March ii, 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
188 
was experimenting with, and carry you off into some 
-wilderness fifty miles away, and the minute you were let 
out^ you'd hitch up your pants and start for home." 
Guy grinned and said, "Oh, I guess if anybody wanted 
to Jose me that bad they wouldn't have much trouble." 
"In another respect," I added, "you are like a camel. 
Substitute a chew of tobacco for water and you'd make 
that fifty miles home without refreshment as easily as 
tlie ship of the desert crosses Sahara's sands. No camel 
could keep up with you though." I had reached the 
house, and hot and panting, sank to a seat on the porch. 
"Some swifter animal, the race horse, the — " But I swal- 
lowed the rest of my sentence, for Guy had disappeared 
around the corner of the house on his way to the barn. 
The Passing ol the Seasons. 
Guy gets a great amount of enjoyment from such little 
woods trips when work is slack. There is something 
worth going after the year round. In winter there is ice 
fishing on the river and lake, fox hunting on the moun- 
tain, and rabbit shooting in the swamps ahead of Larry. 
In summer there is the annual blueberrying trip to Poke- 
o'-Moonshine Mountain, with the incidental fishing 
ni Trout Pond and nearer home, Sunday afternoon ex- 
cursions for blackberries and ros'berries. 
in far-off China the slant-eyed celestial is waiting with 
hard-earned cash to pay for the ginseng which Guy 
gathers in shady nooks on the northern hillsides, and 
friends at home petition him for bits of the root to carry 
in their pockets and nibble on as a cure for heartburn. 
There are black bass to be yanked with the long cane 
pole from the crystal waters of the Boquet from Little 
Falls above to the dam below, and perch and pickerel 
and wall-eyed pike in Lake Cliamplain. 
Then, as the season advances, Guy watches with a 
proprietary interest the wild bees gathering honey, which 
he confidently counts on for his own when the store has 
reached goodly proportions, and he travels ci'oss lots to 
isolated cornfields to note the chankings from green ears 
which distinguish coon's work from the crow's. He notes 
wlrere the gray squirrels have been chipping, and investi- 
gates again the various swales which in raspberrying 
time he learned were inhabited bj' partridge families, to 
see how the young birds have come on. The first crisp 
winds of autumn are the signal for gathering in the 
harvest — coons and honey and wild game. Perhaps when 
snow tlies Guy takes a li'ip after deer and collects from the 
bog at the head of some forgotten little pond half a bushel 
of cranberries for Christmas in a birch bark ba.sket made 
on the spur of the moment; or perhaps he varies his 
nightly coon hunts with a little trapping for mink and 
muskrat. 
Time never hangs heavy on this woods lover, and his 
pleasures are of a kind that do not bring regret. Guy 
has not succeeded in accumulating much of this world's 
goods, but he has a capital of pleasant memories to draw 
upon that few men can equal. His father lived to a ripe 
old age and hunted Ix-es up to the year of his death, and 
Guv no doubt Avill do the same. J. B. Burnh.am. 
Uncle Oliver and the Moose. 
An Adirondack Story. 
The huge antlers of a moose hanging over the en- 
trance to the State Museum of Natural History at 
Albany have attracted the attention of visitors for many 
years, .and sportsmen have often expressed a desire to 
know the story of the hunt that resulted in this splendid 
trophy. The actors in this terrible struggle through the 
deep snows of the North Woods in the early '40s have 
all disappeared, but during my boyhood at the old Vine- 
yard Farm, in Ticonderoga, we children used to gather 
about our father in front of the blazing logs and tease 
him to relate for the hundredth time the story of Uncle 
Oliver and the moose. 
"Your uncle, Oliver Judd," he would say, "was one 
of the most clever men I ever knew. He was the in- 
ventor of various useful agricultural implements, the pro- 
prietor of a small store at Little Falls, New York, where 
he u.sed to petifog some in the justice's court, and was 
always in demand by the Whigs as a public speaker 
during political campaigns. Although he had never re- 
ceived a regular legal training, the cross-examinations 
were a terror to uncertain witnesses, and I recall how he 
once broke up a farmer in a little chain-stealing case 
that I had up in Crown Point along in 1854'. I was 
practicing law in Ticonderoga then, and as judd was 
visiting me at the time, I took him along just for the 
ftm of the thing. 
"The winter of 1845 was" a cold one, and. the light 
snow lay 4ft. .deep in the woods out in Herkimer county. 
