844 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
tOCT. 29, t898. 
veyor's chainman sent to the top of a mountain to flash 
signals at noon from the topmost peak, and who was 
visited that night by a mysterious prowler. How the 
lonely man sat up hour after hour in horror until all 
was quiet again, and he dropped asleep only to start 
up and find a panther's head staring at him across the 
dying embers of the fire. How no signal flashed the 
next noon tide or the following, and how his com- 
rades found him stark mad. 
"Mad," said Daunton, slowly, "they may find me 
mad, but not from panthers' heads." A twig snapped 
close at hand, just beyond the circle of the light. 
"Food," thought Daunton, "something to eat," and he 
slipped with his rifle as quietly as he could out of the 
fire light. Many times before daylight he heard the ani- 
mal, whatever it was, step heavily as it circled around 
and around him, only well out of sight. At daybreak 
Daunton found in the light snow the clear marked 
tracks of a small bear. The creature had walked around 
the camp all night, and as it was a common occurrence 
for almost any of the forest animals, led by curiosity 
alone, to watch a fire at a safe distance, Daunton 
thought only of his losing a chance for food, for he 
was now beginning to starve. With daylight he started 
again, and soon, to his delight, found himself at the 
end of the swamp. He emerged into an open hard- 
wood country, where he made rapid progress, although 
toward afternoon he. had to stop frequently to rest, for 
he was becoming weak. 
At sundown he camped by a little pool, the water of 
which, mixed with a few drops of brandy, refreshed 
him. He had some difficulty in making a comfortable 
camp, as the temptation was to throw himself on the 
ground and sleep. Finally, however, he managed to cut 
enough firewood and boughs to cover him, and in 
spite of the snow still falling he went to sleep. Daun- 
ton awoke some time after daybreak, covered with an 
inch of snow. He lay some minutes without moving, 
fearing almost to test his strength in an attemot to 
rise. 
"I'm going fast," he thought. "It's getting colder, and 
I feel it more. Another effort and I may get a shot, if 
only a squirrel. I've one, two; no, four, cartridges left." 
He sat up with some effort and shivered with the 
bitter cold. The pool with its little brook flowing 
through it was not quite frozen over, and Daunton 
broke the ice at the edge and filled his tin cup. He 
added a few drops of his precious brandy, and _ the 
mixture revived him. He had perhaps two good drinks 
left in the flask. It was scarcely worth while to light a 
fire, walking would warm him, so he started on. He was 
dizzy at first, but that soon passed awafe and left in its 
stead a dull ache across the left side of his head, and 
his left ear throbbed. His legs were strong, but he 
found it hard to control them. All idea of direction was 
lost by this time, and he forced himself on in a wolfish 
feeling of hunger, in the hope perhaps of finding a 
partridge or rabbit. 
The woods seemed absolutely devoid of living things, 
and for two days he had seen in the snow only a few 
fox and marten tracks. In the first snow the wood 
animals t do not move about, the larger ones finding 
shelter $ri the thick undergrowth of the swamps, and 
the partridges hiding under the low spruce and cedar 
boughs. ; So Daunton could find nothing to satisfy his 
hunger, but staggered on through the open woods, some- 
times sitting for long minutes on a fallen trunk. Once 
he left his rifle against a tree. He stopped some 10yds. 
off and looked back at it. Should he leave it behind, it 
was so :heavy, and his shoulders were sore from carry- 
ing it. I 
"A hunter leaves his rifle when a woman abandons 
her child," runs an Indian saying; and smiling grimly 
as he staggered back, Daunton took up the gun and 
resumed his weary tramp. His head felt very heavy 
and his eyes were dim, for he stumbled heavily as the 
day wore on, and had some bad fall's, from which he 
rose with difficulty. 
"I'm going on, on," he said aloud, "on to the end. I 
won't give up. 
"Lost! Who says I'm lost — an old hunter like me. I'm 
going north! Farnesby, can't you see that I'm going 
north? Look at the moss on the trees on the 
south side; it always grows on the south side. There, 
that tree. It was there a moment ago. 
"I can't see very well, but it's there if you'll look. 
