FOREST AND STREAM. 
363 
Jegvand seemed appreciative and thankful, but not, ?.s it 
were, overM'helmed by the gift, and it occurred to me to 
ask the Syssehnand how much he thought it would bring. 
"Well," he said, "if prices had been high it might have 
brought four or five kroner, hut people were nowadays 
buying muclr meat from the new whale station in Hal- 
dersvig. and f e supposed I'd get about 1.75 kroner for it." 
That would '.je, in American money, about twenty-four 
■ ents apiece. So ended my idea of being a Lady Bounti- 
ful to Jegvarid and Heine. 
I hear that our Midvag pastor was to have held com- 
munion service and a baptism at the next hamlet, Sande- 
saag. But the grinde-bud came just before church, and 
only women were left. He could not baptize the baby 
when the father and the six godfathers had stampeded, 
so he preached to the women and then set out for home. 
He reached Midvag in time to hurry up to the parsonage, 
get into his old clothes, seize his grind dagger, and climb- 
ing down the rocks to a boat just before the final charge 
was made, he was in the midst of the fight with eight of 
his flock. Elizabeth Taylor. 
Pierre La Fontaine. 
Considerable interest has been recently manifested by 
sportsmen generally, even though their specialty be not 
big game, in the career of Pierre La Fontaine, the trap- 
per and poacher, who in March last was wounded and 
captured by Maine game wardens and who, together with 
his friend Tom King, was subsequently erroneously re- 
ported, by Canadian papers, to have engaged in a fatal 
duel with his former captors. 
Because of the long strides now being annually taken 
b}' civilization as impersonated by the settler — who con- 
tracts with his government for a few acres of timbered 
land, and in accordance with the terms of the contract 
immediately proceeds to alter its prehistoric nature — the 
edges of the woods are being felled on all sides, and the 
avocation of trapping, as well as the knowledge of wood- 
craft, is, as a consequence, being discouraged. 
Since tales, and resulting dreams, of the inhabitants of 
the original vast forests and trackless plains have, since 
childhood, exerted an irresistible attraction and charm 
over us members of the human family who are not yet 
wholly civilized, it is entirely natural that the few remain- 
ing disciples of the Indians should appeal strongly to our 
sympathy. So, therefore, as a dweller of the woods and 
a legitimate bearer of the cognomen trapper, regardless 
of his personality and experiences, La Fontaine is an 
object of interest, outlined, as his class now is, against 
the setting sun of a period rife with stirring adventures 
and seeds of romance. Pierre La Fontaine, or, in plain 
English, Peter Fountain, was born in St. Francis, Canada, 
some forty-eight years ago of French-Canadian parents. 
Very frequently a strain of Indian blood circulates in the 
veins of these people, and such is suggested in this in- 
stance by La Fontaine's general appearance, he being six 
feet in height, swarthy, with straight black hair, dark 
eyes, high cheek bones a'nd a large, loosely knitted frame 
Vyihich works all together, whenever he moves, like a per- 
fectly adjusted, well-oiled -machine. To see him lope 
^ through the woods, or handle a canoe paddle, is a delight. 
His eyes have such expressive power as to relieve the 
balance of his features from any display of feeling and a 
flash or a twinkle heralds a passing mood. 
He began his acquaintance with the woods and its deni- 
zens in childhood, and, excepting a few years when en- 
gaged in mining near his native town, has spent seven or 
more months of -every year in the wooded lands of Canada 
and Maine, trapping the several desirable fur-bearing ani- 
mals and shooting the -moose, caribou and deer, with a 
resulting satisfactory profit. Trapping is no sinecure, 
however, since it entails much hard work, long hours, 
some privations and almost constant exposure to the 
elements; therefore, although a trapper enjoys the ex- 
citement incident to his occupation and also an absolute 
freedom which only the lover of solitude can fully com- 
prehend, still, he has much to contend with even before 
the abridgment of his license by game laws and the sup- 
plemental wardens. La Fontaine's camps were scattered 
through the forest in such manner as to af¥ord a nightly 
shelter at the end of each day's long march. They were 
what are termed "fire camps," and so constructed of 
rough "'splits" as to permit' a fire and very little more 
room than was necessary to allow a man to lie prone 
before it — the one-sided roof being six feet at its highest 
point and sloping acutely to the ground. They and their 
meager equipment were invariably orderly and scrupu- 
lously neat, and this same regard for system is apparent in 
all his doings. A deserted hunter's camp will afford him 
opportimities for collecting and laying aside various odds 
and ends, possibly some provisions, which are carefully 
husbanded for the day of need, and after slaying an animal 
and preserving such parts as are valuable to him, he will 
carry the unused meat many miles to a logging camp, or 
to the home of a settler, rather than permit it to waste. 