The roads were drifted full, and it took the united 
efforts of the neighbors with plows and shovels to keep 
them even in a passable condition. Uncle Oliver had 
a large family of boys and girls, and as the village school- 
maker, I boarded with my sister Hannah, his wife. One 
morning Aunt Hannah said: 'Oliver, there isn't a bit 
of fresh meat or chicken to be had in the village for love 
or money. Don't you suppos.e you could kill a deer 
or something to-day?' I could see from the twinkle in 
your uncle's eye that he was more than pleased to get 
an excuse for a hunting trip, and in a short time his team 
was hitched up and a couple of trusted companions carry- 
ing long muzzle-loading rifles appeared on the scene to 
join him. I handed Oliver his famous old deer gun, 
hfted in the little spotted hound, Music, and the trio 
were- off in a jiffy, amid the jingling of sleigh bells and 
the farewells of the family and the hunters' maay friends. 
"I wish I could tell the story as your Uncle related 
it upon his return a week later with a big sleigh box full 
of fine moose meat and those lordly antlers hanging over 
the tailboard. Well, thej'- drove all day up toward the 
hunting grounds near the headwaters of the Socandagua 
River. The country was wild and uncultivated at that 
early day, and their progress through the rude un- 
broken lumber paths was quite slow and tiresome. At 
night they slept in a deserted log cabin and stabled the 
horses in an old shed. 'Early the next morning, after 
a snack to eat,' to use Uncle Oliver's own words, 'we 
put on the snowshoes and started out for deer. ' The 
boys chose their ground, and I decided to walk across 
the big pond and see if there were any moose signs in 
the swampy land. I took Music along more fdrr com- 
pany than anything else. After getting over the ice 
I worked around a while and finally found the fresh track 
of a bull moose. He had been cropping some twigs for 
his breakfast, and must have seen me as I approached, 
for I could see from the signs that his departure had 
been sudden. He plowed a regular furrow through the 
soft snow, which yielded considerably to my snowshoes. 
Strange to say, the trail led over the hill and then worked 
over toward the place where the boys were still-hunting. 
From the size of the hoof-prints, the marks of the 
antlers on the snow and the height of the saplings that 
had been trimmed I knew that if I ever got him I 
should be the boss moose hunter of Herkimer county, and 
I really hoped that my friends would not get a shot at 
him. They did not see the big fellow at all, but found 
his trail. Night was now coming on,' and we decided 
to try the shanty again. 
" Tn the morning the boys drew cuts, and Bill North 
was the lucky man.. The other hunter didn't feel bad, 
because he had shot a nice fat buck early in the morn- 
ing, and he hoped to have some sport around the clear- 
ing at odd spells between looking after my team and 
keeping a fire in the shanty. Bill and I knew that we 
were in for a long tramp, for when a moose once gets 
scared in these woods by a man and dog, he keeps 
going straight toward Canada for days and days, and 
we were afraid that this would be the case with our 
animal. We cooked up a lot of nice venison steaks, and 
each carried a large bag of quitcheraw, the Indian name 
for a mixture of maple sugar and popcorn pounded 
fine. Then we carried a pair of heavy blankets and I had 
my small saw and tomahawk. It was growing a little 
warmer and a slight rain had made a thin crust that 
would just bear Music, who naturally now felt very 
happy.' All that day we tramped over hill and through 
hollow, but got no sight of our moose. We saw several 
deer, and once a black bear looked down on us from a 
ledge, but we pressed on in silence, until it was too 
dark to see. That night we hollowed a place in the 
snow at the foot of a large spruce by a rock and built 
a roaring fire, which we 'tended by turns all the long 
night through. The wolves howled some, and we oc- 
casionally heard the scream of a painter, but, protected 
by the fire and our good rifles, we felt no fear. Music 
whimpered occasionally when the concert got rather 
loud outside. 
" 'The second day was much like the first, and along 
about noon Bill gave it up and started back, much 
against my Avill. He said he wasn't "goin' tew foller no 
moose tew Canady fur ennybody." He urged mc to 
go back with him, but he might as well have talked to the 
wind. I was bound to catch a sight of that moose, and 
somehow I always felt that I should get him. That night 
I camped as before, but had only one blanket over rue 
instead of two. However, I had to keep waking up 
to fix the fire, and the cold rather helped me in this 
re.spect. I missed my coffee those cold mornings, but 
there .was a little flask in my pocket that helped things 
out somewhat. The worst of it was that the meat had 
given out, and a fellow can't tramp on quitcheraw for 
many days together. Along about i o'clock I found 
where the moose had made his bed, and a few broken 
twigs 'showed that he had snatched a hasty breakfast. 
