BQ6 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
he. 28, igut. 
niirn miff-TT — i'-r 
doubts to yotifself if the stofy is being told by some old 
veteran of the Little Thunder band of woodcutters, un- 
less you care to feel the weight of a hand still steady and 
firm in spite of its three score and ten years of hard 
labor. 
To Long Tom Bartlett did Squatty Jim especially en- 
dear himself. Long Tom, or Old Tom, as he is now 
called, would tell you, should you happen to come across 
him, how Squatty Jirn saved his life, what time the big 
bear all but had him in his clutches. It happened in the 
spring of the year, just before the "drive," when a light 
snow was still on the ground. The two men were out 
hunting together, and Long Tom stumbled upon the bear 
just awakened from his long winter's sleep, and cross and 
disposed to resent any interference in consequence. With- 
out second thought Long Tom fired, and only succeeded in 
wounding the animal. The next instant the infuriated bear 
charged. Long Tom fired a second time and missed, and 
then tried to efface himself from the landscape. But he 
had not run ten yards before he slipped and fell heavily 
and lay half-stunned where he had fallen. At that mo- 
ment Squatty Jim's rifle cracked, and the bear pitched 
forward in the snow, but before Squatty Jim could reach 
his side the huge beast was on his feet again. Squatty 
Jim aimed quickly and again pulled the trigger. The hol- 
loAV snap of the hammer told him that he had fired the 
last shell in the chamber. Without a moment's hesita- 
tion he sprang forward in front of his friend and dealt 
the bear a blow across the head with his rifle. The next 
instant his rifle went 
sailing out of his 
hands, and nothing 
but his own marvel- 
ous agility prevented 
the swinging lunge of 
the creature's heavy 
paw from sending 
him in the wake of 
the rifle. And then, 
like David of old. 
Squatty Jim trusted 
the conflict to Ciod 
and his own strong 
right arm, and darted 
forward with a sud- 
den quick spring, and 
unmindful of the 
cruel wounds received 
from the long claws, 
caught the bear by 
the throat and with all 
his mighty strength 
swiftly brought 
down his huge fist be- 
tween the bear's eyes. 
Four times the fist 
landed with lightning 
rapidity, like the 
blows of a trip-ham- 
mer, and the fourth 
time the bear, weak- 
ened by the loss of 
blood from his 
wounds and stunned 
by the crushing blows, 
sank to the ground, 
dragging Squatty Jim 
with him. By that 
time Long Tom had 
recovered himself and 
with a thrust of his 
long hunting knife he 
added the coup de 
grace before his friend 
had succumbed to the 
bear's deadly embrace. 
That is the story, in 
part, which Old Tom 
— once Long Tom — 
Bartlett would tell 
you while sitting 
around the camp-fire 
of an evening; and 
should you, in your ignorance, feel inclined to smile the 
smile of the skeptic and the disbeliever. Long Tom would 
restrain you with his closing words: 
"That's the yam, an' it's the gospel truth, an' ef any 
man here don't believe it, he'd better keep his mouth 
shut 'bout it, 'cause lyin' ain't in my line, but fightin' is 
when I git some riled." 
The adventure with the bear incapacitated Squatty Jim 
for work on the drive, and when the logs went down 
he was compelled to return to civilization with the teams. 
Long Tom exacted a promise from him that he would 
remain in Peshtigo until the crew disbanded, after which 
he was to accompany Long Tom to the latter's home, 
there to rest until he had entirely recovered from his 
wounds. 
Long Tom had built a home for himself in the Peshtigo 
region several years before. Thither, when everything 
was in readiness, he had brought his wife and his two 
children, the elder a girl of eight, the other a boy three 
years her junior. For six years he had labored indus- 
triously in his new home, and had prospered, as pros- 
perity went in that part of the world. His clearing fur- 
nished ample means of support to his small family, for 
their wants were few and easily supplied. 
When Long Tom arrived home his wife's greeting was 
tempered with unavowed, but none the less sincere dis- 
approval at sight of the strange-looking being that ac- 
companied him. Long Tom took her aside at the first 
opportunity and explained matters. 
"If that's the case," she replied when he had ended, "it 
can't be helped, though he's the humliest man I ever see 
in my whole life. You mustn't ever leave me alone 
with him. He looks dangerous. It do beat all how 3'-ou 
take up with sech queer lookin' folks, anyhow." 
