June i6, 1900.] 
468 
Pete evidently is bent on some definite errand. He 
leaves the road about half a mile from camp, and in a 
few mmutes we find outselves upon an old Indian trail. 
Pete says: "Once a trail, always a trail," and another 
woodsman once said : "A path once fairly differentiated 
by the successive passing of feet will keep almost forever 
a spell for the persuasion of all that go afoot." 
This trail we followed for nearly two miles, and 
though using every precaution, see nothing that looks 
like a deer, except numerous hoof prints, and fresh ones at 
that, Avhich prove that we are on a runwaj'. Soon we 
come to an open space in the forest. Not a clearing nor 
a burning, but a natural opening probably 200 yards in 
diameter, and nearly circular in shape. Pete tells me that 
this is a great place for deer to "yard" in winter. 
"Do you know what this is?" Pete asks. He is pointing 
to a peculiar looking print, which looks something like 
the naked footmark of a human. Pete's countenance is 
quizzical; his expression is not one of astonishment, but 
it is evident he has found something that he knew would 
be there. The answer comes to me. probably through 
mental telapathy. 
"Bears!" I shout. 
"Correct," says Pete, and then we trailed, but not a 
bear did we find, but plenty of tracks. 
At noon we rest for an hour or more, eat some biscuits 
and dried beef, find some running water and start again 
to work toward camp. 
About 4 o'clock we find ourselves within two miles of 
our cabin. I am thoroughly fagged and sitting on a log; 
we are suddenly aroused by hearing two rifle shots. The 
sourtd is not more than half a mile away, and we imme- 
diately start in the direction of the sound. 
After not more than fifteen minutes' walking we stop, 
and listening we hear Allen and Joe Lavigne talking 
very excitedly. We shout, and are answered. Getting our 
true bearings, we find the two standing proudly over the 
dead body of a three-year-old buck. 
"Who shot him?" "I inquired. 
"Mr. Allen did," answers Joe, and I can see by Allen's 
expression and the tone of Joe's voice that it is true. 
Ed was very, very proud, and I did not blame him a 
httle bit. The buck was a grand fellow, weighing easily 
17s pounds. 
;TelI us all about it, Ed," I ask. 
"Joe, you do it," requests Ed of Joe. And Joe does tell 
the story, and here it is: 
Joe is proud, and Pete, I'm afraid, is a little jealous. 
His e3'es are gleaming and he is evidently concocting a 
scheme. I found out afterward I was right in my surmise. 
After all hands and the cook had taken a generous draught 
from Allen's bottle, Joe began his story as follows: 
"We saw more dan feefty deer to-day, sure. Why 
should I say so if not true? Meester Allen tell you so — 
ask him ! Of course, we could not shoot at all. Oh, no ; 
too many trees between, but we see dem. Only tracks ! 
No, sir, de real t'ing. But maybe not feefty, but about 
twenty. All morning see not'ing. Work, work work, and 
find only one 'porky' — ^a red fox — but no shoot him ; yes, 
and we see bear track, but no bear." (Pete is painfully at- 
tentive.) "Den we stop to rest, eat lunch and go to sleep 
before we know. Wake up, look around and see two 
does-— biggest one in my life ! Looking at me. Not move 
one bit. One big fool, he keep right on feeding. I wake 
Meester Allen, then deer scoot. About hour ago we come 
here. See dat brush? Good place to lay and wait. We 
do, and about half hour ago hear Meester Deer moving 
t' rough woods. Guess smelt our red bandannas. Meester 
Allen wide avake, he see buck quick as 1. Buck stop not 
more than feefty yards, right at dat point" (pointing to 
spot in woods). "Both raise our rifles, Meester Allen 
shoot, buck jump t'irty feet in air, den come down and 
try run away, and shoot again Meester Buck falls dead — 
hit clear t'rough de lights. There she is." 
And sure enough it is a beautiful animal. 
