June i, 1901.] 
streatn of profanity flowed, unceasingly, which added local 
color to tiae scene and made the men feel more a? home. 
Profanity is one of the precursors of civilization. 
In the evening, when they were all gathered indoors, 
"swapping lies" and repeating stale news from the out- 
side world for the benefit of those who had been buried 
in the wilderness so long a time, some one called upon 
Long Tom for a song. 
"I ain't in good voice,"' he objected with a laugh. 
■'Give us that one about 'When the ship went sailin' 
away,' " Bill White requested. 
■"That's too old," said Long To.m. "Here's a new one 
I learned ofif'n a Down-Easter last summer. It's called 
'Eagle O.'" 
This is the song that Long Tom, the cruiser, sang 
with mournful cadence as he lay sprawled out upon his 
back in his bunk; some of his hearers listening with all 
due attention, while others soon drifted away into the 
land of dreams, lulled to sleep by the sound of the 
singer's voice. 
"O 'twas in the town of Eagle, O, 
Where I did live and dwell; 
'Twas in the town of Waxford 
I owned a flour mill. 
I fell in love with a Waxford gal 
With a dark an' rollin' eye-ee: 
I asked her for to be my wife, 
Her wishes to comply-ee. 
"I went into her father's house 
About eight o'clock at night; 
I asked her for to come an' walk. 
Our weddin' to app'int. 
We walked an' talked along the road 
Till we came to level ground, 
When from a hedge I drew a stake 
An' knocked this fair maid down. 
"She fell upon her bended knees. 
An' for mercy she did cry-ee, 
Sayin', 'Willie, dear, don't kill me here. 
For I'm not prepared to die-ee.' 
But none did I heed her pleadm'. 
An' I beat her all the more, 
Till on the ground an' all around 
Was strewn a bloody gore. 
"J took her by her golden locks 
An' dragged her o'er the ground, 
An' threw her in the river 
That ran through Waxford town, 
Sayin', 'Lie there, lie there, you pretty fair maid. 
Who was to be my bride; 
Lie there, lie there, you Waxford gal, 
' To me you'll never be tied.' 
"When this young man returned home 
About ten o'clock at night. 
His mother, bein' weary. 
Woke up all in a fright, 
Saj'in', 'Son, O son, what have yoi: done 
To bloody your hands an' clothes?' 
The answer that he gave to her 
Was a bleedin' at the Jiose. 
"He called for a candle 
To light his way to bed. 
Likewise a silken handkerchief 
To tie his achin' head. 
But tyin's an' all tanglin's," 
No rest could this man find. 
For the gates of hell before his eyes. 
Before his eyes did shine." 
Long Tom's voice had grown drowsy and drowsier 
as the song progressed, and at this point died away alto- 
gether into an incipient snore. History does not tell 
what became of the man from Waxford town. 
3{£ :^ :!£ i-i ^'i^ ^ 
The men were up before daybreak the next morning. 
Captain Jenkins assfgned them to their different duties, 
and then headed the procession for the woods and the 
real work of despoiling the forest soon began. It trans- 
pired that Peshtigo Sam was to occupy the position of 
teamster, and after the first day or two the cruisers were 
obliged to admit that in this role he was a success. 
The short days sped swiftly by. and the beautiful forest 
of tall pines was transformed into a graveyard of pro- 
truding stumps and huge piles of brushwood scattered 
about in wild confttsion. With tireless energy the wood- 
cutters plied both axe and saw; the crash of falling trees 
was ever in the air, while down at the river the gr^at 
pile of logs was steadily increasing in bulk. It was a 
bitter cold winter. The snow deepened on the ground, 
hindering the loggers in their wOrk, and many a savage 
oath rose from their lips as they floundered about in the 
•deep drifts. Venison was hard to get. and the wolves, 
•emboldened b}^ hunger, grew daily more fearless about 
the camp, tempted by the odor of cooking food. The 
Captain was the only contented member of the crew. 
The deep snows meant plenty of water in the river for the 
spritrg drive and the Captain had an ej'e to business. 
Peshtigo Sam had hauled his last load for the day and 
was now on his way to camp. Lie was not. in a cheerful 
frame of mind. That last load had caused no end of 
trouble and delayed him until the dusk had begun to fall, 
and he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder from 
time to time, half expecting to see shadowy forms creep- 
ing up behind him. and urged on the wearj^, patient oxen. 