Sen Hurley, when we lost him in the Aroostook up in 
Maine, Went crazy, mad, in two days, and look at me, 
sane as you are. Don't you hear me? Farnesby, Roger, 
Avhere are you? Gone, but you'll come back — you'll 
come back!" 
Talking to himself, Robert Daunton, worn and wasted, 
struggled on, dragging his rifle after him, moving from 
tree to tree in that silent, snow-draped forest, stark 
mad! 
Just before dark the clouds suddenly broke up and 
the sun came out in all the magnificence of a northern 
sunset, turning the straggling clouds into masses of 
flames and setting the western sky ablaze with a splen- 
did conflagration. 
It was not lost on Daunton. 
"So, I'm going out in a blaze of fire," thought the 
sufferer. "Fire! Why, my head and veins are full of it, 
burning with it, but my feet are cold, so cold." 
He was in a plantation of birch trees, where the loose 
dry bark hung in patches and shreds from every trunk. 
Scarcely knowing what he was about,, he tore down 
the hanging bark, more inflammable than pitch, and a 
moment more he had a fire going. Alone on the hard- 
wood ridge stood a dead pine with a hollow heart, In 
which generations of squirrels had made their homes. 
Against the foot of this pine Daunton built his fire. 
The dry punk of the hollow tree caught fire like tinder, 
and in ten minutes the tree was blazing. 
When the sun had disappeared below the horizon, the 
great pine was flamiHg up into the sky like a torch,' and 
from the ridge upon which it stood was visible for miles 
around. Daunton reveled in the warmth until after 
burning two hours the tree fell with a terrific crash, re- 
sounding like an explosion through the silent night. 
•The wanderer crouched as close as he could to the 
glowing embers, and In a half-conscious state passed 
the night. 
Daylight came at last, and with It Daunton struggled 
to his feet, but his legs would not support him, and 
he sank back again. Twice he tried to rise, for he 
knew it was death to lie there. His head was clear for 
the moment, and he felt that the end was close at hand. 
"It's the last daylight I shall see/' he thought, "but 
I won't give up yet. The brandy, yes, it's time to finish 
i& - '\. . . ■• 
He took out the flask and looked at the remaining 
liquid. Putting it to his lips, he drained it at a gulp. 
It ran like living coals down his throat, and gave him 
temporary strength. 
Flinging away the now empty flask, he made another 
effort and rose to his knees. His half-frozen feet would 
scarce support his weight, but his will conquered his 
physical weakness and he stood erect once more. 
The fire smouldered in. the pine stump, and stirring 
the embers he warmed himself. Then he picked 7 up a 
long pine sliver and lit one end. With this brand in his 
hand he shouldered his rifle, muzzle forward, and started 
on his last tramp. As he passed the birches he lit the 
hanging bark with his torch; why, he himself could not 
have told. The combustible bark flamed up like gun- 
'powder . and burned in a twinkling to the top of the 
tree, then went out as quickly, sending up into the 
still morning air a thick column of pitchy smoke. He 
must have lighted a dozen trees in this manner when 
his torch went out. 
He staggered on with reeling brain through the end- 
less trees, falling at times from sheer weakness, but 
always regaining his feet after a determined effort. He 
was at the end of the struggle, and could go but little 
further. 
His rifle became an intolerable load to him, and he 
knew the time had come to abandon it. He leaned it 
against a tree and fired it. 
The noise almost deafened him. His numbed fin- 
gers could hardly work the lock, but he managed to 
discharge the three remaining cartridges into the air. 
Then he affectionately placed his rifle against a hemlock 
and walked awaj r . The relief from the weight of the 
heavy rifle was great, but only temporary, and an hour 
later he was again falling and dragging himself up. 
He turned down hill, for no other reason than that it 
was easier to walk, and toiled slowly forward. Suddenly 
in the snow in front of him he saw tracks- — human foot- 
prints. 
He axamined them anxiously. 
'They were old — a day old, at least; and the trail was 
uncertain and wandering. Still he would follow it 
back and see where the marks came from. 
What, more tracks! 
With blurred eyesight and pulsing brain he knelt in 
the snow to inspect them. 
They were unmistakable. The footprints • of three 
wolves were following the moccassin tracks and their 
trail was but little fresher than that of the man. 
