£ :k v- 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[March 22, 1902. 
The North Country. 
IV— Little Fish. 
One glorious windy afternoon Karl and I started with 
onr packs for the lean-to over at Peabody's. The sun 
was bright overhead, and across the sky were scurrying 
big smoky white clouds. The river was very low when 
we came to wade it, and so hot the day that the water 
that leaked into my moccasins was cool and welcome. 
We had made a good seven miles that day before "b'ilin' " 
the kettle, and had now quite a good jog before us. We 
climbed up the long hill, that lay away from the river, till 
at a post at the top, which bore the mark of the sled 
ropes, a partridge flew into a tree and we stopped to add 
him to our bundles. Then ahead again through the for- 
est, Karl bringing up the rear. At such times there is 
little conversation. One's mind is pretty much given 
to where one places one's feet, and then silence has a 
more golden quality in the woods than in cities. To be 
sure one's hearers are somewhat limited under the pines, 
but the wild things have an unaccountable distaste for 
the human voice that is well-nigh astonishing. To be 
sure, in the books of our childhood, the animals all speak 
quite intelligently, and even if the wolf had designs on 
Red Riding Hood, he was very friendly in manner; and 
one must still feel that the rabbit's conversations with 
Alice were nothing if not witty. But the big beasts that 
I have seen all seem to think I'd bore them, and were 
bent on escaping. So not until we rested at our little 
brook, where we had camped ten days back, did we ex- 
change more than a word. Karl then told me he had seen 
fresh sign where two caribou had crossed the path, and 
we spoke of their wonderful speed and quiet in passing 
through the woods. I then rehearsed how, a couple of 
years ago, while traveling on a straight stretch of wood 
road, where the great trees arched high overhead and 
the light was religiously dim, two gray forms with their 
antlers glided from among the tree trunks on one side and 
melted into the shadows of the other side before I could 
think of shooting. We made a running circuit through 
the woods to head them, before they got started, but in 
vain. It was the last we saw of them. That was i good 
bunt, and sometime I will tell you about it. 
Thus we had had our rest and must shoulder our packs 
again and steal along under the pines. The moose wood 
leaves were gorgeous with red and purple, the yellow- 
ing birches shed their golden showers down upon us, and 
the maples in the swamps stood like flaming red bouquets. 
My friends tell me that the Berkshires are the place to 
see autumn colors; my memory hints to the beauties 
of the New Hampshire hills, where I went to school, but 
they are nothing to the surprises one meets with in the 
forest. I am constrained to put this charm down to the 
background of evergreens, for it is, when all is said and 
done, to the pines, the spruces, the firs and the hem- 
locks that we owe the chief glories of our woods. No 
wonder the Pilgrims journeyed to such a holy land, a land 
where every glen was roofed cathedral-wise with arches 
Gothic and Romanesque. It is a good thing, likewise, for 
ourselves that so many of our people become Pilgrims, as 
the year rolls round to autumn, to worship at the same 
ancient shrine. It was through such holy places we 
journeyed. Finally the white walls of our little tent ap- 
peared ahead and we unpacked. The bedding is unrolled 
and my sweater hung on a convenient limb. A little tin 
of tea, another of sugar, a third 'of milk, a fourth of 
butter, a bundle of bread, ditto containing a little square 
of pork, and a slice of caribou steak, all are stored 
away under a clean sheet of birch bark. This leaves only 
salt to be accounted for, and that is found in tin No. 5. 
For utensils we have just one beside the cups, and that is 
the kettle. So much for our furnishings. We found the 
wind was blowing so hard that it was advisable to either 
shift camp or build a wind break, and, considering the 
last to be the easiest, while I gathered a few sticks for 
the fire, Karl cut some bushy tops and laid them where 
they would do the most good. This gave us a door 
yard to our house, and we also found the smoke and ashes 
somewhat lessened in the tent. The next order of busi- 
ness was luncheon of tea and toast and a bit of pork 
frizzled on a stick. Why does one always overeat in the 
woods ? We do it sometimes in the city, but it becomes a 
custom outdoors. After the "gorge" was over, I wanted 
nothing more in this world than to lay there on the boughs 
on the broad of my back forever. To be sure, the smoke 
would, occasionally, get in my eyes, and the ashes fell 
lightly on everything, but that mattered little. Life car- 
ried no responsibilities and knew no annoyances just 
then. 