He was not nopular in camp, and he knew that there 
would be little real sorrow felt if he should be torn to 
pieces by wild beasts. Long Tom would probabl}- rejoice 
at his death. He had just turned off from the main road 
into the branch road that led to camp, when the sound 
of a light footfall behind him startled him. He wheeled 
■about, and there standing in the road he had just left 
was the biggest stag it had ever been his lot to behold. 
The stag paused a brief moment at sight of the man 
and team, and then bounded forward and disappeared 
in the direction of the river before Peshtigo Sara had 
time to raise his rifle to his shoulder. 
"Thunderation ! but he was a whopper," he exclaimed 
aloud. "Waal, to-morrow'll be Sunday, an' I'll jest go 
arter you, then, old feller." 
The prospect of triumphing over the rest of the men (for 
none of them had shot a deer for weeks) was so pleasing 
that he cracked his whip and caled cheerlily to the oxen, 
arriving at camp in a happier frame of mind than he had 
been in for many a day. Had he lingered awhile longer 
he would have seen a dozen dusky forms speeding swiftly 
and silently down the road on the trail of the big stag, 
for there were other hunters abroad in the forest. 
The next day was Sunday, and for once in their lives 
the men were glad of a short respite from their labors. 
As a rule the enforced idleness was irksome to them 
rfind they said hard things about the Captain in conse- 
>FOREST. AND ^STREAM: 
quence. Shortly after breakfast Peshtigo Sam took liis 
rifle and started forth on his hunt for the big stag. ' 
"Whar y' goin"?" Captaii\ Jenkins called after him, 
liis curiosity somewhat aroused. 
"Goin' t' git some venison," he called back. 
This announcement brought forth a roar of laughter 
From the others, but Peshtigo Sam ignored their mirth 
and went on his way unconcerned. The more they ridi- 
culed him, the greater would be his victory. His under- 
taking bid fair to succeed beyond his expectations, for he 
had not tramped more than a mile from camp when the 
big' stag again crossed his path. The animal discovered 
him at the same moment and fled. Peshtigo Sam was too 
far away to ri.sk a shot, so he followed in pur.suit. It 
was an easier matter for the sta^ to elude a man than 
to shake ofl^ a pack of hungry wolves, and he forthwith 
proceeded to lead this hunter an interesting chase, 
doubling many times in his tracks, but always keeping 
near the road that led to the river, for a two-fold danger 
constantly threatened him. 
Peshtigo Sam followed the trail where it showed plain 
in the deep snow. It was tiring work, and more than 
once was he half tempted to turn back and give up the 
chase; but the fear of the other men's ridicule con- 
stantly spurred him on to fresh efforts. Stumbling and 
cursing he toiled along, receiving many a nasty fall over 
sortie hidden obstruction in his path. The hours sped 
swiftly by, and it was late in the afternoon when he 
finally gave up the itnequal struggle and turned his steps 
homeward. 
In making his way through a "swamp" where the 
loggers had been at work, he suddenly tripped over a 
log buried in the snow and fell headlong. He scrambled 
to his feet with, an oath, but the first step brought a 
sharp cry of pain from his lips. He realized in a moment 
what had happened. In falling he had caught his foot, 
and sprained his ankle. 
He hobbled over to the nearest stump in sight, and sat 
himself down to think over the situation. Here he was 
miles from camp, with a sprained ankle, and only a few 
short hours of daylight left. There was no tilne to lose 
if he expected to reach home before dark. He started 
up. using his rifle as a crutch, and began the long painful 
journey back to camp. He made but slow progress, and 
before he had covered a mile of the distance the shadows 
were beginning to deepen in the forest. He apprehended 
that he could never accomplish the journey before night- 
fall, and the terror that men feel when lost in the woods 
assailed him. 
As the .short winter's twilight gradually faded, a chill- 
ing wind began to moan dismally through the tall pines, 
and the cold began to make itself felt. He tried to light 
a fire, but the wood -was wet and he exhausted his scanty 
supply o'f matches, and the fear ©f freezing to death 
added new terrors to the situation. And then the far 
away cry of a wolf came to his ears. The cry was taken 
up and repe.ated from all the different points of the com- 
pass. Peshtigo Sam shivered with fright. He had no 
fear of the wolves so long as he could defend himself, but 
what if the cold should overcome him and he should 
lose consciousness before help reached him — would they 
not attack him in his defenseless state? The thought 
was terrifying and incited him to renewed endeavors. 