In less than twenty minutes he is cleaned, his limbs tied, 
a strong hemlock sapling run between the tied limbs, each 
end of the sapling on one of Pete's and Joe's shoulders, 
and leading, Allen and I follow in true Indian stj-le to 
camp. 
Arriving, the buck is tied 10 feet up a pine; dinner is 
prepared, eaten, and now it is dark. Our beds of balsam 
fir have been prepared by Pete while Joe was cooking 
dinner, but we are not ready to go to sleep, so we make a 
roaring camp-fire — one that lights up the entire clearing, 
and a weird, somber scene it is. We smoke, exchange 
hunting yarns, and then we prepare to retire. 
Joe is asleep before Allen or I have laid down. Pete 
takes the lantern and says he is going to the boat. For- 
gotten something. I notice he takes an empty grain sack 
with him, which he finds in the barn shack. However, 
soon we are all asleep and do not even hear Pete when 
he returns. 
Again we are up with the day, breakfast and make an 
early start. We agree to be back at camp at 3 o'clock, 
game or no game, for to-morrow morning we return to 
our Big Lake camp. 
Pete leads toward the clearing of yesterday. Imagine 
my astonishment to find a portion of the intestines and 
the heart and lungs of Allen's buck on the spot. This 
explains Pete's night voyage. He has spread the bait 
from the clearing to the river, and the bag was used to 
carry the stuff in. 
A bear is by nature a scavenger, and loves refuse and 
offal. Whenever bears are found in northern Wiscon- 
sin, it will be in the vicinity of camps. 
We hide and wait. But no bear shows himself, but Pete 
says he is hopeful, because Bruin has not been around 
that clay, so he will be sure to come. 
At noon, after eating, we take a skirmish through the 
woods, and about 2 o'clock work again toward our clear- 
ing .^nd bait, 
Oil! Oh! Oh! There is Mr. Bear, a big black one. 
and he does not see, hear or wind us ; we get to within 50 
yards of him and stop. No, I am not frightened, but if 
there is such a thing, I have the bear fever. 
Bruin is busy with the flesh pots; now Pete tells me to 
get my rifle to my shoulder, and when the bear turns to 
plug him through tl^e foreshoulder or about 3 inches 
back through the heart. I am ready, then Pete gives a 
growl like an angry dog. For a lumbering brute, Mr. 
Bruin whirls around mighty lively, and seeing us, stops 
with his head toward us, his side advantageously exposed. 
I aim quickly and fire. The bear growls, raises himself 
on his hind feet and slashing the air with his forepaws 
comes toward us. 
He stops short when he has gone about 20 feet, drops on 
all fours and has half a dozen trees between us before I 
am ready to shoot again. Pete says he is seriously 
hurt, and that it is our bear. So we follow the bloody 
trail and occaionally see his lordship not more than 60 
or 70 yards ahead. Now he darts into a thick underbrush. 
We follow close, but it is very hard work to go through 
such thick brush, and we emerge, only to find we have lost 
the trail. No more blood nor tracks, so we go on, hoping 
to again find the lost thread. 
_ Coming to a small clearing, we cross it in separate direc- 
tions, Pete going due north and I taking a westerly 
course; here we part, having arranged signals so we can 
call to one another. 
I had not gone more than half a mile, when bear tracks 
and blood now and then plainly showed. Eagerly I 
followed, and had not gone but a few rods when I almost 
BIG LAKE. 
At the time the photo was taken there were three deer on the 
further shore. 
fell Upon Bruin, laying stone, stark dead at the foot of a 
large pine. I prodded the animal with a stick to see if he 
would move or show any signs of life, but he was in all 
reality dead. I had shot him through the fore shoulder, 
and that he should have gone so far was a physical sur- 
prise. He looked a huge beast, and Pete afterward stated 
he must have been at least ten years old — in fact, he was 
a very large bear, and I was proportionately proud. I 
shot three times with my rifle, and soon received a 
response, and within thirty minutes Pete was at my side. 