But this would not suit Karl, so in very weariness of 
soul I joined him in the skiff on the lake. It was blow- 
ing guns, so we hung to the lee shore. Along in the 
?uiet waters we stole, watching for any sign or motion. 
)ne's imagination at such times is apt to play queer tricks. 
I believe the very trees go up and down the bank, and 
change places with one another, through much watching 
of them; else why do the black stumps that one marks 
by a certain white birch disappear, and those rusty look- 
ing cedars, why do they prick up their great ears and 
change ends in the water? Finally, the black things and 
the red things and the gray all settled into their proper 
places, and the skiff is run up on the sandy little beach 
near a runway. Now this skiff is a work of art. home- 
made by Karl, and brought in on a sled thirty-odd miles, 
"so as to make his hunting ground happy," he said, and 
happy it appeared to be, not only for us, but the animals 
also. The beach along here, under water, was broken 
with big tracks, and one could see quite a moose road up 
through the trees. On going ashore we found a shack 
used by Karl some four years back, and right by the 
deserted door the animals had made their path, despising 
this sign of man's habitation in the land. After walking 
up on to the hills, into a mass of down timber, in which 
there was some sign, we stopped again at the door of the 
shack and were ruminating on the discomforts of a trap- 
per's life, when Karl slowly raised his arm, and point- 
ing down among the trees into a patch of sunlight, said, 
"See the little fox?" 
"No," I replied. 
"Keep quiet," and we stood still for a moment or two. 
Just then he crossed an opening, and we saw he was 
circling round us. 
"Get the little rifle, Karl," I said. 
"Never kill him with the .22; must use big rifle," he 
replied, in a natural tone of voice. 
The fox had struck our L trail now, and followed it 
down the path, until, suddenly seeing us, he stopped 
behind a bush, his two ears and the tip of his nose show- 
ing. I aimed for the shoulders, as near as I could judge, 
and the little fellow fell on his side dead at the dis- 
charge, the seven-millimeter bullet tearing a big hole at 
the close range. We picked him up and carried him to 
the skiff. He was a small one, probably only a year 
old, which accounted for his innocent behavior. Our 
only other amusement that day was an unsuccessful shot 
at a muskrat with the .22. The rat had been cutting 
hay for winter and had a little bundle upon his nose that 
was being pushed home when we saw him, and such is 
the love of destruction that we tried to offer him a 
sacrifice upon the altar of the lake. He was too smart, 
however. A long swim under water took him in toward 
shore, and although I got more than one chance, the 
little fellow went off under a log to frighten the children 
at home with the story of a new kind of blood-thirsty 
ogre sailing about to kill little musquash that dis- 
obeyed their parents. As night came on we worked up 
the lake nearer camp, and when finally Karl's zeal per- 
mitted us to return to our feast of bread and tea, with 
caribou steak a-la-birch frizzling stick, it was quite dark. 
A weasel scampered around on a log just outside the fire- 
light, and quite a heavy little animal half-climbed and 
half-fell out of a tree near the path. This, Karl seemed 
to think, was a martin. So that day we only saw "little 
fish," as Karl calls them. 
As we lay there on the boughs, I asked Karl, "Do you 
catch the weasel?" 
"Yes, of course," he answered. "They are very fierce 
little fish. They have big claws, bigger than a bear, for 
the heft; long teeth, longer than a lion, for the size. 
They are very revengeful. Everybody that works in 
the lumber woods knows not to hurt a weasel. One night, 
man I work with he find weasel's nest in old camp and 
turn her out of bed by mistake. He always sleep after- 
ward with a naked knife to his hand, and a blanket 
wrapped around his head, for fear weasel find him and cut 
his throat. The weasel can kill a sheep," and he rambled 
along and told me about the martin, which he called 
"saple," and the wolverine, which was not a "little fish" 
at all, but a wild beast. "I shoot one, just one, and he 
was strong- as a small little bear, and not so small either." 
Had he killed any bears? "Yes, a few. but I never took 
no chance with a bear." 
"Why?" 
"They are too strong. Skins sell high, but the vital 
spot on a bear is his head, and that is hard to hit." It 
was different in a trap; then he killed them with an ax. 
Like Braithwaite? 