His earnings are likewise well cared for, and he may 
sometimes be prevailed upon to make a loan, if the col- 
lateral security is strictly first class. 
For fifteen of the thirty-five years this freeman has 
followed his inclination, the game wardens of Maine have 
endeavored to effect his capture, because the institution 
of protectiA'e laws failed to interrupt his pre-established 
traffic in peltry. He has, undoubtedly, annually violated 
the game laws of both Canada and Maine by killing game 
in close season, and also by taking a greater number of 
animals than is permitted; but nevertheless he is prob- 
ably suspected of many del nqticncies that are not his. 
For instance, he was said to have guided, from Maine into 
Canada, many deserters from the Nortliern army during 
the Civil War, which was quite a big contract for a boy 
of eleven years. Then again, when the stark body of an 
Indian was found suspended by the neck from a tree in 
the Maine woods, many years ago, La Fontaine's name 
was at once associated with the unpleasant experience of 
the deceased. And so on, down to the present day, when 
almost every carcass of an animal, found in the border- 
land of Maine and Canada, throws suspicion upon him. 
On entering a game country, when hunting, his tongue, 
which in an emergency can discharge volleys of French 
and uncertain English, is silenced and all his faculties 
are focused upon the objects of his quest. He will travel 
hither and yon, among the probable resorts of game, un- 
til he discovers fresh signs and from these determines- 
the number and movements of the animals; then, con- 
trary to the precautionary measures of most hunters, he 
will pilch his camp in the immediate vicinity of their 
most frequented feeding grounds, and he rarely fails tf) 
get what he covets. He is fond of fishing, in a crude 
way. and usually has his hat band decorated with one 
or more flies, which he attaches to a sapling and dangles 
in the water. At times he will have a sink line, with 
baited hook in the other hand, and thus simultaneously 
engage both his sense of touch and sight. A captured 
trout will be yanked ashore without the courtesy of a 
landing net in true schoolboy style. Another of his 
pastimes and pleasures in the woods is to suddenly ap- 
pear, Indian fashion, at the camp-fire of a hunter, and, in 
order to successfully accomplish a complete surprise, he 
will quit his bed at any hour of the night — sleep always 
awaiting his convenience. 
La Fontaine has a good deal of humor and tells many 
stories of the following style at the expense of the hunters 
he has known : 
■""A sport he corned to me place one ' day an' he say, 
PIERRE LA FONTAINE AND TOM KING. 
La Fontaine is on the right of picture. 
'Come ride av^ay to hunt wid me,' an' I say 'Well, vou 
go dug some patatties an' I gets ready.' When I come 
back he say, 'You tole me to dug patatties an' I dugged, 
an' dugged; an' dugged, an' dare ain't none dare !' Well. 
I goes an' looks an' he dug up all my raspberry bushes. 
Anoder man he corned in de winter time an' he says, 'I 
want a iiioose bad.' So I say, T know where dare is un 
track an' maybe we fin' him.' So we goes to de track an' 
1 say, 'You take -de gun an' go ahead after him.' He 
go maybe one mile an' he say, 'Where is de mposep'.an' I 
say, 'Do you think him sit down an' wait fer yoil- to 
come an' shood him?' He say, 'I didn't think a moose 
s(; strong to go so far ; let him go on all der way ?' So I 
say, 'You give me de gun an' you come after.' I go about 
four mile an' I broke de moose's laig; den I waited long 
time an' de man he comed an' kill him. Now, dat man 
be one great hunter what hav' killed a moose !" 