"I'd ruther leave you with him than any man I know, 
barrin' Bill White, mebbe," he declared. "I tell you he's 
a reg'lar rough diamond." 
Mrs. Bartlett refused to be convinced, however. She 
was capable of forming her own opinions, so she said, and 
in the present case her opinion .of Squatty Jim was not of 
a flattering character. As for the cause of her needless 
perturbation he would gladly have escaped had his physical 
condition permitted of such a means of deliverance from 
the unwelcome position in which he found himself. He 
divined Mrs. Bartlett' s feeling of antipathy toward him- 
self. It was nothing new. All women were a sealed 
book to him. His very appearance seemed to inspire 
them with that same feeling of antipathy, oft times 
amounting to aversion. By nature of a very kindly, sen- 
sitive disposition, he felt their unconcealed disapproval 
of his presence most keenly, and consequently foreswore 
their society on every and all occasions. 
In time, however, Mrs. Bartlett grew to tolerate him. 
He was so unobtrusively considerate in little matters 
pertaining to the care of the household that had she not 
previously declared her disapprobation and distrust of 
him, she would doubtless have allowed herself to look 
upon him with favor. But to a woman like Sally Bart- 
lett an opinion once expressed was not to be lightly cast 
aside, else of what avail were opinions at all. To the 
children, Selina and Little Tom, Squatty Jim was a hero, 
and he in turn repaid their admiration with an untiring 
devotion pathetic to look upon. Selina, at that time a 
well-grown girl of fourteen, tyrannized over him from 
the first, and Squatty Jim, who had never before known 
the feeling of love — save in his affection for his dog — ■ 
yielded himself a willing slave to the youthful tyrant and 
lavished all his love upon the capricious maid. 
When Long Tom informed his wife that Squatty Jim 
had bought a certain "forty" not far from the river and 
A BULL MOOSE IN CAMP. 
Photo, by Dr. Chas. D. Smith. 
distant about four miles from their home, Mrs. Bartlett 
replied with an expressive shrug of her ample shoulders 
and an ambiguous : 
"Hump! Waal, s'posin' he has? Free country, ain't 
it?" and Long Tom breathed a sigh of relief. 
Squatty Jim had taken this step after careful delibera- 
tion. The idea of possessing a home of his own had never 
occurred to him; but having once made up his mind he 
set about the new undertaking with a will. Long Tom 
rendered what assistance he could spare from his own 
duties, and before the summer was over a neat log cabin 
adorned his friend's land, and the small clearing daily 
iricreased in size. All that he needed now to complete 
his happiness was a mate for his new nest; but Squatty 
Jim was young and could afford to wait. 
Chapter II. 
One morning in October, five years later. Squatty Jim 
stood in the doorway of his ca'bin and gazed up anxiously 
at the sky for any indication of the much-needed rain. 
It was stifling hot — as hot as a day in July. He had 
cast his eyes longingly in the same direction many a time 
before during the past months, for that year had brought 
an unbroken, unprecedented season of drought, and the 
world was burning up. The air was constantly filled with 
smoke and the odor of burning forests, and every day 
added to the danger that those distant fires might extend 
their destructive arms and envelop the entire northern 
wilderness. 
"No chance of rain to-day," Squatty Jim muttered. "It 
gits hotter an' hotter every minute." 
He was about to re-enter the cabin when he descried 
the figure of a man in the distance rapidly drawing near. 
"Quinguish or I'm a liar," Squatt>' Jim exclaimed, and 
hurried forward to meet the approaching figure. 
The newcomer was a full-blooded Indian. He was a 
fine-looking specimen of his race, tall and well-propor- 
tioned, with strong, though somewhat forbidding, fea- 
tures. He was breathing hard and the sweat streamed 
down his face and his neck ; his whole manner, indeed, in- 
dicated great haste. 
"What brings Quinguish sO far from home?" Squatty 
Jim inquired in the language of the Chippewas, the In- 
dian's native tongue. 
"Quinguish has no home," the latter replied, "The 
fire will soon burn up everything. White man stay be- 
hind and burn, too ; Indian rim away and save himself." 
"Did the Indian warn the white man?" 
"No, White man know it all. He would only laugh. 
