Nov. 1, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
871 
which I had seen in the morning; seeing that I might 
not have thought of it again but for the fact that the tree 
was so scarred, aa by some large animal climbing it. 
"Ba Gar," said he, "ole pard, I'll tole you wha.t. 
Shake 1 You done foun' a bee tree an' we'll gat da honey. 
Whoop! I'll tole you we'll got no bear meat no mo' w'en 
da las' one he all heat up an' da deer he all in da yard an' 
poor, I'll tole you da honey he come in good an' I'll cut 
da bee tree w'en da day come. You do good t'ing w'en you 
go down da riv'. Shake!" 
I was curious to know why Ah-se-bun was the only 
Indian who visited us except the party which once came 
with him, and why he seemed to be wandering up and 
down, and never carried a gim. Antoine told me that 
there was an encampment of Indians about 150 miles 
north on the Flambeau River, a branch of the Chippewa; 
another some sixty miles due east on the Wisconsin River, 
and a third one thirty miles southeast on the same stream. 
Our friend was a sort of messenger between the three 
camps, and our cabin was a convenient point for him to 
stop, eat and rest. As Antoine put it, our guest did not 
carry a rifle because he always started with some "grub," 
but would prefer to go hungiy for a few days, if neces- 
sary, to carrying a rifle and such game as he might kill. 
Then it was all plain, Ah-se-bun could go hungry for two 
or three days, eat enough to last a week and go on, and 
he was too lazy to hunt and carry his gun and game. 
Afterward I learned that he was not peculiar in all this, 
but that they were the common traits of his race. As 
near as I can make out from the map of Wisconsin in a 
school atlas of to-day we were on the fork of the Bad Ax 
River in what is now Vernon county, and just north of 
Readstown; but there was no town, village or settlement 
on the river that we saw or heard of when we went up it 
in 1855. At any rate, we were near the main forks of the 
river and our cabin was between the streams. 
Our Christmas festival was ended. The morrow would 
bring the regular routine work, only varied by the condi- 
tions of weather. 
"We ring tlie bells and we raise the strain, 
We bang; up garlands ev'ry where 
' And bid the tapers twinkle fair, 
And feast and frolic- and then we go 
Back to the same old lives again," 
It was a happy Christmas because all our simple wants 
were filled. We were warm and well fed; every wish 
had been gratified as far as we had wishes, for we could 
say with Biron, in "Love's Labour's Lost:" 
"At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows." 
And so with minds at peace and bodies prepared for 
rest we stepped over the sleeping Indian by the fire and 
crawled into our own blankets, and if there were any 
visions they were of the loved ones at home. 
In the morning Antoine used a file on his axe while I 
prepared the breakfast, and then Ah-se-bun went down 
the stream with us as far as the bee tree, and continued 
his journey without even a good-by grunt or the slightest 
expression of interest in our work. This sort of thing 
had ceased to exasperate me, and I was getting used to 
what Antoine termed "Injun unpoliteness," for said he': 
"I)em Injun he t'ink it smart to be unpolite, but he lak 
you ka' he doan lak you, an' he doan tole you how much. 
Hit make no dif. Ole Ah-se-bun he say, 'Kego-e-kay 
nish-ish-shin,' an' he mean you good man.''* 
"That may be all right, Antoine, but when the hungry 
cuss comes into camp he is polite and gives us the bon 
jour, which he learned from your people; but when he's 
got his belly full he goes oflE and never gives us a grunt — 
which is the salutation of his people. It may be all right, 
but I don't like it. Your people and mine give as warm a 
shake at parting aS they do at meeting, and when we 
have been entertained we say 'good-by' if no more." 
"W'en you know Injun better you fine heem hout 
more, an' you doan mind. You know w'at make da 
scratch all-a bark f 'um da bee tree an' roun' da hole? I'll 
tole you. He's a bear, an' he'll clam hup for getta da 
hun' an' fine da hole too small. Da bee he on'y come las' 
' year.i'cause da bark on'y scratch hoif dis a-wint'." 
