iB4 
freight train and travels to Rainbow Lake. He knows 
tliat Jim Wardner has a soft spot in his heart for a 
woodsman, even though his beard is in ropes hke the tag- 
locks of a sheep and the tobacco juice runs down to his 
knees, so he packs along his crutches and turns up at the 
back door about the same time each spring. There Mrs. 
"Wardner meets him, and while she holds him oi¥ at 
broom's length she sends for the hired help, and hy 
promises of divers quarters and good cigars finally secures 
volunteers to wash up Am. 
The old hunter is taken out of sight and tubbed and 
soaped, and his roapy beard and hair is cut, and he is 
lathered and combed and brushed till he doesn't know 
himself. Last vear two pair of shears were spoiled 
cutting his hair. 'On this occasion one Bill Williams was 
sent to burv the clothes which had been forcibly removed 
from old Am, and for weeks afterward Am bewailed the 
fact that fifteen cents had been buried with them. Will- 
iams absolutely refused to dig up the clothe.s, but finally 
Mrs. Wardner discovered the true cause of his trouble and 
made good the loss. 
Am knows what manners are, and is always pohte to 
the ladies. On one occasion Mrs. Wardner sent one of 
the girls to get her a piece of pie after all the pie had 
been accounted for. and Am, seeing the shortage, politely 
proffered the piece he had been eating. When Mrs. 
Wardner was told the fact, she got up hastily and left 
the table. 
Bearding a Bear in His Den. 
Perhaps the most thrilling of Wardner' s hunting ex- 
periences is that relating to his killing a bear in its den. 
Wardner tells the story in a very matter of fact way. 
He tracked the bear in the snow to a ledge on the point of 
Loon Lake Mountain, and saw where it had disappeared 
in a dark crevice under the ledge. His brother and he 
had been hunting in company, but the brother had 
gone around the other side of the mountain, and Wardner 
was unwilling to take the time to summon him. He 
followed the bear in under the rock in total darkness and 
traveled on his hands and knees upward of 60 feet before 
he located the' animal by the sound of its breathing. 
Drawing a Colt's revolver and placing it beside him on 
the ground, Wardner lay dowrf on his face and leveled his 
rifle partly by the feeling of the walls of the den and 
partly by the sound of the breathing, and fired. Dropping 
the rifle, he instantly seized the revolver, holding it 
before him with the intention of firing it the moment he 
felt the bear's body in its outward charge. He steeled 
his mind to pull quickly, for if the bear carried the 
revolver back in its dash over his body he might shoot into 
his own heels. Fortunately for the hunter, however, the 
first shot killed the bear, and the revolver was not called . 
into play. 
Erratic Course of a Rifle Bullet, 
Wardner once shot at a partridge sitting under a soft 
maple top with one of the old muzzleloading rifles then 
in use and missed it. An instant later he heard a sharp 
spat and saw the sand fly at his feet. Stooping down he 
found the rifle ball badly flattened and buried a couple of 
inches in the sand. It had glanced twice from branches 
of the maple top and gone straight up in the air and re- 
turned to earth with such force that he would undoubtedly 
have been killed if he had stood a foot further on. 
St. Germain's Tragedy. 
Wardner knew Mose St. Germain when he lived at 
Big Clear Lake. He had a high opinion of his skill as 
a hunter, but said he was a bad customer and vindictive 
if he thought any one was trying to get the better of 
him. 
"I always laughed at one expression he made," said 
Wardner, relating the tragedy of the old man's existence. 
■'He had two boys who killed themselves. Fiette, the 
first, attended religious meetings and got crazy about 
religion. He was afraid he might backslide, and thought 
he would fix it so that he would go to heaven while he 
was prepared, so he went out one day and shot himself. 
"About a year afterward Levi drowned himself. They 
found a boat on the shore of the pond, but couldn't find 
his body. His father, mother and sisters searched for it 
for weeks, but without success. On their way back they 
stopped here. The old man went out to the barn to 
take care of his horses and got to telling me about the 
boys. 
' 'There's Fiette,' he said. *He go to meeting to get 
religion, and shoot himself to go to heaven. Then Levi 
he think it over, and he think he'll go where Fiette is, and 
he go and drown himself, Maybe he never go to same 
place at all!'" 
Genealogical and Historical. 
WardnePs original business was school teaching. He 
taught in Essex county, Ivlew York, and also in Oaio and 
Michigan, and was always equal to his task of "straighten- 
ing out" the large boys on occasion. His health tailed, 
and he developed throat trouble, which threatened to 
become chronic, and so he gave up teaching, and Lke 
Plumadore, found health and happiness in the woods. 