Yes, but out of a trap he wanted all the chances on 
his side. He then told me how he was hurrying down 
a wood road one night at dusk, when suddenly he saw a 
black log rear up beside the path and rest its huge paws 
on a fallen tree some fifty feet away. The black log had 
teeth that crunched and chopped like castanets, and it 
growled and rumbled like a bad-tempered dog. Did he 
shoot? No. He stood perfectly stilly for a moment and 
saw that the old Snider was in working order, and then 
he backed away and circled through the shadows into the 
wood road again below, keeping a respectable distance from 
that set of teeth. Let me tell you right here what kind 
of a gun Karl's Snider is. It would delight the heart 
of Mr. Irland. It is long of barrel and straight of stock, 
and shoots a huge soft ball with a wooden peg in it. 
When it strikes, the peg spreads the ball, and to say it 
hits hard is but half the story. It is a pile-driver. And 
.yet Karl thinks the only place to hit a bear with this 
cannon is between the eyes. So you see he respects his 
shaggv foe. And any one who has had the honor of 
Mr. Bruin's acquaintance will agree that he is worthy of 
some respect. 
And so we rested there before our good fire and dis- 
cussed the various kinds of claws and teeth as if we 
were members of the family carnivorous ourselves, and I 
dropped- into a doze, thinking these tales were absorb- 
ingly interesting and wondering if it really was so very 
long ago that my ancestors were swinging - from the tree 
tops and roaming through the forests. The fire _ was 
delightfully warming, the tree tops were swaying with a 
gentler motion, and the growing _ moon was looking 
placidly down upon our little white house under the 
trees. The sand man had long since rubbed his magic 
into our eyes, and that old Greek god and physician with 
the musical name took us snugly into his arms for the 
balmiest of sleep. 
It is wonderful to think what things may go by our 
house in the night down the dim aisles of theforest, how 
many gray and brown animal forms may glide through 
the darkness about us, feeding and traveling. It lends a 
fine air of the mysterious to the shadows to feel they 
hide some of the light-footed ones, and then every wind 
that rustles the leaves is like to the march of an army. 
One is quite reconciled to know life is moving abroad 
in the night, and after a little it lends a sense of com- 
panionship to the dark that it is rather pleasant than 
otherwise; and then when the bright sun, that warmer of 
hearts, wakes us in the morning, it is to a feeling that 
while we have "dwelt in the tents of the Almighty," the ' 
other dwellers have been going about their business as 
Usual, irrespective of ourselves. No sun woke us, how- 
ever. Earlier than Aurora, we were astir and found 
Old Boreas the only one on the scene. It took no prophet 
to say that he was out for all day ; but there was work to 
do, and the time was short. Before daylight we left the 
tent and prowled along the lake shore^ to see if "anybody" 
was out The water was lashed into the fury of a 
little sea. with whitecaps upon the crest of the waves, 
and a couple of loons were the only ones on hand to 
enjoy the tempest. We waited awhile watching the 
cold sky, but the beasts keep under cover in the thickets 
in such weather, and we saw them not. On the way 
back to camp a cock partridge flew up into a tall spruce 
and rocked there in the wind, his long neck craned from 
side to side, as proud as a peacock and wild as a hawk. 
My little .22 was brought into action, and at the crack 
he flew away over the lake. It was a fair shot and a. 
bad miss, but worse happened before the day was over. 
We continued on our way and were soon preparing break- 
fast and packing some lunch and a kettle for our still- 
hunt. It was useless to try the deep woods and swamps 
it was so noisy getting about, so we stuck as closely 
as possible to the wood roads, and as the game invariably 
travel these, in going from one feeding ground to another, 
this really gave us a fair chance. It is curious how 
quickly moose will take to a newly cut path. Before the 
chopper's track is cold they will pre-empt it, and soon 
it is their road, and they will keep it open enough for their 
purpose. We traveled just such a path, now plain and 
distinct, and again lost in a tangle of down timber, when 
one was given several choices of direction, but usually 
these converged on the further side. Toward midday it 
grew very hot. My! I was so tired. But, finally, we 
came out in the sunshine on a little brook and found a 
deserted lumber camp before us. The most silent and 
lonely thing in the world is one of these decaying homes 
of man. As you approach, the water bucket stands by 
the door, the peg on which tli£ latch string is fastened 
stands in its place guarding the low entrance, and may- 
be the door still hangs on its hinges. In the darkness of 
the bunks, full of long-decayed boughs, are spiders and 
mice and things of all degrees of unpleasantness. It is 
much sweeter and more wholesome outside. So we leave 
the rusty stove and its dingy company of benches, etc., 
for the sunlight of the clearing. There we put up a 
flock of partridges, and ashamed I am to say, there was 
not a bird bagged to show for a regular fusilade. Not a 
hit! 