All the woods are burning. Soon a big wind will come- 
in a little while, maybe — and there will be nothing left. 
Quinguish knows and came to warn his friends. The 
canoes are Avaiting at the river." 
Squatty Jim pondered a moment. 
"Quinguish is a good friend," said he at last, speaking 
in English. "But Long Tom left his kids alone yesterday 
and asked me to keep an eye on 'em till he got back from 
Peshtigo. He won't be back till to-night or to-morrow. 
How many canoes you got?" 
"Three. Koshkish and Sottee waiting for us at the river." 
"Good. Wall then, you leave me your canoe an' double 
up with Koshkish. I must go after the kids. The river'Il 
be the only safe place." 
"Too late, maybe. Better go before the fire comes." 
"And leave S'lina? Not on yer life. What would Tom 
say? I must go after S'lina an' the boy." 
"Then Quinguish go, too. Long Tom is a good man. 
Squaw can go with Koshkish. We take canoe." 
Squatty Jim grasped his hand with a warm grip. 
"Good. The same 
old Quinguish. Y' 
know whar the trail 
from Long Tom's 
place strikes the 
river?" he asked. 
The Indian nodded. 
"Meet me thar with 
the canoe then. I'll 
git a move on." 
"Quinguish be 
there," the other 
quietly responded. 
Squatty Jim waited 
to hear no more, but 
set out in a long, 
swinging trot in the 
direction of the Bart- 
lett home, four miles 
away; and as he sped 
swiftly along the 
thought of Selina in 
danger lent wings to 
his feet. What if he 
should be too late t ) 
save her? Well, he 
could at least make 
the attempt and perish 
with her if he failed, 
and perhaps the In- 
dian had .over-esti- 
mated the immediate 
danger, 
Quinguish looked 
after his friend until 
he disappeared from 
view. He then glanced 
up at the smoky sky 
and bent his head, li.s- 
tening intently. No 
sound greeted his ear 
— only a great still- 
ness, the hush that al- 
ways precedes one of 
nature's tragedies. He 
shook his head du- 
biously and with an 
expressive, "Huh," 
plunged into the for- 
est on his way to the 
river. 
, . , , Selina had finished 
her mornmg labors and was seated in the doorway fan- 
nmg herself and wondering if it would ever grow any 
cooler. Five years had wrought a great change in the 
little Selma who was wont to tyrannize over Squatty 
Jim. Although far from beautiful — save in the eyes of 
Squatty Jim— she was blessed with a neat, well-rounded 
figure, and a bright, vivacious disposition, charms by 
no means to be lightly overlooked. Squatty Jim thought 
her an_ angel and worshipped her accordingly, though he 
kept his secret buried deep in his heart. 
As Selina sat there in the doorway sadly at variance 
with herself and the weather and the universe at large, 
she suddenly espied the ungainly form of Squatty Jim 
hastening swiftly toward the cabin. Selina gave a' faint 
sigh of relief. Here at last was some one upon whom 
she could pour out the vials of her displeasure. 
"Has yer dad got home yet, S'lina?" Squatty Jim 
called out, as he came panting up the garden path. 
Selina was apparently oblivious of her surroundings 
and gazed absently at an old black hen scratching in the 
sand. Squatty Jim drew near and touched her on the 
shoulder. 
"I say, S'lina. has yer dad got back yet?" he again 
questioned, impatiently. 
"Was you speakin' to me?" Selina asked in well-feigned 
surprise. "I thought you was hollerin' at the cattle, Oh. 
for mercy sake I It's you, is it? Go away. It makes me 
hotter'n I was before jest to have you 'round." 
"See here, S'lina," Squatty Jim interrupted , speaking in 
authoritative tones that surprised that young woman 
greatly, "this ain't no time fer foolin'-> Look at me." 
"You ain't much to look at," Selina began, glancing 
up indifferently. "For the land sakesl Whatever's the 
matter?" she exclaimed in the next breath, starting to 
her feet in alarm. 
Squatty Jim's appearance ^A'as well calculated to pro- 
duce a sensation. His face was begrimed with smoke and 
soot .and his flannel shirt was burned in many places. 
As he stood there breathing heavily, he gave evidence of 
having passed through some trying ordeal. 
"The woods are on fire," he panted. "Quinguish canie 