He was already used to the pio;ieer life, and knew how 
to handle axe and ritle to proper advantage, havmg been 
born in Chesterfield, Essex county, N. Y., Aug. 15, 1831, 
when that locality was only newly settled. With his 
older brother, Joshua, he used to hunt bees in Poke-o'- 
Moonshine. One cloudy day when the bees did not 
work, the boys amused themselves rolling boulders down 
the 500-foot precipice toward the Albany Post Road, it 
was in the days of coaling and iron mining and forging, 
and there was a great deal of travel on the road. Every 
one who came along stopped to see the sight, and soon 
there was a procession of conveyances reaching a con- 
siderable distance in both directions, their occupants re- 
garding with amusement and no little awe the catapultic 
flight of the stones that tore through tree trunks 6 or 8 
inches thick and filled the air with slivers and brimstone. 
James Wardner comes of good old American stock. 
One of his grandfathers hauled supplies during the winter 
of i8l3-i4to the American army at Sackett's Harbor, start- 
ing from Lake Champlain at Westport and passing 
through Keene and Bloomingdale by the northern military 
road. A second military road crossed the Adirondack 
wilderness -by way of the lower end of Long Lake and 
Bog River- Falls. Tradition has it that our army crossed 
over from Lake Champlain to the St. Lawrence iij two 
FOREST AMD Stmi 
divisions by these roads. His bfmlier, Nathan Wardticr, 
volunteered at Plattsburg, and_ fought through the batde 
as a free lance. He provided his own provisions and took 
along his hired man "to 'help in the good' cause. His 
mother's father, William Manchester, also fought in this 
battle as a regular, and was thought to have been kiUcd. 
All next day his daughter searched the battlefield for 
his body, only to find in the end that her father had been 
sent off on detached duty and was safe and well. 
■ - J. B. Bl'RNTl.AM, 
In the Shadow of Katahdin. 
{Continued from ^age 343.) 
Breakfast over, next morning there was trouble in 
camp. Wilbert balked. It came about in this way: 
Lide and I were for making tracks toward Lake Milli- 
nockett and the Spencer Brothers' Camp. Wilbert 
argued that he had found excellent bed and board, and 
deer sign was plentiful enough to suit him. Matters were 
finally settled satisfactorily to all concerned. Wilbert 
stayed where he was, and Lide and I made tracks for 
the promised land. Wilbert agreed to follow later, 
provided we should be successful in our quest. 
The Nesowadnehunk road is not as smooth as F'iftli 
avenue; neither are there as many elegant mansions 
there. Its Belgian blocks were laid by old Mother 
Nature, and she asked no man as to the quality or dis- 
position of the same. Indeed, it would seem she had so 
paved the way as to forbid the trespass of man upon 
her secret domains. Miniature conical peaks and Lilli- 
putian valleys, swamps, lakes and streams, the whole 
interspersed with natural deadfalls, are met at every few 
yards; and barked shins, peeled ankles, stone bruises and 
sore feet are the price extracted from the novice for the 
privilege of limping, creeping, groveling, grunting and 
syvearing over eleven miles of this road by courtesy. 
Deer tracks, however, were as plentiful as cow tracks 
in a pasture lot. We saw hundreds of them, and in 
places the snow was literally tracked flat. We made so 
much noise in the crtist, though, that no deer were seen. 
Maine miles are "corkers,'' and it took over four hours 
to cover the distance to the Spencer Camp. Just as we 
concluded we never would reach there, we caught a 
glimpse of the lake through the trees. It seemed we must 
have traveled at least fifteen miles, but we had two miles 
further to go. Finally our destination came into view — 
and a most welcome siglit it was to us. 
The Spencer Camp, or Camp Eureka, as Lide and I 
had the privilege of naming it one night, is neat,^ clean 
and brand new. It was built in the summer oi 1899 by 
its owners, and stands on the carry between lakes 
Millinockett and Umbajejus. The camp is well supplied 
with comforts for the sportsman, the table being very 
good. There are spring beds, good mattresses and 
plenty of covering. Then the Spencer boys are royal 
good fellows, and do all in their power to make their 
guests comfortable. The board is $1 per day. If a 
guide is taken his hire would be $3 per day, making total 
expenses of $4 per day. 
We were met at the door by Fred Spencer, and he 
was a surprised man when he recognized Lide. Of 
course I was a stranger, but it took only a handshake to 
become acquainted. In the large room called the "office" 
a large wood-burning stove dispensed heat in abundance, 
while the board floor and the peeled, bright new log walls, 
hung with rifles, revolvers, knives, hatchets and cartridge 
belts, presented a sight to delight the heart. 
