June ii, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
48 8 
too bitsv trying to get over it to know — I found more dif- 
ferent kinds of walking to the inch thai? I ever before 
knew existed, and I had been qnite proud of not being a 
tenderfoot. It seems to me I have read that "Pride 
goeth before a fall;" but no matter. 
We climbed over loose rocks and boulders — I _me?.n I 
climbed over, the others walked — and came to jumping 
off places; when I could not jump off I slid, and when 
I could not slide I crept around. We crossed high 
ridges of rock that were perfectly bare; went through the 
bush where the trees grew so close together we had to 
pick our way through; crossed marshes where I hopped 
from one hump to another, and when I missed a hump 
and came down in the water I was thankful that, like the 
Irishman, I was "foremost in the rear," and there was no 
audience. 
Before we had gone far, coats, sweaters, and all ex- 
tras were discarded, and I believe if anyone had worn a 
necktie he would have shed that, too. On a portage like 
this all extra clothing might be called the "white man's 
burden," for no Indian would start with them on. To 
break up a chill or cure cold hands and feet— unless per- 
manently cold— I would certainly recommend this port- 
age, for after one or two applications of the remedy the 
patient would either be cured or quit complaining. 
When we reached the lake, there sat Sam beside the 
canoe, serenely smoking. He had carried the canoe over 
that portage, while I had feU glad to escape with my 
life and carry nothing. Verily that portage was capable 
of great possibilities. 
After one look at the lake we put on our coats and 
sweaters and forgot we had ever seen a portage. It was a 
beautiful lake, lying up among the hill tops, a turquois 
in a setting of green and gold. We crossed to a point 
near the upper end of the lake which commanded a view 
of almost the entire shore, and sat down in the bushes to 
watch for moose. There were signs of moose everywhere. 
The marshes were cut with trails, the beds of lilies were 
torn up, and broken pieces of roots were lying all along 
the shore. Just back of the bushes where we sat was a 
moose trail as wide as a wagon road. My confidence in 
being able to take home a moose head had received some- 
thing of a shock at Haileybury; but when I saw the evi- 
dence of moose on this lake it fully recovered. 
We sat on the shore watching and hoping. I almost 
held my breath. The ducks came in flocks and settled in 
the marshes. The air grew cold ; the sun sank low in the 
west, and still we watched. The air grew colder and so 
did we The ducks were coming now in numbers, but we 
dared not shoot. We could not even talk — rather hard 
on a woman— and we hardly dared to move. We were 
growing very cold; the sun had gone behind the hills, 
and v.-e had neither heard nor seen a moose. There was 
nothing to lean ^ against ; I was tired and stiff, the 
ground woefully damp, and Oh, the ducks! While we 
v.^atched, 
"Day had put on his jacket, and around 
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars." 
"The moon, in her chariot of silver, 
Was climbing the eastern hill." 
The sky was perfectly clear, thickly dotted with stars, 
wb.ile the west was a glow of warm, rich color that lasted 
Icng after we had left the lake. The paddles made no 
sound, the surface of the lake was unbroken, _ and, with 
its setting of hill tops, seemed suspended in air, and we 
were floating in space, with one sky above and another 
ere below us. So real was this impression, I would grow 
dizzy, as though looking down from some _ great 
height. The light in the western sky, toward which we 
were drifting, and the moon following in our wake made 
the vastness of space appalling. 
From a hunter's point of view, the evening had not 
been a success, but it is not all of hunting to kill a moose. 
Reaching the end of the lake, the cano« was carried 
back from the shore, the lantern lit, and we started over 
the trail. I cannot do justice to that trail by daylight, 
and will only say it is more than weird by lantern light. 
The blazes on the -trees indicated the direction of the 
trail, but on the ridges of .rock we would often have to 
retrace our steps before we could make connections on 
the other side. 
We were wearing two pairs of ordinary woolen stock- 
ings, one pair of heavy lumberman's stockings and shoe 
packs of oil-tanned leather. The Doctor's shoe packs had 
a low heel and thin sole, but mine were orthodox shoe 
packs, and I never had anything on my feet before that 
was quite so comfortable. Around the camp-fire ^ they 
are a kind of nightmare. You are standing or sitting 
by the fire, close enough to feel its genial warmth, and 
someone says, "You're burning your_ shoe packs." You 
change your position, and are beginning to feel comfort- 
able again, when you are startled by, "Look at your shoe 
packs." Again you move, only to hear, "Mind your shoe 
packs." Thus they become a peace disturber, until, as 
you throw them aside, when you snuggle in among the 
blankets, you wish something would steal them before 
morning. In the morning you are glad to find them, for 
you realize that in civilized shoes you would be in 
danger of breaking your neck before night. 
A. W. C. 
[to be concluded.] 
The time for shifting to summer homes has come, and 
many subscribers to Forest and Stream natvirally desire 
to have the addresses of the copy of the paper which goes 
Ic them changed from winter to summer residences: 
This is a matter that it is well to attend to in time, so 
that no issues of the paper may be lost to the reader. 
Readers who are not subscribers, but purchase the 
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period from one to three months. The charge for sending 
ike Forest ai^J) Stream is 40 cents for one month, cents 
for two months, or $1 for three months^ subscription. 