He struggled forward a short distance and then, sank 
down utterly worn out beside a big beech tree. 
He had been., firing off the rifle at regular intervals 
until he had used all but three cartridges; these he 
reserved Jor emergencies. Oh, if help would only come 
before it was too late ! He dreaded to. die like this. As 
he now thought about it, he had not made a very good 
use of his life. He had done many things which he now 
felt ashamed of and whicli be woifld gladly undo if he 
could. 
If he could! Well, there w^as one wrong he could 
undo, and that was his treachery to Long Tom. In his 
pocket he carried, a memorandum book and a stub of 
a pencil. As he was dishonest in most of his own 
dealings he naturally judged others by himself, and so, 
for fear of being cheated, acted as his own timekeeper. 
He tore a leaf from this book and in the dim, imcertain 
light, sc a-vvled the following message: 
■"Lorg Tom i lide about Sal.^i didunt mary her she 
luvs viAi Sam." 
He pinned th^ paper to the tree, in a conspicuous 
place, with his jack-knife. This act relieved his mind 
somewhat, and he hoped that Long Tom would forgive 
bim when he read the message, - 
He wondered how much longer he could hold out, 
and if his frozen body would be devoured by the fam- 
ished wolves now howling about him. He began to grow 
drowsy. He roused himself with an effort and in a fit 
of despair fired one of his three remaining cartridges. 
To his ioy the shot .was answered by another shot sound- 
ing far away. He waited impatiently until he heard a 
repetition of the sound, and then responded with his sec- 
ond cartridge. His third signal was answered by a faint, 
halloo! and he sent back an answering cry. 
"Guess we got here jest in time," Captain Jenkins 
observed, as they raised Peshtigo Sam and forced a flask 
between his set teeth. 
"Looks that away." said Long Tom. "He's comin' 
to all right." 
Peshtigo Sam opened his eyes, and in the light of 
the three lanterns carried by his rescuers, recognized 
Captain Jenkins, Long Tom and Bill White. 
"I can git on all right with a little help," he declared. 
■'I sprained my ankle. How'd you ever find me?" 
"Jest by luck," Captain Jenkins replied. "Waal, ther' 
aint no use lingerin' here." 
"What's that stickin' in the tree?" Bill asked, as the 
light of his lantern flashed on the piece of fluttering 
paper. 
"Oh. that's my dyin' message," Peshtigo Sam answered 
with an evasive laugh. "Guess I wont need it now," so 
saying he puhed out the knife and thrust it, along with 
the note, into his pocket. 
Peshtigo Sam related his experience in his pursuit 
of the big stag, and was profuse in his thanks to his 
rescuers. 
■'Thank Long Tom," Captain Jenkins interrupted. 
"Ef 't want fer him you'd still be lyin' where you was. 
He proposed this searchin' party." 
"Was it you? Honest Injun?" Peshtigo Sam de- 
manded increduloiisly of the big fellow on whose shoulder 
428 
he was then leaning. "It was dern good o' you, Tom, 
an' " 
"Oh, let up," Long Tom commanded ; "Ld a done the 
same fer one o' the cattle. 'Twant cause I love you a 
heap. 'Twas jest t' git ahead o' the wolves, that's all." 
Peshtigo Sam had not another word to say. He was 
not deceived bjr Long Tom's disavowal of worthier 
motives for his actions, and his thoughts were busy with 
the confession which he had written on the leaf of his 
note book, and which, but for the big-hearted fellow 
beside him, might have been left to flutter on the trunk 
of the beech tree \yhile the hungry wolves fought over 
his bones. 
That night, as he sat all bundled up before the blazing 
camp fire, his glance constantly wandered from a silent 
figure in one of the bunks opposite him to a small piece 
of crampled paper in his own hand. 
"Ef 't want fer him I wouldn't be here now," he mused. 
I_ orter tell him. Mebbe I'd better wait awhile, though. 
I'll tell him in the spring. He can't go back thar now. 
Ther' ain't no hurry— but I orter tell him now. Ef 't want 
fer Sal ." He hesitated, and then tossed the piece 
of paper into the fire. Fayette Durlin, Jr. 
Where the Loon Laughs. 
Iq Three Parts— Part One. 