Antome cut down the big oak without help. I was 
fully as strong as he was, but when it came to handling an 
axe my wild blows counted but little, while not one of his 
was wasted. I could strike once in a place, but Antoine's 
stump was a level one; and the tree, if straight, would be 
weakened to the proper point on the side he wished it to 
fall before the other side was touched. An expert axe- 
man is a mechanic in a broad sense. I never was an ex- 
pert with the axe like Gladstone, Len Jewell, Antoine and 
other great men, 
The great oak fell, and limbs which kept the trunk 
from the ground were cut, and then the question was: Is 
the store of honey above or below the small hole, which 
was not large enough to admit a man's hand? A careful 
examination of the hole showed that a dead limb had 
left a place which woodpeckers had followed into the 
heart of the tree, and the rains and the frosts had helped 
them to enlarge their excavations in the decayed heart, 
but tfife yearly growth of sap-wood had kept the outer 
hole small. The bees had so closed the hole with wax 
that the rain was shed outwardly, and when we cut off a 
section 2ft. above and a like distance below the hole, and 
split it, we found a store of honey that made us cut poles 
in order to carry it home in a roll of bark. It not only 
helped us out through the season of scant game, but we 
took some honey home to Potosi. What's that? You 
want to know what became of the poor bees which had 
laid up this store to keep them through the winter? In 
the name of man, what do you think? They simply died 
from cold and hunger; what's that to us? You fellows 
who think that because a bee had laid up a store for the 
winter by hard work he is entitled to use it to preserve 
his life make me tired. What is the suffering or death 
of any animal to man, if he wants the product of its 
labor to tickle his palate, or its fur to supply the demands 
of fashion? What is the suffering of his fellow man to 
him if he fills his coffers? Yet this spirit of selfishness 
exists throughout all nature; the fox eats the rabbit, but 
there are men who have sacrificed self for principle, a 
motive beyond anything that is possible for one of the 
"lower animals" to do, and after all there are men who 
are really honest as the world goes who will rob a hard- 
* Kego-e-kay means "the man who fishes," Kego being the Ojibwa 
word for fish, and nish-lsh-Bhin is simply a long word meaning good. 
In the foregoing sketch it may be remembered that I had been named 
Kego-e-kay by a party which had found me fishing. 
working bee of the fruits of its summer labor and leave 
it to perish in the winter. 
A month later there was a thaw and I got caught in it. 
The thongs in the snowshoes softened and stretched, and 
in places where the shade of hills or trees preserved the 
temperature the snow packed and froze oj\. the thongs 
until it was severe work to lift a foot. Frequent recourse 
to the stream removed the snow, but it was only a tem- 
porary relief, and progress was slow and painful. The 
crust had softened, and without snowshoes a man would 
sink down at least 20in,, which was knee-deep for me, and 
in snow packed by laying all winter this made travel impos- 
sible without snowshoes, while with them a thaw like this 
clogged them so that they were of little use. It was evi- 
dent that I must make a camp ^or the night before the 
regular camping place could be reached, and before night- 
fall I had a shelter constructed against a huge log by 
means of poles and brush, and a bed of balsam boughs 
kept my blankets from the snow. I was out three nights 
on this trip, and was lame and sore on reaching the cabin. 
The stream was so high and rapid that it would have in- 
volved some extra miles of travel to find a crossing place 
if Antoine had not felled a great oak across the swollen 
brook at the point where he knew I would reach it. 
Antoine had a severe toothache. It had troubled him 
a little for some weeks, but now it was raging. Tobacco 
had no effect upon it, and he suffered in silence except 
when an extra twinge forced a sacre or a big D from him. 
He ate little, hht sat by the fire and thought. Pipe after 
pipe was filled and emptied, and still he thought. My 
sore muscles kept me still until it was about time to turn 
in, and as I moved Antoine looked up and said: "I'll tole 
you. You gat pull dis toot'. I'll can't stan' heem no mo', 
you mus' pull-a heem. W'at you say, hey? I'll t'ink I'll 
wait till you come back, but he hurt lak da dev'." 
Here was a strange job indeed. In the course of my 
short experience I could remember going down the Green- 
bush bank to Dr. Getty and seeing him wrap a handker- 
chief around what he called a "turnkey," and then I 
nearly fainted when he told me to open my mouth while 
he applied that villainous thing, which was like a "cant 
hook" which lumbermen use to roll logs, or like a stump 
puller, and twisted a molar out of my jaw by turning 
such a handle as a corkscrew has. Later, Dr. Frisbee 
had used the morejmodern forceps on one of my incisors, 
and these recollections were vivid, as they called up the 
sensation of nerves pulled imtU they snapped like a harp 
string. I ran these things over rapidly and said: 
"Antoine, I hav'n't got a tool to pull a tooth with and 
wouldn't know how to pull it if I had. I've seen the 
loose teeth of children pulled with a thread, but that 
tooth of yours is solid in your jaw. I can't do it, no use 
of talking about it." 
"I'll gat da t'ing all plan," said he, "I'll tole you. 'Fore 
you come I'll run up all da lead in bullet for you' big gun 
an' mine. Dan we gat no use for da mole. You'll tak da 
mole an' pull da toot', hey?" 
"Antoine, I can't pull that tooth with a bullet mould, 
it isn't the right shape, and it won't hold. I'll only tor- 
ture you and you'd better wait until we get back to civil- 
ization. The tooth may be better in a few days. Try 
and bear it, we'll be home in a few weeks, and then if it 
troubles you there will be a chance to have it pulled by 
some dentist; I can't do it, and that is all there is 
about it." 