The next morning, after breakfast, Fred having gone 
off for wood, we fired a few shots into a tree to test our 
rifles, then started off on his tracks. They led to the 
edge of the lake, and out on the ice. It was one of 
those crisp, clear, ideal winter mornings, and we stood 
at the edge of the lake a long while, and gazed in silent 
admiration upon the entrancing scene spread before our 
eyes. For miles to the east and south stretched a sheet 
of ice, fringed by an irregular shore line, which was 
indented with bays and clad in dark green raiment, which 
intermingled with the gray of dead standing and fallen 
forest giants, and beautiful gem-like islands — like emer- 
alds in a ?ea of pearl — studded the glistening surface. 
The boughs of nearby firs and the evergreens bowed under 
■a weight of crusted snow, and the ground underneath was 
sheeted in a robe of white. As if to add softness, a 
heavy frost lavishly coated every object, lending to the 
scene the grayish tinge of dull-finished silver. The 
brilliant rays of the winter sun fell from the pure un- 
flecked winter sky with rainbow loveliness upon the 
picture, and it seemed as if we were looking upon an 
enchanted land. 
Lide was first to step upon the ice, and as I followed, a 
large fish, a laker, perhaps, darted away from near shore 
for deeper water. Then Fred appeared rounding a 
point and dragging a large sled heaped high with logs 
for the huge wood burner. "Good morning, Fred," 
.said I; "can you show us Katahdin?" He dropped the 
rope of the sled and an.swered: "Y''es. Jtrst step this 
way." We followed to a spot beyond the point, and one 
of the most glorious sights it has ever been my good 
fortune to look upon was revealed. Towering into the 
cloudless heavens, far above the cloud line, stood the 
hoary-headed guardian of this enchanting region of 
mountain, forest, lake and stream. Dark timber girted 
the feet of the giant, and extended two-thirds up the 
sloping sides. Then through sparse vegetation was 
revealed the snow, which ever increased in density and 
whiteness as vegetation decreased. Up, tip. far up into 
the northern firmament lifted the haughty brow of this 
imposing sentinel, and frowned upon the bewilderingly 
beautiful wilderness beneath. Seared and wrinkled by 
lightnings and storms, and thundering snowslides of un- 
numbered centuries, Katahdin frowned down on the 
world before man was born, and Katahdin will frown on 
the world when man is gone. White and massive as the 
thtinderheads of an advancing tornado, lifting above the 
distant horizon's edge, was his crown this glorious winter 
morning: and as one gazed enthralled upon the giant 
and the dark blue, snow-crested, sun-kissed ranges melt- 
ing into the purity of the northeast and northwest, .some- 
how, with each "heart-throb, steady as the stroke of a 
pendulum, something seemed to whisper: "God is here. 
God. is here. God is here." 
- - .Ill I mil r lif^.^rWifVi"'.!; 
We returned to camp; Ihcn I'red and JeWett advised 
us to go south on the Nesowadnehunk road about a 
mile, and ciimb the mountain southeast of camp. "If 
you look sharp, you'll find my footprints in the snow," 
said Jewett. ' Ihey lead to where I shot a deer the 
other day. If you follow them, and be quiet about it, you 
may get a shot. Anyhow, they lead to the Burnt Land, 
and when you get there you can sit down and watch. 
Perhaps that woidd be better than walking, for you can't 
help making a noise on the crust, and that'll keep the 
deer running ahead of you." 
We went as directed, and found the tracks without 
trouble, l^hey ascended diagonally the mountain side 
through a heavy growth of timber, whose snow-weighted 
boughs released their white burdens as we disturbed 
them in passing and liberally showered us from head to 
heels. This we rather enjoyed than otherwise; it was 
a veritable bath of purity. Soon a level stretch was 
reached, where the growth was hardwood. There was 
little underbrush, fires having swept it away, and a good 
view was had for a long way in all directions. 
Lide was ahead. "Keep i'our eyes peeled," he whis- 
pered. "We're in a good deer country, and we've got to 
move awfully quiet." We w(juld walk cautiously a ways, 
then stand and listen. With the exception of plenty of 
old tracks, the cries of bluejaj'^s, the .steady hammering 
of large red-headed woodpeckers and the flitter of snow- 
birds, nothing of an encouraging nature was seen or 
heard for some time. Then I^ide. who was in the lead, 
slopped, looked back and grinned. When I reached the 
spot where he stood he pointed to the snow at his feet 
and whispered: "Fresh tracks. Deer have been here 
within an hour. Look! They've been feeding off those 
maple sprouts." Then he touched the pieces of crust that 
had been broken by the feet of the deer; they were per- 
fectly free, not having had time to freeze since the deer 
passed. This of course denoted freshness. 
