Sept. 8, 1900.] 
FOnEST AND STREAM. 
■■ Go 'long!' sez she; 'c{ y' want some grub say so or 
f'lse git out. I ain't got no time fer fooliii:'.' 
"JMot knowin' what t' say, I sez, 'Give me some grub," 
and she went arter the grub. 
" 'She's got sperit,' thinks I. "But sperit 's all right. 
Dad's old woman's got a heap o" the same artickic, an' 
dad's managed t' git on somehow. I guess she'll do.' 
Jest then she come back. She sot the grub down with 
a. bang, an' started t' go. 
'■ 'Let's talk/ sez I. 
" ' 'Bout what?' sez sKe. 
'Bout gittin married,' sez I, not knowjn' what else 
t' say. 
'What y' givin' Us?* $.ez, she. "^'er ever sakes, what 
do y' mean, anyway?' 
" 'I mean what I say,* sez I, 'Let's talk 'bout me 'n' 
you gittin' married,' sez I. 
" 'Go 'long,' sez she. "Yoti've bin "drinkin/ sez she. 
" 'I ain't nuther,' sez I. 'I mean every dern word I 
say.' 
■' 'You're crazy then,' sez she, laffin' at me. 
" 'No more'n you be,' sez I, gittin' my dander up. I 
jest naterly hate to be laffed at. 
" 'You're a queer un,' sez she. 'My ! what red socks !' 
sez she, lookin' at my feet. 'They're redder'n yer hair. 
Be them yer courtin' socks?' 
'Skuse me,' sez I, feelin' purty cheap; 'I plum forgot 
tny shoes was ofif,' an' I tried t' pull them new shoes on, 
but I'll be cussed ef they'd go on. They'd shrunk np 
or my feet had growed bigger, I never could tell which, 
'cause I ain't tried t' git 'em on since. Anyhow, I 
couldn't no more'n git my big toe inside 'em, an' she 
stood thar, laffin' more an' more. 
""Dern the shoes,' sez I, gittin' riled. 'The queschin 
is, will you marry me, red socks an all?' 
" 'What y' want to many me fer?' sez she. 
" ' 'Cause I come here to find a woman,' sez T, 'an 
you're her. An' cause you've got sperit an' are large, ah' 
'cause you've got sech red hair, like mine,' sez I, thinkin' 
1 had her fer keeps. 
'You're guyin' me,' sez she, an' before I could say 
I warn't she up with a big dish of boiled cabbage an' 
squashed it over ray head so hard the dish broke. An' 
then she ran out the room, laffin' fit to kill. 
"I dug the cabbage out my hair, an' picked up my 
shoes, an' went out an' hitched up, an' druv hum. I 
sorter laid it to them red socks, but I ain't hankered arter 
no wimmin since. Guess I'll git 'long all right by my 
lonesome. Dad's right. Wimmin's queer. 
"Guess we might 's well turn in ef we want t' git up 
early in the mornin'. Hope I ain't talked too much." 
"Not enough. Bill,' I made answer. "But it's getting 
late, so we might as well call it a day. Good-night, and 
don't forget to call me early." And then we turned in. 
Dear old simple-minded Bill. I envied him many 
things, but most of all his honest simplicity, and his 
contented mind. Bill was a gentleman. The very best 
of Lhem all — one of nature's gentlemen. ' , 
Fayette Durltn, Jr, 
Gens des Bois. 
Vn. — Simeon J. Moody. 
Until ten years ago the Tupper Lake section was a 
wilderness. Scattered here and there were sportsmen's 
hotels of a rather primitive type, but the trapper and 
squatter still had things pretty miich their own way, and 
there were no stores and no trade aside from an occa- 
sional peddling fur buyer. Then came John Hurd with 
his railroad, and almost in a night the second largest 
town in the Adirondacks sprang up in McLaughlin's 
cow pasture — a sprawling, unpainted and unlovely con- 
glomeration of frame shanties, with the scarf marks of 
the saw still fresh on the raw lumber. The town swarmed 
with pot-hunting Canucks from over the border, who 
hunted on Sundays and did their best to exterminate 
the game by every illegal device known to man, while 
along with the smooth talking commercial men came the 
land owners filled with an inflated appreciation of the 
A-alue of their forest areas that boded ill for the old 
settlers lacking deeds for their fire-scarred clearings. 