"Of course you are not well, and I doubt that you are 
particularly happy," says Kitchener at the close of a ^ 
twenty-page letter, "and for the reason that you have 
forgotten the traditions of your lusty youth, that you 
have drifted away from the sweet and satisfying things 
that used to put the tan on your cheek and the brawn on 
your shoulders. Man ! how long is it since you had a gun 
in your hands .with a cocker ranging the blueberry scrub 
ahead of you, or held a troll in your teeth while you 
drove your canoe softly over the water in the s'hadow 
of the bank where the black bass lie? Sick Thing, will 
you yield to the snare I have tried to set for your im- 
willing feet through all these many pages? Will you 
come with us for one glorious month to the land where 
the loon laughs in the hush of the night and the crane 
stands on one leg to gravely consider your camp in the 
half-light of the shadowy dawn; to the' haunts of the 
wood duck, the partridge, the big fight-full bass and 
pickerel to the land where high serene thoughts come 
unbidden and the town-worn, weary man sits humbly at 
the Master's feet, learning again the half-forgotten lesson 
of life? Or do you intend to remain upon your knees, 
babbling sordid prayers to the unresponsive wooden god 
you glorify by the name of Business, until such time as 
Death comes stalking silently and lays his cold hand upon 
your shoulder?" 
The Sick Thing heaves a great sigh and then reads 
Kitchener's long letter all over again. But he has made 
up his mind before the sigh is well begun, and the reread- 
ing of the letter is now only for the further delight of 
the thing. When he has finished, he touches a button un- 
der his desk. 
"John," he says to the hoy who appears in response to 
the summons, "find out for ine the quickest and best way 
to get from New York to Toronto. And when you have 
done that, secure me a through sleeper for to-morrow 
night. Then telegraph to this address in Toronto and 
say I am coming." 
Forty-eight hours later Ejtchener meets him at the 
railwaj" station in Toronto. 
"Everything is ready," he announces. "All the stores 
are bought and the canoes have gone on by express. We 
leave at noon for Or 'Ilia, and the other two men are to 
meet us at the Sottth Parkdale station." 
"What about the guides?" 
"Do you happen to know what a Corinthian is, in 
modern parlance?" 
"Can't sa}' that I do."' 
"Well, a Corinthian is a gentleman who scorns all 
guides and cooks when be goes into the wilderness. 
This is a Corinthian expedition. We'll all have to work 
like beavers, and that means that we'll get all the.fim and 
all the benefits without having to endure any of the 
ordinary draAvbacks." 
By 4 o'clock of the' same day the party of four stands 
on the wharf at OrilHa. Citj^ clothes have been exchanged 
for comfortable and durable camp togs — the butterfly -hav- 
ing crept back into the chrysalis, so to speak. With rough 
work to do, rough clothes mu.st be Avorn. When the 
clothes have to be washed and mended by the: man who 
wears them, they are neither iiumerous nor ornamental. A 
flannel shirt, woolen socks, khaki tttnic and trousers and 
substantial laced boots of amphibious character, are, more 
or less, what each man has on. i\nd the greatest of 
these is the boots, for they must wade, cramp under the 
canoe thwarts, climb ov«r jagged rocks, plunge through 
tamarac swamps, submit to be baked by the sun, parboiled 
by the bog and supersoaked by water, and yet remain 
to the lattermost day a tough yet pliant protection to the 
w^earer's feet. 
The Sick Thing is gazing upon the two long, slender 
canoes lying side by side upon the wharf, and looking 
like a couple of pickerel treated to a coat of red paint. 
■'Kitcheiier," he says, solemnly, "do you seriously con- 
template putting all these dunnage bags, guns, four men 
and a dog into those things? You'll sink 'em if you 
do, and they don't seem designed for submarine work. If 
you don't mind, I think I'll walk. I used to be very fond 
of walking." 
Kitchener, with an arm thrust deep in a dunnage 
bag, bestowing the last of the loose articles, grunts softly 
as he works. 
"Huh!" he grunts "point of view of the latter part of 
a misspent life in New York. You used to care mighty 
little whether you traveled above or below the water. 
But for to-day* we'll keep on top — mostly — ^just till you 
get used to it." 
"There isn't anything of these ridiculous little things — 
they haven't any beam worth mentioning," the Sick Thing 
grumbles, squatting down to a closer examination of the 
canoes. 
"Goodness knows that isn't the trouble with you, now- 
adays. Now we're all ready. Just get hold of the end of 
the canoe, Scik Thing, and lift it into the water. Goodl 
Now, then, the bags. Now step in yourself," 