As good luck would have it, I had his "wind" all day, 
and by nightfall I felt that he must be within a mile or 
so. There was plenty of small game fairly asking to be 
shot, but the sound of a rifle would have made the old 
fellow leave in a hurry, so I had to starve myself again. 
Things were getting pretty bad for the dog, and he had 
only a small bone for his .supper. At daybreak I was up • 
and ready because I knew that it was to-day or never 
with me. The heavy outercoat and blanket were hung up, 
and dressed merely in a deerskin shooting jacket, breeches 
and moccasins, I put off after his highness once more. 
As the trail made a sudden turn, I saw where the moose 
had slept the night before. It wasn't 200yds. from my 
camping place, but he was up and off before me, although 
his bed was still quite warm. I believed the old fellow 
was getting suspicious that he was followed, and that 
he would soon double on his trail to watch his back 
track, as these cunning animals often do when pur- 
sued. I therefore made a circuit to the left of what I 
judged would be his course for the next few miles. My 
plan worked to a T, for at about 9 o'clock I caught a 
glimpse of an enormous moose standing in some low 
bushes, and looking backward very intently. Somehow 
in trying to get a shot I snapped a twig, and my beauty 
was off in a twinkling. Music knew his business, and 
soon had the beast at bay. I took deliberate aim, but 
only wounded the big bull, who rushed straight for me. 
I had barely time to throw off my snowshoes and jump 
to the base of a huge hemlock, where there was but little 
snow, when the infuriated monster was upon me. I 
could see his wicked green eyes,, and mane all on end. as 
he made his charge, and his hot breath fanned my face 
as I dashed behind the friendly tree. His great height 
and spreading antlers made it hard for him to get at 
me close to the trunk, and yet a single misstep on my 
part would have been fatal. Somehow I managed to get 
that powder horn open and rammed a big bullet home 
before he made his second rush. Music kept biting at his 
heels, and his attention to the dog probably saved my life, 
for I never could have loaded but for that. As the moose 
backed for the charge I let him have it right behind the 
point of the shoulder. It seemed as though he jumped 
loft. in the air, and then came down with a crash almost 
at my feet. I broke for another tree and got ready for 
him again, but it was no use. He was stone dead with 
a bullet through the heart. But where was Music. He 
couldn't have been tossed into a tree fork, as sometimes 
happens. It was a puzzle at first, but pretty soon a whine 
was heard, and the old dog emerged from beneath the 
monster's carcass, digging his way out through the snow. 
The moose in his death throes' had fallen on the hound, 
and the soft snow had saved Music's life for more moose 
hunts with his beloved master. 
" Tn less time than it takes to relate it, a fire was 
built, some tender moose steak was hissing from the 
spits, and Music and I, dog and man, gave thanks like 
true and tried hunting companions. It was no small 
chore to skm my game and hang up the splendid quar- 
ters out of the way of wolves and bears, but the job was 
finally accomplished, and ! took a cross-country course to 
the shanty, where I found anxious companions late the 
next day. They were of course rejoiced at my success, and 
soon had the meat into camp.' 
"They did a little more hunting around the pond," 
continued my father, "and finally arrived home in tri- 
umph; and your Aunt Hannah gave the .sportsmen one 
of her famous game dinners. Among the guests was a 
politician from Albany, and Uncle Oliver humored his 
request for those horns to adorn the Museum at the 
Capital, where they are to this day." 
Thus ended the story to us youngsters. My father, 
now seventy-eight years of age, but as active as many a 
much younger man, still resides at the old homestead in 
Ticonderoga. He is not a sportsman and rarely fires a 
gun. There is no hunting stock that I am aware of on 
either side of the house, but I believe that the emotions 
aroused in childhood by this often-repeated tale, which is 
now rescued from oblivion, had much to do with the 
writer's love for the forest and ^^-i-eam. Peter Flint. 
New Yobk. 
Just AW a Boy.-XVIII. 
"So that's Inyun Kara, is it? Well, that" looks like a 
sure nuff mount'in aw right — on'y it don't seems 'ough it 
wuz very big, that is, not fer a mount'in," said the boy 
as he stood squinting through the purple twilight at the 
great bulk of Inyan Kara Mountain. 