"Now look-a here. See how I'll fix da mole for pull-a 
toot'." And he showed me how he had ruined a good 
bullet mould to make a poor pair of forceps. He had 
taken one of the files which we brought to sharpen our 
axes and had filed off the outsides of the mould into the 
cavity until the thing resembled a blacksmith's pincers. 
Then he had roughened the tips to make a grip for them, 
and had actually hollowed the edges to fit his tooth. I 
looked the thing over with conflicting emotions. Here 
was an instrument of torture which in expert hands 
might relieve suffering, but in mine seemed sure to in- 
crease it. One thing was certain, Antoine was in earnest; 
he was desperate; no suicide was ever more so, He 
watched my face and after a while said: "W'at you say, 
hey?" 
' 'I say that I want to help you out of your agony, but I 
don't believe I can do it," 
"You 'fraid you hurt me, hey?" 
"Yes, Antoine, that's just it, I'm afraid I will hurt you 
and not do you any good." 
"I'U tole you, he mak' no dif. I'll gat all da hurt. 
W'at for you 'fraid? You no getta hurt; come on, I'll 
tak' da chance; you tole how you want me for set down 
so you pull da bes'." 
Putting fresh logs on the fire and bringing in some 
brush to make a bright light, for the old man would not 
wait until morning, I looked at the offending tooth, For 
the benefit of my dentist friends who have given me the 
most exquisite form of torture applied to man in modem 
days, I will say that the offending tooth was a pre-molar 
on the right side of the lower jaw.* 
Antoine laid himself on the floor and I sat with my back 
to the logs of the cabin. If they did not give way I was 
all right. I pulled him up to me, put a wooden plug be- 
tween his molars to keep his mouth open, planted both 
feet on his shoulders, put the improvised forceps on the 
tooth and pulled. There was a howl as I pulled with 
arms and pushed with legs, but the "pullicans" slipped 
from my hands. They were all right as far as a grip on 
the tooth went, but they were not made for a strong pull 
on their handles. 
Let us pass over, in a spirit of charity, any remarks 
that Antoine made. No doubt the recording angel blotted 
them from the book, as he did the one made by "my Uncle 
Toby," and I have no desire to go behind the record fur- 
ther than to say that Antoine really did say something 
when his tooth was started from its socket, but still 
throbbed with violence. 
Antoine arose and looked at me, "more in sorrow than 
in anger," and I hastened to say: "The mould slipped in 
my hand, there is no grip on the handles, but if you can 
btand another go of this I will fix the thing so that the 
tooth or the bullet moulds will break or I will bring out 
the tooth or your jaw bone. What you say, hey?" 
Antoine merely nodded assent and I put the handles of 
the bullet mould in the fire and then turned them out- 
* I hereby serve notice on Dr. Nash, who has tortured me in his 
chair, that if I write up our fishing trip to Blooming Grove Park he need 
expect no more mercy than I have got from him, Even "the worm 
will turn," and when I write up that bass fishing on Lake Laura it 
will be my time to get stiuare and pay up old grudges. I merely 
quote: "Don't squirm, It ain't a-going to hurt." All things come to 
mm who waits. 
ward so that they could not slip through my hands. 
Something must come now if Antoine had not had 
enough. I was not sure that I could have stood another 
such a trial if our positions had been reversed, but it is 
easy to stand it when the other fellow does the suffering. 
When the handles were cool and all was ready I looked 
at Antoine, who had resumed his seat by the fire with his 
jaw in his hand. He arose and said: 
"W'en you ready I'll come one odder tam. Mebbe 
you'll t'ink da ole Frenchman got no game an' he no 
Stan' da gaff.* Come on, I'll be all a-ready." And he lay 
on the floor in the proper place. His nerve gave me con- 
fidence and again I put the plug in his mouth, braced my 
back against the logs and my moccasins on his shoulders. 
Carefully pushing the "pullicans" down as far as I could 
get them, 1 gripped the handles, straightened my legs and 
with a snap the tooth came out and my head made a tunk 
on the log behind that seemed hard enough to have left a 
dent in either head or log. Antoine jumped up and 
yelled with joy, He took the tooth and threw it in the 
fire, saying a verse in his French patois which I did not 
understand, and after a comforting pipe we went to bed. 
Spring came. The melting snows filled the streams. 
The drumming call of the woodpeckers on a dead tree 
sounded frequently and the thunder of the cock partridge 
or ruffed grouse was frequent. Ducks flew up and down 
the stream and the snow in places was not a foot deep. 
Antoine said: "I'll tole you. W'en you go on you' line 
it's las' time to-morrer, an' you bring in all-a steel trap an' 
let down all-a dead-fall. Da fur he get loose an' begin for 
to shed an' it's no use to stay here longer w'en you no get 
da prime skin. We go home. I t'ink; yes?" 