La Fontaine's account of his final capture by the Maine 
wardens does not altogether agree with the published 
versiou of Warden Templeton. He was aware that his 
long-time pursuers were in northern Maine, but past suc- 
cess in eluding them — some of his devxes being very in- 
genious and most interesting developments of woodcraft- 
made him venturesome even to recklessness, and he n^-t 
only passed into the State, btit by way of a logging camp 
which was tantamount to a publication of his presence 
and route. The new-fallen snow plainly exposed his trail, 
and although he partly concealed this, his fatigtie was so 
great from drawing his sled load of provisions, that he 
went directly to one of his camps, neglecting entirely the 
most casual of his preca.utions against pursuit (the mak- 
ing of a long detour, and striking his own trail some dis- 
tance back, in order to ascertain if other footprints had 
joined his) and fell asleep. A comparison of the re- 
citals may prove entertaining, La Fontaine's English hav- 
ing been corrected ; 
The Wafdt:n*s Story. 
"We had heard pretty tough stories of Peter La Fon- 
ta ne and decided to take as few chances as possible and 
make the arrest without any shooting, if we could do it. 
Shortly after 6 o'clock we decided to move, and did 
so with the greatest care, although the crunching of our 
snowshoes seemed to make a big noise. I was ahead, with 
Houston so close behind that he stepped into my tracks. 
I caught the latch of the door in my left hand, holding 
my revolver in the right. It was my plan to snap the 
door open quickly and, if I got a chance, to grab Peter 
before he had an opportunity to move. I was also pre- 
pared to do the other thing if forced to it. 
"La Fontaine had evidently been lying on the floor on a 
bed of boughs and deer skins before the open fire, with 
his feet toward the door and his rifle at his head, At 
the snap of the latch he came to his knees as quickly as 
a cat, and that was his position when I caught the first 
sight of him in the dim firelight. At the same instant he 
brought his rifle around. I don't remember whether I 
said anything or not. If I did it was 'Don't you do it ! 
Don't you do it !' But I distinctly remember watch ng the 
muzzle of that rifle as it flew around and just before it 
came in line with my body, I pulled en him." 
La Fontaine's Stoty. 
"I stood my rifle against the side of the camp, laid me 
down before the fire and fell asleep. I didn't hear the ap- 
proach of the wardens, because the hearing of one of 
•my ears is slightly defective. There was no door to my 
camp, but some pieces of splits were propped against the 
door frame, and when these were pushed aside by War- 
den TempJeton, I awoke and as I raised myself, being 
only half-conscious, I dimly saw a man reaching out 
toward me as though about to place his hand upon my 
shoulder ; then came a loud report and a pistol ball passed 
through by body. Warden Houston, thinking I had done 
the shooting, then crowded into the camp and was going 
to strike me on the head, when I said, 'Mr. Plouston, if 
you please, I have had enough.' Then he was very kind, 
washed my wound, and bound it up to stop the flow of 
blood. 
"I didn't find fault with the uncalled-fop and unneces- 
sary shootmg, because Warden Templeton was afraid of 
me ; but when I noticed that he then wore a pair of my 
moose shanks and drew them back from the fire so that 
1 might not see them, I was mad, and I told him my 
cpimon of hnn for taking to himself some of my prop- 
erty and some cartridges belonging to one of my hunting 
iriends before burning my home camp and everything 
remainmg m it that was not valuable to him." 
It is an open question as to whether the Canadian Gov- 
ernment IS not, in a large measure, responsible for the 
incursions of poachers into the Maine woods, and surely 
that Government is wholly responsible for the slaughter 
of anmials which are carefully nurtured bv Maine's laws 
(mly to venture across the border. Canada has no war- 
dens -m the strip of country contiguous to northwestern 
iVlaine, which one man on the river might effectually 
patrol, and thus tacitly consents to "the fitting out of 
privateers to prey upon the commerce of a friendly 
State, ' as international law might express it. Last sum- 
mer, two young men from Quebec visited the neighbor- 
hood under discussion, and, in the season when it is as 
easy to kill a moose as a nei,ghbor's cow, slew seveii^ 
of them and allowed them to rot where they fell. Al- 
though this fact is said to have been brought to the atten- 
tion of the proper authorities, nothing has been done to- 
ward punishing the offense and incidentally discouraging 
such utter disregard of the game laws. Settlers nearest 
the scene of this depredation are entirely familiar with 
The laxity of the authorities; and why should they hesi-. 
tate to take what game they want before young men from 
Queljec or elsewhere deprive them of an opportunity, and 
furthermore, if La Fontaine and others are not taught to 
respect the law at home, how can they be expected to have 
reverence for it when abroad? Lippincott. 