Our camp-fire glimmered with a daylight glare and a 
thread of blue smoke twisted lazily up toward the crimson 
and gold clouds, floating so high above us. The canvas 
tilt of the wagon was tinted with a warm, reflected light 
and the horses were munching the grass, which grew all 
over the flat valley of the boisterous stream. 
The boy, arms akimbo and hat thrown back, stood feast- 
ing his eyes on the first real mountain sunset that he had 
ever seen. 
"Say, gee! Looks most like you could hit that ole pine 
up 'n top that cliff with a rifle ball, don't it?" 
I smiled as I thought of the distance and answered: 
"If you could shoot three times as far as you can and 
-shoot straight enough, perhaps you could hit that tree — 
it is about nine miles up to where it stands, you see, and 
the very best you could do would be to throw a bullet a 
couple or three miles." 
"Course I've read about how this here mount'in. air's 
mighty deceivin', but I didn't have any idee it was that 
bad. Why, a feller c'n see ever limb 'n ever'thing up 
there — it don't seem 's 'ough it was possible it's eight er 
nine mile up there." 
"Well, you can see for yourself to-morrow just how 
far it is, for I've an idea we will camp up about the mouth 
Qf the canon for a few days and run around afoot. There 
is a good spring up there, but it only flows a little way and 
sinks into the ground, the same as all the springs in this 
part of the world do. Wood is plenty,, and there is a 
nice little glade there with plenty of grass for the horses, 
so we can stay as long as we want to. 
"The reason I wanted to camp down here to-night was 
to give you a chance to see the big hill at a distance, and 
get the general lay of the land, for when you get up 
there you will find the whole landscape looking very 
different from what it does now. There are certain big 
canons and cliffs which you can get located from here s© 
you will have landmarks to go by, for you can lose your- 
self very easily up in the rough country, and find that 
camp isn't where you thought it was — everything looks 
so much like everything else, you know." 
"Uh huh, I see. Feller sort o' wants to figger the main' 
points out sost he c'n travel 'thout payin' niuch 'tention 
to th' rest o' th' country, 's that it?" 
"You have the idea exactly." 
The boy studied the rugged features of the silent old 
mountain until it lost detail and loomed up as a huge 
blue-black silhouette against the pink glow of the chang- 
ing sky, and I suppose he thought the same thoughts that 
all outdoor people think when they look on the gigantic 
works of Dame Nature, and find how small men are, com- 
pared to them. 
When the horses were brought in and the night grew 
old, we rolled up in our blankets there under the scintilr 
lating .stars, and the boy had a lot of questions to ask, as 
usual, before we fell asleep. 
"Gee,' he said, "don't it seem still up here 'n this coun- 
try? Nothin' on'y juss that tinkly noise o' water scootin' 
'long down there over th' stones 'n th' creek — 'n' th' 
horses juss chompin' 'n' munchin' th' grass like it was 
sponge cake er somp'n' good like that. 
"Hear that coyote howl juss then? Seems 's 'ough 
he was forty mile fr'm here, don't it? That kind o' a 
soft noise like it comes a nawful long ways, on'y it's juss 
's plain 's 'ough it was clost by, hain't it? Whut's er 
reason o' that?" 
"Well, I suppose its the clearness of the air that makes 
it such a good conductor of sound. I have heard men 
talking in just ordinary tones out here when I could 
hardly see them. Of course I couldn't hear what they 
said, but I knew it was men talking. It was plain enough 
for that. I have heard grouse and other birds calling 
early in the morning, and they seemed to be right up 
close too, when in reality they were a long distance 
away. 
"This sound business out here is like the distance — ^you 
are apt to have a chance to guess again before you get it 
just right. _ I remember once I heard a big landslide come 
down the side of a mountain in the night — " 
"Whoa! whoa! Bill! Steady there, whoa, boy!" 
"Here kid, you keep down. Don't jump up and show 
yourself that way. Keep down in the sage until we know 
what's up — may be Indians. Got your guns?" 
'^'Yep." 
"Keep low then and creep after me." 
The horses were alarmed and snorting, and something 
was wrong in camp. 
Silently we crept through the grass and sagebrush 
clumps of the creek bottom, keeping close to the ground, 
thus being pretty sure of concealment, and at the same 
time having the advantage over any man or animal that 
might be standing up, because they would be more or less 
against the light of the sky. 
Suddeny I spied five gray forms hardly distinguishable 
from the surrounding brush, in Mie half-gloom of the 
night. 