Daunton dragged himself on. sometimes on his hands 
and knees, sometimes moving from tree to tree for sup- 
port, until late in the day he heard the tinkle .of running 
.water. A few yards further and a little pool came in 
sight. He drank deeply and then looked around. By 
the pool were the charred embers of a camp-fire. 
Slowly it dawned on his fevered brain that something 
was familiar about the place. He examined the tracks 
and the ashes of the fire. There could be no doubt. 
It was his camp of two nights before, and the trail he 
had followed was his own. 
He had circled on his own trail, and here was the 
end. 
As Daunton realized this, he deliberately sat down 
with his back against a tree and went through his poc- 
kets. In one he found some paper. With a blackened 
match he wrote: 
ROBERT DAUNTON, 
New York, 
Died Nov. 28, 1SS3, 
and thrust the paner between his knife blade and sheath 
and laid them beside him. 
The mental effort of this was too much for Daunton, 
and for some moments he did not move. Then his back 
hurt him, and he slid down to a recumbent position. It 
was cold, very cold, but Daunton felt it not, for he 
was rapidly passing beyond all feeling. His eyes, dim 
before, now perceived nothing but the light above 
him, and his ears were filled with a strange humming. 
He sank into a delirious reverie. 
Back to his boyhood his mind wandered. So it was 
for this, to starve alone in a frozen forest, that he- 
was trained and educated. 
Old scenes came back to him. The college campus- 
then the music of the ballroom; but now he was dying, 
only too grateful that he had to walk no more among 
those endless, endless trees. 
Again he seemed to feel the genial glow of the club 
room fire, with his friends around him, and now — he 
knew he was slowly freezing, for the cold no longer 
hurt him. 
Then the air seemed to grow heavy with the languor 
of the south, and once more he sat bv a dark-haired 
girl on the banks of the Manola. All the hate and 
bitterness he had felt toward her passed from him, and 
a long suppressed love came surging up, conquering 
the last pangs of starvation and death weariness in its 
all mastering passion, He felt her arms around his neck 
and her warm kiss on his frozen lips. It seemed to draw 
from him the last trace of feeling, and Robert Daunton 
sank back in thys snow unconscious. 
fit 
When Daunton failed to return, Farnesby did not at 
first feel much anxiety, for he knew little of the woods, 
but when he could see from the excited discussion 
among the men that they considered It something of 
importance he asked Sabattis what he thought of it. 
Sabattls said that DaUhton had probably wounded 
some animal, perhaps a caribou, and In following the 
fresh trail had found himself too far to return that 
night. Francois alone said nothing, and could not be 
persuaded to express an opinion. 
Farnesby slept uneasily and at the first flush of dawn 
he rose and went to the beach, where he could get a 
view of the lake. To his surprise he found Francois 
smoking the inevitable pipe and peering through the 
rifts in the fog, which hung thick over the water. 
"Francois," asked Farnesby, "what are you doing here? 
Looking for Daunton?" 
"Not look," replied the Indian, '"hear," and he touched 
his ear. "May be gun." 
"We must find him to-day, Francois. You can follow 
his trail, can't you?" 
Francois listened gravely and then shook his head, 
saying: "To much dry. Plenty snow soon." 
That day they traced Daunton along the lumber 
road and found the partridge he had hung up, but with 
all the Indian's instinct at trailing they lost the track 
when it turned into the bush. They circled wider and 
wider to recover the lost trace, but their skill for once 
was at fault. Francois worked with the rest, but did 
so in a perfunctory manner, and showed repeatedly that 
he considered it useless. 
That night shortly after Farnesby had thrown himself 
on his blanket the flap of the tent was drawn suddenly 
open, and Francois entered and seated himself in silence I 
against the pole. Farnesby started up on his elbow at 
this unexpected apparition, not knowing what to ex- 
pect, for he did not feel altogether comfortable alone 
with the Indian. He gazed into the imperturbable face 
before him as the pipe now and again brought it into., 
sight when Francois puffed with more than usual 
energy. After sitting for some minutes without speak- j 
ing a word, the Indian abruptly remarked: "Snow 
come. Now find him pretty quick. Might be dead, eh?" i 
"Dead," said Farnesby, "what do you mean, Fran- \ 
cois? Daunton has been gone less than two days and we 
can find him easily now that there is snow to track him 
on. Why do you say dead, Alexander?" 