The subsequent history of Tupper Lake is best told in 
figures, with a plentiful sprinkling of dollar marks. 
About all that connects the town to-day with the un- 
commercial era are the few old-timers who remain. 
The pioneer of these is William McLaughlin, who was 
born in Calais, Me., in 1812, and who came to Tupper 
Lake with a lumber company forty-seven years ago. 
Gardiner Simonds was then trapping from his camp at 
Simonds' Pond, and a hunter named Cole had cleared 
an a.cre on the shore of Raquette River and supported his 
family on venison and fish as a mainstay, with a few 
vegetables by way of a relish. Saranac Lake callage was 
the nearest point where supplies could be had in summer, 
and in winter there was little communication with the 
outside world, except by way of Potsdam, forty miles 
away. 
McLaughlin started the typical backwoods lumber 
farm, which is designed primarily to furnish hay for the 
horses. The first year hay was drawn all the way from 
Lake Champlain, sixty miles through the center of the 
Adirondacks, across frozen lakes and over mountain 
ranges by the poorest of makeshift roads, At times 
when storrtis delayed progress some of the teams ate 
up all their hay and turned back without ever seeing 
Tupper Lake. It was customary for three or four teams 
to travel in company, and all were fed from the load of 
one of the sleds. 
White pine was the only timber cut. It was floated 
down the Raquette River to Hewittville. three miles 
from Potsdam, and there sawed into lumber. The river 
was then in much better condition for floating the logs 
than it is to-day, and only thirty-five days were required 
for the drive, whereas logs that go by this route at 
present are from seventj^-five to one hundred days on the 
way. Continuous driving has scooped Out the banks 
and widened the stream, and with less water, it is a vastly 
more difficult and tedious matter to get the logs through 
than it was in the early days of lumbering. 
Aside from the lumbering, hunting and trapping fur- 
nished the only inducement to settlement. 
A hunter named Clark came in from Vermont about 
(lie same time McLaughlin i-cachcd Tupper Lake, but 
left after a two years' residence in the w.o.ods, and was 
succeeded by Simeon J. Moody. 
Sim Moody. 
Though a nephew of Mart Moody. Sim Moody is 
three years his senior, having been born March i, 1830, 
at Saranuc Lake, where his father had gone from Keene, 
i\\ H. At the age of twenty-four Sim anoved to Tupper 
Lake. iMcLaughlin had not made much headway with 
his farm, and there was then not more than half a 
dozen acres of cleared land about Tupper Lake. To 
the soiitb the forest stretched unbroken a hundred miles. 
The woods were full of game and fur, and trout abounded 
in all the streams and lakes. 
Moody was already an expert hunter and a fine rifle 
shot, despite the fact that he had only recently acquired 
the art of .shooting left-handed. This was necessitated 
by an accident. Some years before, while standing on 
a fallen tree chopping, the log had given way and he had 
been precipitated on the upturned edge of his axe, sever- 
ing the principal chords of his right hand, and making 
it impossible for him to pull trigger with it. 
Moody's First Bear. 
Like most backwoods boys, born with a love of hunt- 
ing. Moody began shooting as soon as he was able to 
carry a gun. His first game was a bear, shot in a trap. 
Some men who were coming up the Saranac River 
twelve miles below the village happened unexpectedly 
upon seven bears feeding on chokeberries at the edge 
of one of the little natural meadows of the river bottom. 
They had a rifle, and fired at the bears, but did not .suc- 
ceed in killing any. Sim's father heard of the occur- 
rence and traveled post haste to the spot, carrying three 
traps with him. He set the traps, and the first time he 
visited them he had two bears, and eventually he suc- 
ceeded in^ capturing the entire seven, a striking instance 
of his skill as a trapper. 
Sim visited the traps with his father, and was allowed 
to kill one of the bears. Apparently the old gentleman 
was breaking in the boy much as he would have broken 
in a dog to hunt. Soon afterward Sim killed a yearling 
buck while alone in the woods, and though only twelve 
his career as a hunter had begun. 
Bears and Deer. 
The same year that Sim killed his first bear his father 
shot a bear in its den within sight of the Lower Saranac. 
He was on his way back to start a deer, accompanied by 
a mongrel bulldog. The dog ranged ofif through the 
woods, and presently the elder Moody heard him barking 
furiously at a hole under the roots of a birch tree. 
