip of his nose to the 
point of his hind hoof, was 13ft. lin. The horns, which 
had twenty-four points, were .52^in. across and the palms 
13in. wide. The length of the bell was fully 20in. He 
had a hole in one of his horns and another in his aide, 
produced by fighting, and two of the brow prongs were 
injured from the same cause. Of the four shots fired two 
had passed through the moose — one just back of the 
shoulder and grazing it, the other midway between hip 
and shoulder, about 8in. below the spinal column. The 
first-named bullet struck no bone, and after it went 
through the mooae, hit a fir tree about Sin. in diameter 
and went through that also. The other bullet was flat- 
tened by contact with the ribs, and made a very ragged 
wound as it passed out on the other side, Whether Fred 
hit that mooae twice or I hit him twice or each of us hit 
him once will never be known upon this earth. It's a 
toss up between us, I think, as to which is the better shot. 
Sometimes I make life miserable for Fred; sometimes he 
makes it miserable for me. We took the situation very 
coolly when Henry steered us into action, but it is one 
thing to shoot straight on dry land and another to shoot 
straight from a small canoe on a windy day. I tried to 
make Fred disgorge the frozen fact and tell me 'who shot 
that moose, but he couldn't. My own mental refriger- 
ator was equally out of repair. The best guess we could 
make was that I missed the first time and Fred missed 
the second. We returned to camp in a happy frame of 
mind. 
Now, the Deadwater fleet comprised not only the new 
canoe, but two long, narrow rafts, known as "ramcata," 
which were moored in a ^'bogan" at the head of the 
stream. On Friday morning, the 25th, Dave was dis- 
patched overland to this point, with instructions to bring 
down one of the ramcats with a load of meat. «Henry 
and Fred and I again went forth upon the shining bos- 
om of the Crooked to find another moose. We passed 
Dave two miles up coming down stream with a full head 
of steam, at the rate of at least one mile per two hours. 
Near the head of navigation a small brook oozes out 
through the black marsh mud. As we were passing this 
point we found the remains of a bull moose, which had 
evidently succumbed to wounds received in battle. The 
horns measured 44iin. and were perfect in every way. 
The carcass bore evidence of having been pulled about 
by a bear. Henry deplored the fact that the stock upon 
his farm were becoming so unruly, 
"It was just about here," said Henry, "that one of my 
moose and a bear got in a snarl two winters ago. I was 
coming over from Renous on snowshoes, and I saw the 
track of a mooae puraued by a bear. There was hair scat- 
tered along in places where the bear had clawed the moose 
on the run. By and by I came to that little spruce knoll 
yonder, and to my surprise Mr. Bear was up a tree, look- 
ing mighty sick. The moose had turned on him j uat there, 
and made it so hot for him that he took to the tree and 
was in such a hurry that he never stopped till he got to 
the top of the tree, I dropped the bear out of the tree with 
my gun. If I could have overtaken the moose I'd have 
given him a feed of oats." 
We landed and went over to the edge of a small barren 
a few yards away, and Henry gave a call. He had hard- 
ly lowered the horn from his lips when we heard two 
shots fired away down the Deadwater. There could be no 
doubt that Dave and the ramoat had sailed into action. 
Dave had with him Henry's express rifle as well as his ex- 
press injunction not to fire at anything unless he had a 
sure enough chance for a tine set of horns. We decided to 
postpone our calling operations and proceed to the scene 
of war. We saw no sign of Dave until we approached 
the landing in front of the camp, where he was just in 
the act of beaching the ramcat. 
Dave was not in a cheerful frame of mind. He said 
that while passing a point known as the Island, which 
rivals the Jaws as a crossing place for game, he was con- 
fronted by a large bull moose. The ramcat apparently 
had no terrors for the moose, for he stood in the thor- 
oughfare, shook his horns at Dave, humped up his back 
and emphasized his disapproval by snorting "ooff ! ooffl" 
Dave reached for the rifle, fired and naissed. The moose 
then stepped out on the point of the Island and threat- 
ened to shovel Dave into the water. Dave had serious 
thoughts, he said, of ramming the moose with the ram- 
cat, but concluded to try him again with the rifle, this 
time at a range of about 40ft. He fired and apparently 
missed, for the moose, with a final "ooffl ooff!" deliber- 
ately crossed the Island and walked into the woods. 
Now, Dave is a man with plenty of pluck and experience: 
he has frequently shot moose under difficult conditions; 
how he came to punch holes around this particular 
mooae he ia entirely unable to state. 
At daybreak Henry and Dave started for the big tent, 
to bring over more supplies and to spot a line for swamp- 
ing a road to Fullerton's works by which to take out the 
moose head. Fred and I agreed to meet them at 4:30 at 
the head of the Deadwater. We put in the day idly 
drifting around the stream, reached the rendezvous at 
the appointed time, waited until after dark, saw no signs 
of the men and returned to camp, threading our way 
safely down the Crooked through the pitchy darkness. 
We heard the moose grunting and roaring as usual on all 
sides of us. 