"Impossible," said Karl. 
"And if I got a shot at a moose to-day," I said, "I'd 
miss him." 
It was something like two hours later that I got my 
shot, and I missed, as has already been told you ; but 
there were other trophies carried back from that long 
tramp through the woods and around the lake and along 
the brook that will be ever green among pleasant 
memories, and we all get finally to the place when a 
store of such good things is worth all the moose heads 
in the world. George F. Dominick, Jr. 
A Walk Down South.— XXL 
It was a dark night, and my boat was headed straight 
for a great black wall — a ridge with a thin gleam at the 
top where it met the gloom of the sky. A little glimmer 
showed that I was on the surface of the water. I could 
see neither bank, I could not tell where I was going to— 
except that the roar -of the water ahead grew louder and 
louder every moment. I drove the boat ahead, determined 
to be over with the rapid as soon as possible. One, two, 
three, four strokes followed ; I could hear the water 
rustling along the sides of the boat and dragging under 
the stern. It seemed as- if my courage was growing 
strong with my arms. But not for long. Suddenly the 
boat went grinding up on a gravel bar, right in the teeth 
of the roaring waters. 
The boat began to swing around sideways, showing 
that I was in the slick of the water just above and to the 
left of the rapid, where the current quickened for a leap. 
I caught the boat with short, sharp paddle strokes, and 
somehow backed off. The water looked broadest and 
deepest to the left of where I grounded, and I worked 
that way. I could see a little better than when I first 
put the lantern out, but not much. My nerve was badly 
shaken; nevertheless I headed down stream again as 
near the center as I could, to go on. In less than three 
paddle strokes, however, I ran quartering into a snag 
with .half a score of horns on it, all of which were 
pointed down stream, fortunately. The loud grappling 
of the wood against my boat was too much for me. I 
gripped one of the branches as I was passing it and 
held on. 
I held on to the branch a long while, trying to spy out 
the secrets of the darkness. I could see nothing save the 
dim banks and the black heights straight ahead. I waited 
for the panic into which I had been falling since ground- 
ing to subside, and then tried to think what I had best 
do. It was hard to go ahead into the unknown dangers 
and roarings, and it was not pleasant to think of turning 
back from what would probably prove to be easy running 
by daylight. 
How long I took to decide the question I don't know, 
but I concluded, at last, that there was one safe thing 
to do, and that was to go to the bank and wait for day, 
regardless of heroics. This I succeeded in doing, after 
some hard paddling, landing on the west side. 
I tied the rope to a fence post, took my rubber blanket 
and spread it on a sandbar, put on some more clothes, 
laid down my_wooden blanket, drew the tent sides over 
all, then crawled under. The sand was cold, being a 
mere drift formed behind a bush in the last high tide 
or freshet, so I changed and put one tent side under me 
on top of the rubber blanket. 
It took me some time to get fixed comfortably. I had 
to put on more stockings and tie a woolen shirt for a 
night cap, for instance, but at last I dozed away and 
slept. Once or twice the blankets rolled off when I 
turned over, and the cold awakened me. But it was a 
refreshing sleep, which lasted till after daybreak. 
My things picked up, the ice broke out the craft and all 
ready, I took a look at the place that had unnerved me 
by the noise it made. The boat had grounded on an 
island, round one side of which was a little chute with 
some dancing water. But on the other side in which 
was the snag, was a boat chute, formed by making a V 
dam, with the apex left off. Even by daylight I chose to 
take the little chute on the opposite side, with the chance 
of grounding rather than that of a wreck among the 
stones, where the water broke after passing the ends of 
the wing dams, it being low water. 
When I started the day was breaking, and after I had 
shoved and pried over the gravel bar at the foot of the 
little chute behind the island, I had a chance to see as 
beautiful a day coming as one would wish. Passing the 
tree-grown ridge, which I saw the night before, the east 
broke out with many-hued splendor — dark lead blue to 
the blinding glow of the yellow sun in lines and masses — 
to drift along the quiet eddy, breaking the silence with the 