Moody thought the dog had a hedgehog in the hole, and 
hurried over to pull him off, but . when he reached the 
spot he found that larger game had been located. He 
clirnbed upon the roots of the tree and stamped, and 
seeing tlie bear's nose cautiously thrust out from the 
gloom he pushed his rifle barrel down between the roots 
within a few inches of the head and fired, putting a ball 
directly between the bear's eyes. 
The bear had made a snug nest of leaves and bark, and 
Moody had quite a task clearing away the debris before 
he could pull his bear out. "Bears come out in the 
spring in good condition," remarked Sim. "It is the 
same with a woodchuck; when they first come out wood- 
chucks ai-e always fat. They claim bears come out the 
2d day of February. I knew one to come out that time. 
It was a tame bear at Dannemora Prison that was left 
out doors and had to hustle for himself pretty much 
the same as if he had been in the woods. He came out 
the 2d of February and wallowed all around over 
the snow drifts. That was the first time he had been 
out of his den since fall. 
"Jess Corey had one on Indian Carry that used to 
den up. Old Baker had a big one that denned up every 
winter for four or five years till he sold him to be sent 
to Italy. 
"Those bears were left out where it was cold, and they 
had to den up to keep from freezing, whether they got 
food or not. They would make themselves some kind of 
a nest, and then when it snowed on them they were all 
right. Bears generally manage somehow to den up 
just before a storm. 
Bear Trails and Tracks. 
"At Indian Carry I once saw where four bears had 
gone along in the snow, and you couldn't have told 
Avhether there were four or a dozen, for each bear stepped 
exactly in the footprints of the bear ahead. I followed 
the trail a piece till I saw where the old bear had turned 
and walked up a road a little, and the three cubs behind 
had cut across lots, each one taking its own course. 
When the cubs came to the road they all got into the 
old bear's trail again. It would have made^ a man feel 
funny to see those four bears snaking along nose and 
tail through the woods about dark. I have often seen 
where two bears traveled together on snow, and they 
always made but the one trail. 
"A bear toes in like an Injun. Hedgehogs' tracks 
and coon tracks are like a bear's, but there is a con- 
siderable difference when you come to examine. A 
coon has a foot a good deal the shape of a child's, except 
that it is more peaked at the heel. A hedgehog's track 
is broader and more stumpy. 
Natural Curiosities. 
"I've got a white hedgehog skin by way of curiosity. 
I killed a big buck over here late one fall with little 
nubs of horns only half an inch long. He ought to 
have been carrying a heavy set at that time of year. He 
was all right physically, and I never could see what ailed 
his horns. Another time we killed a doe in the river that 
had wool on her just like a .sheep. You could pull the 
wool out by the handful. It was nearly white and longer 
than a deer's hair, and it was curly just like a sheep's 
wool. 
Trapping and Hunting. 
"I've always trapped since I lived in the woods here, 
and I've ketched my share of fur, I guess. I've ketched 
hundreds of mink, oIUt, black cat and 'saple,' and I 
guess there ain't anybody better on foxes. In war times 
mink brought as high as $12 and $14. I've sold lots for 
$10. Good otter and fisher were worth $10, and 'saple' 
$1.50. My trapping lines ran to Raquette Falls, and 
down the river to Sol's Island, and south to Little Tupper 
Lake. 
"The deer I shot were sold to Bartlett and Baker at 
Saranac and shipped to New York. 1 helped kill 125 
deer one fall with father and McLaughlin. Hi Averill 
hunted with us, too. We killed them on the river and 
around Tupper Lake, still-hunting or with dogs, accord- 
ing as we could do best. 
"In rutting time bucks run to water 'soon when a 
hound is after them. Their necks are swelled, and they 
can't stand to run far. 
When Deer Were Plenty. 
"I hunted for the market for years. Thirty or forty 
years ago game was plenty. There were ten deer then 
to one now in the very best hunting ground that is left. 
1 went out one afternoon from my house and killed 
three nice deer in two hours, and the next morning I got 
two more, and' all five were hung up there in a little 
piece of woods, where you could see from one to another. 