The bear was making for the river ; in fact, we were not 
three rods from its banks. The animal was skinned, keep- 
ing the head intact, leaving on the-claws, for I intended 
to have a bear rug of my own proyiding. 
The skin was taken to the river, "thoroughly washed,, and 
cutting oft" some desirable pieces of bear meat, we followed 
1 
.V BIT OF RIVER SCENERY NEAR WHERE THE BEAR FELL. 
the river for about three-quarters of a mile to where out 
boat was hidden, put our hide in the boat, and then walked 
four miles to camp. 
It was dark before we left the river, but the sky was 
clear, and my guide could walk the woods as well at night 
as in day time, so by 7 o'clock we were at camp, to 
find dinner ready and Allen just a little anxious about us. 
Allen and Joe had no more deer, but six partridges were 
fried for our supper. 
"Well, what luck?" inquires Joe Lavigne. Now listen 
to Pete; proud, haughtj^ Pete: 
"Oh, pretty fair; here is some bear steak, Joe, which 
you cook for our breakfast." 
Both Joe and Allen look surprised. Joe took the 
meat, examined it carefully and then ejaculated : 
"Oh, yes, she's bear meat all right !" And then we 
had to repeat the entire day's work. 
So far we have proven up our wildcat, our bear and 
one deer. That leaves two deer unaccounted for. We 
will leave that for another day. It is late and time to 
sleep. 
Fifty-efgfht Years Between Snakes. 
The Palmer, Mass., correspondent of the Springfield 
Republican reports that on June 7 a laborer near that 
town was bitten by a rattlesnake. The man was cutting 
wood, and as he picked up his axe the snake struck him 
in the middle finger of the right hand and hung on. In a 
short time the hand and arm began to swell and cause 
him considerable pain. He walked to Three Rivers, where 
he was attended by Dr. Giroux. The snake was about 
4 feet long, and had five rattles, which were cut off and 
shown in Three Rivers. The last rattlesnake that is 
knowm to have been seen in Palmer was killed fifty-eight 
years ago upon the Jonathan McIIwain farm. The snake 
was thrown upon a load of hay in a field, and was shaken 
off into a barrel and killed. 
The Hodman Alaska Expedition. 
XDI. — Life on Shipboard. 
Life on board the Elder was never monotonous. In the 
first place the day was divided into sections by three 
meals, which the ship's company with rare exceptions 
attended with commendable punctuality. The cool air and 
the sea wmd gave all hands good appetites, and it was 
amusing as the meal hour approached to see the men look 
at their watches and announce hungrily that it was almost 
time for the gong to sound. 
The frequent landings furnished abundant opportunity 
to the collectors, and almost every day a portion of their 
time was taken up working over the material that they had 
gathered. 
Thus the botanists were engaged in sorting and drying 
their plants ; the bird and mammal men in skinning their 
specimens: the invertebrate men worked at their tables 
on the mam deck. Those of the party who had nothing 
better to do either paced the deck or sat in the smoking 
room, reading, playing chess or discussing the events of 
the day. Every evening there was an entertainment of 
some description in the main 'saloon. Sometimes the 
best equipped member of the party would talk about some 
point that was soon to be visited, or that had just been 
left. Or again, some one would discourse on the glaciers, 
fiords, volcanoes, birds or plants of the region, or of 
some natural history topic, which, under the circum- 
stances, had a living interest for all. On Sunday evening 
short service was conducted by the chaplain. On two or 
three evenings, when entertainments were held to cele- 
brate some special events, there was music, clog dancing 
by a doctor of divinity, a college professor and some of 
the sailors, and an Indian dance by a member of the party 
arrayed in blanket and feathers. 