I ran my line for the last time and came in and packed 
up for the home trip. Our packs were arranged and were 
not as heavy as on the up trip. The provisions were 
about gone and the furs were dry and light, so we only 
had to make two trips instead of four from our cabin to 
the boat. 
Our provisions and cooking utensils with one rifle were 
taken on the first trip and the furs on the second. The 
otter skins had been stretched on long "shakes" split by 
Antoine's axe; the other skins, except those of the two 
wolverines, the deer and bear skins, were "cased" and 
had been stretched on forked twigs, and therefore the flat 
hides made a large, broad pack, which was more diflS.cult 
to get through the forest than the more valuable furs 
which were cased. Just here it has occurred to me that 
there are technical terms used in the above that a small 
boy in the back seats might not understand, and for his 
benefit I will say that a "flat hide" is one that is split on 
the belly as a butcher skins an animal. Fine furs are 
"cased," i. e., only cut on the hinder edge of the hind- 
legs and the skin drawn off over the head, leaving it like 
a mitten without a thumb and wrong side out, that is, 
with the fur inside. 
There was a feeling of regret at leaving the cabin, even 
though it was for home. It had been a home to us, and 
Antoine fastened up the door, saying: "S'pose we'll come 
nex' wipt'. Who knows? W'en we come we gotta da 
good ole shanty. Come on." And we turned our backs 
to our winter home. We stopped a day at the boat to 
soak it up and swell the seams, and stowed our furs and 
provisions under the two tarpaulins and cast loose. The 
Bad Ax was swollen and the current was swift. There 
was no expenditure of muscle in rowing, but there was 
an anxiety lest pole or paddle should fail and wreck us on 
a bend or a riffle. Some of the latter, which we had to 
make a portage around in the fall, we could shoot now, 
with more or less risk. When we reached the Wisconsin 
River we camped and felt that all danger was over. It 
was plain sailing after this. We killed five mallards with 
our rifles, and that gave us plenty of fresh duck, and we 
caught a large pike by trolling a minnow. Next day we 
merely guided our boat down the river and into the Mis- 
sissippi, and after one more night out the Father of 
Waters brought us to Dubuque, some eighteen miles below 
Potosi, where Antoine had a bachelor's cabin and I had 
dearer ties. 
When we tied up at the wharf at Dubuque and went 
ashore we met Frank Neaville and learned that all our 
loved ones were well. Frank went home that night and 
carried the news of our arrival. There were several fur 
buyers about Dubuque and they came to see us. I was 
for selling to the flrec one, but Antoine would not have it. 
The buyers came down and handled our furs and bid on 
them, and finally they were sold for cash one morning. 
There was a steamer to go up in the afternoon which 
would run up the Grant River to Potosi. I would go on 
that, but Antoine had struck some Canuck friends and 
had got drunk, and I did not want to leave him with the 
chance of his being robbed by those thieves which then 
infested the river towns and I went in search of him. I 
got him on board the boat with one of his friends and 
gave the steward a good tip to entertain them, and before 
Antoine knew where he was he found himself ashore at 
La Fayette, the landing for Potosi, with the major por- 
tion of his winter's earnings in his pocket. 
Once during the next summer Antoine came to me and 
made me a proposition to go down in Louisiana and trap 
next winter. He said that fur was plenty there and in 
the spring we would take our skins to St. Paul and sell 
them to some green fur buyers who would think they 
were Northern furs. I did not do it, but will tell you 
where I went the next winter later on. 
My good friend Hon. J. W. Seaton, of Potosi, Wis., 
whom I knew in the days of which I am writing, sends 
me this note in response to a question: "I can give you 
but little information about Antoine Gardapee, the 
French trapper you went North with the winter you 
write about. I remember you both very well and the 
fact of your going up on the Bad Ax the year before 
Tom Davies, and you went with the surveying party 
when Henry Neaville froze his feet, but I can t recall 
what became of Gardapee further than this: He ran a 
?rivate ferry on the Mississippi River from Cassville, 
fis., to the mouth of Turkey River, la,, some years after 
you left Potosi. The generation in which he lived has 
passed away — the trapper, hunter and Indian have gone 
to the happy hxmting grounds and have left scarce a 
trace behind them; their names, places, kindred ^nd 
friends are alike forgotten, and the pall of oblivion hangs 
over their resting places. ' , 
There seems to be nothing to be added to the very good 
obituary note of Judge Seaton. Fked Matheb. 
* The expression "stand the gaff" was a relic of Antoine's cock- 
fighting days in Canada, and when he wished to imply that a man bad 
no grit he would aay, "He no stan' da gaflf." 