Baltimore, Oct. 29. 
The Buck Duellist. 
Mr. Jones Relates a Veracious Tale of the Adlrondackp. 
Old Peletiah Jones, of Mud Pond, Essex county, N. Y., 
IS a remnant of that picturesque body of .men' whose 
jounger days were passed prospecting, hunting and fish- 
ing m the beautiful Adirondack country, and who^e de- 
clining years are spent in guiding ''city people" through 
the woodlands, by this means turning to good account 
the wood knowledge gained in pioneering. 
Old "Pell," as he is famiharly called, is a pleasing con- 
trast m many ways to the more modern voung guide, who 
by association with, rich and ' aristocratic campers is apt 
to have acquired a broad a and' a discriminating taste 
:t,pr high-balls, rye and Scotch. 
• Pell wears the' safne clothing both summer and win- 
ter—always heavy-weight. Perhaps he:- lays, aside his 
coat- during the day, but he resumes it at "night and 
IS always willing to sit near an open fire. He smokes a 
pipe stuffed with "Bobolink" or "Blue paper." When 
the pipeful is apparently smoked out. Pell stirs up the 
residuum with a knife blade, applies a light and manages 
a half-dozen or so additional puffs. This practice some- 
times results in the firing of his pipe bowl, but since 
the odor therefrom is not very difr'erent from that of 
e ther of his favorite tobaccos, no harm results save that 
of shortening the life of the pipe. This is a minor con- 
sideration, since Pell is sole residuary legatee under the 
wills of^ annual departing campers, and bequests under 
these wills usually include numbers of pipes. 
Pell has a collection almost as varied as that of a student 
at Heidelberg. 
To kill a deer is quite as commonplace to Pell as the 
lighting of his pipe. 
I remember one occasion when we had in camp with 
us a young gentleman from the city whose last ambi- 
tion was to slay a deer by h's own unaided efforts. 
In different directions we had hunted all day long with 
no success. All had returned except Peletiah, 
About 6 o'clock he came in, and greeting us, pulled 
trom his pockets four or five small steaks and started to 
l-'roil them over the fire. 
Knowing old Pell, we initiated ones said nothing except 
to reply to his salute and remark that he'd been lucky 
again. The young fellow, however, was on fire. 
"Did you really kill a deer, Mr. Jones?" he began, as 
he hovered over the fire. 
"Guess I did." replied Pell, through the smoke. 
"Well, when did you do it?" said the young man. 
Pell absent-mindedly turned the steaks, intent on his 
cooking. 
"I say, Mr. Jones," pursued the gnat, "when did you 
kill it? Tell me all about it. How far away did you 
shoot at it? Howmanytim.es? Where did you hit ban? 
Was it a male or a female?" 
Pell peered up from his operations and regarded his 
inquisitor much as a big patient dog looks at a pesti- 
ferous puppy. 
"Well," said the old man, " 'twas a buck deer, and I was 
sittin' on a fawg near the end of the pond when I see him 
a-com'n' acrost the lake. 'Peared to me I heered a dawg 
barkin', too. Anyways, I sot still and he come along. 1 
waited fer him tell he got inter shaller water where I 
could git at him ter lug him out easy, and I shot him 
jist for'ard the shoulder." 
"And how far away was he, Mr. Jones ?" 
"Oh, 'baout twenty feet," said Pell, "and if he'd 'a' 
come any closter I'd 'a' waited some more." 
This story was so utterly at variance with the deer- 
hunting ideals set up for himself by the yo-ung man that 
thereafter "Mr. Jones" was a deposed idol". 