The smoking room was, in fact, a favorite resort for all 
hands, and even the ladies and the young girls did not dis- 
dain occasionally to put their heads within the door and 
inspect it._ It was primarily, as its name implied, a place 
for lounging, conversation and smoking, and many were 
the stories told there of past adventures and of distant 
lands. Many members of the party were widely traveled, 
and the tales were of all parts of the habitable globe. 
Some had visited the frozen coasts of Greenland and 
wintered in the Arctic ; others had seen the ice blink of the 
Antarctic Sea, and all contributed some share to the gen- 
eral fund of entertainment. 
It was in the smoking room that one of our authors 
repeated the thrilling and oft-told story of his perilous 
passage across a wide crevasse in a glacier by means of a 
narrow comb of ice which joined the two sides, and told 
of the feelings and actions of the little Indian dog which 
accompanied him. It was to this narrative that the ship's 
captain referred, when, in his parody of a real poem on 
the Innuit, or Eskimo, he said : 
"Oh, we are the Inn-uit people, 
O'er a glacial sliver we slide. 
With no little pup to liven us up, 
And no light of science to guide." 
It was in the smoking room, too, that the story was told 
of the Stikine boy who lost his soul: 
In a village by the shore there lived a man who had 
a little son. The boy was bom, grew strong, learned to 
walk and talk and play with his fellows. His father loved 
him and was proud of him. 
All at once the boy changed ; he no longer ran about and 
played and shouted; he no longer even talked. If he 
moved, he seemed dull and heavy. 
His father said to himself, "My boy is sick. He has 
changed so much I do not know him. I must surely do 
something to cure him." So he thought for a while, and 
then he went to a Shaman of the tribe, the man who of 
all had the most mysterious power. He could do many 
wonderful things, and often he talked to persons whom 
no one else saw. 
The father said to the man, "My boy is sick. He no 
longer talks and plays; he is heavy, stupid and does not 
like to move. What can you do for him?" 
"Yes," said the Shaman, "I know he is sick. He has 
had bad luck. Something terrible has happened to him " 
"What is the matter?" said the. father. "What is his 
disease.'' I have not seen any one sick in the same way." 
"Ah," said the Shaman, "he has lost his soul. It has 
been taken from him, and until he gets it back he will 
not recover." 
When the father heard this he felt very badly and did 
not know what to do, so he asked the Shaman how the boy 
had lost his soul, and if it were not possible to recover it. 
"I will tell you," said the Shaman, "just what happened. 
It was not many days ago that your boy was walking 
along the beach when the water was low, when he met a 
crab — a big one. The boy ran between the crab and the 
water and began to plague it. He would not let the crab 
get back to the water, and. he called it names. He said, 
'Ah, crooked legs, "crooked legs, you can't travel forward. 
You have to go backward or sideways. How ugly your 
big white claws are. Crooked legs, crooked legs,' and he 
pointed at the crab with his finger and danced up and 
down, calling out. 'Crooked legs, crooked legs,' and 
laughing and pointing. 
"Now when the crab was teased like this he began to 
feel angry, but still he did nothing except to try to get 
away to the water. But at last when your boy kept on 
plaguing him and calling him names, the crab reached up 
one of his big claws and grasped the boy's soul and pulled 
it out of his body, and then slid away sideways into the 
water and swam down to the bottom. This is what hap- 
pened, and now your boy's soul is down at the bottom of 
the water, where the crab is keeping it." 
"Alas I" said the father. "What can be done? Is it not 
possible to get the soul away from the crab and to give it 
back to my boy so that he may be well again ?" 
"Well," said the Shaman, "that is a hard thing to do. 
I am afraid I could not do it. Still, perhaps it might be 
done. I could try; but it would cost you many blankets." 
"Ah I" said the father, "I am very poor, but I would 
give whatever I have to see the boy like himself again. 
Try what you can do." 
So finally, through the power of the Shaman, the boy 
recovered his soul, but the operation left his father poor. 
This Indian story is chiefly interesting as teaching the 