We followed the tracks for perhaps a hundred yards, 
tlien came to a spot where fallen "trees were piled in a 
heap. Here Lide swore he could "smell 'em." As I 
was green at the business, and had never smelled 'em, not 
to my knowledge at least. I couldn't swear whether I 
smelled 'em then or not. Just as I climbed on top of a 
large tree trunk, however, there was a sound like boul- 
ders rolling down hill; then four white objects bobbed 
spasmodically up and down a number of tiines about 
a hundred yards ahead, and before one could say "Jack 
Robinson!" four of 'em vanished in the distance. It was 
my first sight of the white flag. 
"Why didn't you fire? " asked Lide, as soon as he re- 
covered from his sui-prise. "Why didn't you fire?" I 
retorted. His mirth expanded in a sardonic grin, then 
my feet slipped oft' the log, my legs flourished in the 
air and I sat on the ground from a height of 6 feet with 
a jolt that loosened every joint in my body. 
We followed the tracks for perhaps half a mile, and 
were so cautious that it took over half an hour. I 
thought it was all time wasted, but Lide argued differently. 
Presently we reached the edge of the Burnt Land — at 
a point where we had almost an unbroken view for fully 
two miles to the south. With the exception of a trunk 
standing here and there, the country had been swpet clean 
by fire. The southern point of a small rise to the east 
ended here and as we reached a place just opposite, Lide's 
hand motioned Stop ! I stopped short. Then Lide 
raised his rifle, leaned far over and fired. I jumped to his 
side just in time to see three deer disappear in the 
edge of a clump of heavy timber; but just this side a 
dark shape lay .struggling on the ground. I grasped Lide's 
hand and congratulated him, for he had killed the first ■ 
deer— a large doe. The shot was an excellent one, for 
the distance was over 125 paces, ^nd the bullet had passed 
through the neck. 
We tried to drag the deer out, but soon gave up the 
job. Lide finally decided to return to camp and get 
Jewett. While he was gone I sat on a small knoll and 
kept a good lookout. I had been sitting there an hour 
when three shots rang out a short distance away to the 
north. They were followed by a solitary shot. Presently 
Lide and Jewett appeared. "What have you been doing 
while I was gone?" Lide saluted. "Three fool deer have 
been feeding within 200 yards of you, waiting to be shot! 
Why, you must have been asleep I" I thought so, too. 
"Did you hit any of them?'' 
''I don't think so. They were a long way oflf. I fired 
three times and Jewett fired once. Then the deer made 
tracks for the heavy growth." 
Jewett had a rope, and we hung the doe up and Jewett 
dressed her. He pronounced the weight over too pounds. 
It was near sundown, so we didn't tote the meat out that 
night. Jewett assured us that it would be perfectly safe 
there, and would carry easier when thoroughly frozen. 
On the way to camp we stopped at the place Avhere 
Lide and Jewett had done the firing, and Jewett went over 
where the deer had been feeding. "Come here, 
boys !" he cried. "Lide, you hit one of those deer, and 
hit it hard !" We hastened over, and sure enough one of 
the deer had been hit hard. There was blood in plenty, 
and we followed the trail until Jewett said it would be 
folly to stay in the woods longer. Then we reluctantly 
gave up. determined to take up the track aga'n in the 
morning. Lide and 1 agreed to hire either Fred or 
Jtvi-ctt to make the trip to the Hunter's Home and in- 
form Wilbert of the day's success, and induce him, if 
po.ssible, to come out. 
It was warm in bed that night, but bitter cold outside 
the camp. The trees cracked and snapped like smothered 
rifle reports, and the lake groaned and grumbled like a 
fiend in pain. 
''I tell you what, boys, it has been a cold night, and it's 
a cold morning, too." Fred's voice awoke me out of a 
sound dreamless sleep. I yawned and asked : "How 
cold do you call it?" 
"All of 10 below zero." They told me in Millinockett 
afterward that Fred was right. 
.'\fter a good warm breakfast we were ready fbr busii- 
ness. Fred prepared for his trip to Millinockett. and as 
Lide wished to follow the track of the wounded deer and 
hankered for another shv at the Burnt Land di'^trict, on 
Jewett's advice I dec'ded for a trip on the ice. "You can 
traA^el more quickly there, and will stand a good chance of 
seeing a deer on one of the points," said he. "\''ou want 
to keep near shore, though, and look sharp all the while !" 
The Nesowadnehunk road runs parallel with the edge 