"No food; die pretty quick in de bush when starve," 
replied Francois, and then to Farnesby's horror the t 
Indian told the other a tale. He related it in his broken, 
jerky English, often pausing at important parts and 
speaking with an effort. He had hunted before in 
this region, he told Farnesby, and had run a line of sable 
traps over the hardwood ringes to the east of them 1 
One day, in repairing a dead-fall, he was splitting off 
pine slabs, when he noticed a strange looking mound at 
the foot of the tree. Kicking away the leaves, he found 
a pile of human bones — the leg bones straight out in 
front and the ribs and arms in a small heap against the 
tree. At this point the Indian emphasized the story by 
straightening up against the tent pole with his feet- 
stretched out in front of him, and then with his arms 
made a gesture of complete collapse to illustrate how 
the body had fallen together. The motions pictured 
the scene so graphically that Farnesby shuddered, but 
Francois, without noticing him, proceeded with his 
story. 
He had found among the bones some rusty buttons 1 
and a short pipe — nothing else. He shook his head 
solemnly as he told how strange it was that neither 
wolf nor bear had disturbed the skeleton, though it had 
lain there for months. Then the Indian constructed the j 
history of the bones with great ingenuity, told vividly 
how the man, who must have been a runaway shanty 
man, Francois said, had lost his way in the woods, had 
wandered day after day, had slowly starved, until sunken 
eyed and fevered he had crouched in the lea of the pine, 
tree to escape the cutting north wind — "Bones be on 
south side tree," remarked the Indian — until the wind 
ceased to cut or the hunger to. gnaw. 
Then the Indian told how he had taken back the 
bones in a bag to Mattawa for the priest to bury. Fran- 
cois smoked in silence for a moment, then rose with 
a jerk and left the tent with the parting remark, "Find 
boss sure. May be bring him back same way." 
Next morning Francois was gone, taking with him his 
canoe, his rifle and a light load of provisions. 
Long before the following sun had risen Alexander 
Francois had paddled up the lake shore some ten miles, 
and then hiding his canoe in the bushes as day broke' 
had struck into the woods in an easterly direction, ex- 
amining the snow-covered ground as he hurried along , 
His intention was to make a complete circle around th< 
Goot where Daunton's track was last seen. 
" He tramped all day, and at dark camped beside a 1 
rock, which he heated with a fire, and then scraping away 
the hot coals lay down against it. All the next day he 
walked, inspecting the snow with the utmost care, so 
that tracks, perhaps half buried, might not escape him 
At sundown he built his fire on the edge of a small 1 
lake. He boiled a little tea and ate his cold pork, and- 
then stood smoking for a while on the lake shore. Sud-'| 
denly in the far eastern sky he saw a red glow. It, 
grevy brighter and brighter for an hour, and then slowly, 
faded out. Francois smiled to himself, and knocking! 
the ashes from his pipe he rolled himself in his blanket 
and slept. 1 
About midnight he rose, tied up his blanket and 
started due east. All night through the snowy forest 
he picked his way, like some nocturnal beast of prey,, 
The crunching of the snow under his moccasins was the 
only sound in the forest, until just at dawn in front of 
him he heard the long drawn howl of a wolf. 
"Mah-in-got," he muttered, and hurried on. Sunlight 
found him on a ridge with a few very tall spruces among' 
the hardwood growth. One of these Francois climbed 
and inspected the neighboring woods. At length, still 
to the east, shot up a thin column of smoke, then another 
and another. Francois slid to the ground and seizing 
his rifle started toward the smoke on a quick walk, a' 
tireless, swinging walk that required sinews of steel. He' 
never paused for marsh or thicket until at midday he 
suddenly stooped down. 
There were Daunton's footmarks a day old. The In- 
dian hurried on, but noticed the wolf prints beside the 
man's. He saw the reeling, uncertain character of tliqj 
.trail, and an expression almost equivalent to anxiety 
passed over his face when the snow betrayed the spots 
where Daunton had leaned against a tree for support, 0,1 
where he had fallen outright. 
Further on Francois read in the snow that the wolver 
had stopped, evidently alarmed, and had then bolted 
1 