"I was still-hunting on a light fall of snow out by a 
swamp. 1 followed a trail up into a little sag of sprtices 
and saw a buck feeding. I put my knee on a big log 
and fired at him and then dropped back behind the 
log and loaded. When I had a charge in the old gun 
I got up again, and over to the right I saw a doe looking 
at me. I shot at her. and she went off out of sight 
and when 1 got another charge in I followed her. I 
hadn't gone three rods, when I saw another buck. I 
shot him, and he lay down, and I went to look for the 
first deer, and found the doe lying dead close to him. 
"I hung up my three deer and went home, not having 
been away from the house much over two hours. 
"The next morning I went out to get my deer, and near 
the place where they hung I ran on to two mere. I was 
just coming out of some thick balsams into a little glade, 
when I saw a buck standing there. I fired at him. and 
he circled within a rod and dropped right close up. 
Before I could get my rifle loaded I saw the doe looking 
at me. I hurried, but she went off in the woods before 
I was quite ready. It must have been mv lucky day, 
though, for she stopped before she went far, and I fol- 
lowed her up and got a sight and dropped her handy to 
the others. All five deer were then within a few rods of 
each other, and the three bucks and two does were full 
grown and as fine specimens as you ever saw." 
Wolves and Foxes, 
^ "I haven't seen a wolf in this country for thirty years. 
The last wolf's track I saw was in the snow on Little 
Tupper twenty years ago. Now that the wolves are 
gone, I think the foxes kill a great many deer in the 
spring of the year, when they are dropped. They often 
find where foxes have kiled the little fawns. I think a 
bounty should be put on foxes, for deer ain't any too 
plenty now, and we need all we can raise. 
The Last Moose. 
"The wolves went off into Canada. I think the moose 
did the same. My brother Phineas got the last moose 
killed in this country. Bullard and Leonard, of Malone, 
Avere with him m the boat, and thev were jacking on Bog 
River below Mud Lake. Bullard had a single barrel 
rifle that carried a ball bigger than my thumb, but when 
he saw the moose the critter seemed so big he didn't 
dare shoot. The moose Avalked right up to the boat and 
put Its head over the jack and looked at them and 
Bullard never shot till after it 'had turned and was walk- 
ing away. The ball hit the moose in the side and killed 
her. She was a big cow, and after that no more moose 
were killed m this country that I heard of. I don't re- 
member the exact year Phineas killed the moose, but 
It was just before the war, for he went to the war, and 
died as a result. 
Travels of a Beaver. 
"There are some beaver on the St. Regis now at Whit- 
ney Pond. Only two beaver were killed on the Raquette 
since I have been here. The last one was killed fifteen 
years ago. That's it over the door. I had it stuffed and 
mounted as a curiosity. My father killed nine beaver 
over on the St. Regis and broke up their colony. The 
next year one of the boys saw some work on Wolf Pond. 
He brought me a stick a beaver had cut and asked what 
did it. I went over there with him and saw the work, 
but the beaver hadn't stopped there. 
"Later on, I went up the Raquette to a bend, where I 
had killed the other beaver a long while before, and 
here I found the second beaver had stopped, too. There 
was a lot of driftwood in the bend, and he was living 
m the bank in under the drift. He had his trail where 
he got his alder and popple for food, and in one place 
where a logging boom was in his way he cut right 
through it instead of going around. 
"That beaver had traveled a long way to get to the 
place, and I don't see how he ever found it. From the 
St. Regis he had crossed over by way of Fish Pond to Long 
Pond, and then into Floodwood on Rollins Pond on the 
Saranac. After that he got into Big Wolf Pond on the 
Raquette by way of Pink Pond, Meadow Pond and Long 
Pond, and then through Little Wolf into Raquette Pond 
and the river. Animals know a lot more than most 
people give them credit for knowing. That beaver was 
m water most of the time, but there were ulaces where 
there wasn't even a little brook to follow, and he never 
got off the trail, and went right through to the spot he 
set put to reach." 
First Growth Pine. 
Neatly banked up beside the fence at Moody's farm 
last winter was a pile of several cords of shingle blocks 
cut from first-growth white pine trees that had been dead 
nearly half a century. All were sound and serviceable, 
though some of the sections were much whiter and closer' 
grained than others. Moody explained the difference 
by stating that part of the pine had been cut with the 
sap in it, while other trees had been killed by fire or 
flood, and stood till the sap drained out. 