This may be convenient for those zvho are spendirtg the 
summer within reach of a post-office, yet at a distance 
fforti neivs stands. 
Life in the Woods —IX. 
Bacfc-Breafcing Bostocss. 
{Continued front page 833.) 
After we had been hunting with varying success, as 
the time of our sojourn was drawing to a close, we de- 
cided to begin carrying in the heavy deer we had hang- 
ing around the woods, most of which still hung near 
where they were shot, and so we made our preparations 
accordingly. Those that were hanging near a road, easily 
accessible by team and not too far for a trip in the 
morning before camp truck was loaded on the wagon, 
were of course left where they were, or were dragged to 
some favorable spot adjacent to the roads, and there care- 
fully concealed from the keen eyes of dishonest teamsters, 
who sometimes figure that they cannot make money any 
easier than by stealing a deer from hunters and selling 
it on their trip to the station. 
Oftentimes shooting a deer is the easiest and quickest 
part of a hunt, as well as at all times the most pleasur- 
able. But more often the most vexatious question is 
what to do with it after, you have got one. Alone, and 
three or four miles from camp in a hilly country densely 
timbered, and where there are no roads or trails, a man 
feels as if he had taken a pretty big job on his hands 
when he stands over a 200-pound buck and begins to 
figure how he will get him out without cutting him up. 
This reflection, though, of course never comes until after 
the first heat of exultation has passed away. We have 
had a variety of methods of getting out our deer, depend- 
ing on the size and weight of the game and the locality 
in which it fell. One common method where there is not 
too much weight to handle, is to slit each of the four legs 
just above the hoof and between the tendons, and then 
tie all four firmly to the lower jaw by means of a withe 
or small leather throng passed through the jaw and up 
through the mouth. This brings the deer together in a 
compact mass, and, if not too heavy, it can be carried 
quite easily, swung over one shoulder or both. If the 
latter plan, however, is followed, the feet and head must 
not be too closely tied, otherwise on first starting off 
with your burden you will either have to stop very 
shortly, or run the risk of being badly choked. A deer 
tied in this way can be swung on a pole and carried by 
two, but not very comfortably, for any distance or oyer 
lough ground, for the reason that it will always swing 
too much. A man single-handed, if he hasn't too many 
hills to climb, can handle a medium sized deer pretty 
well by tying the front legs to the lower jaw and drag- 
ging it over the ground. The one objection to this is 
that constant rubbing over logs, sticks, and the ground, 
wears the hair ofl' and makes the game look bad. In the 
case of a very heavy deer or a buck with large horns, 
this way will be found to be quite trying. However, if 
there is a light fall of snow or a frozen stream or lake 
to traverse for any distance, this plan will be found to 
work tolerably well. A good powerful man, hardened 
to the work, will oftentimes despise such "monkey work," 
as he may term it, and will walk off with a deer on his 
Iback alone and unaided, as if it were a pastime. When 
this is done, a heavy deer, if frozen, or if it has been 
allowed to hang long enough to stiffen pretty well, will 
handle much easier than when taken soft, for then it will 
not slip and slide so much, nor will the weight seem to 
settle so much in one spot. Witbj,a light deer this objec- 
tion does not hold good, for if soft it will fit itself to the 
back, and can be carried across both shoulders quite com- 
fortably. An aid to dragging a deer, and oftentimes quite 
an aid, especially if there be a little snow, is to make a 
small travoy of brush; if nothing more, an old alder 
with a crooked root turned up in front and the branches 
left on for the deer to rest on, will often make it slide 
along a good deal easier, and it will also protect the skin 
from injury. If a very long distance is to be covered, 
and help is scarce, old hunters oftentimes cut off the head, 
neck and legs, and such other parts of the deer as they do 
not want, and tie the remainder of it up in the hide and 
carry it into camp by making a pack of it which can be 
carried on the back. Such experience as I have had has 
taught me that the easiest way is to pack out with a pony, 
but where you have none, the next easiest way is none too 
easy, and the more help there is on hand the better. If 
the deer be of moderate size, our favorite plan is to cut 
a large dry stick, one strong enough to bear from ioo_ to 
150 pounds of weight, and so large that it will not spring 
or bend easily, and dry enough so that it will be as light 
as possible. With such a pole, smoothed off at the ends, 
a deer can be stretched out on the ground and lashed so 
securely to the stick that it cannot slip or sag much, nor 
swing but little either way. Such a burden will, of 
course, cut the shoulders some, and for the first time or 
two make them very sore; but by taking frequent rests, 
and changing from one shoulder to the other quite often, 
about as good headway can be made by this method as 
by any other where man-power exclusively is used. If 
a very heavy deer is to be handled, our way is to make 
a sort of stretcher by taking two poles and nailing them 
just far enough apart so that a man can walk between 
the ends. Then rough pieces are nailed on at intervals, 
so that the deer cannot fall through, and the additional 
precaution is taken to lash it securely to the sides, so that 
it cannot slip or slide in any direction or fall off. The 
ends of the poles are hewed and whittled round and 
smooth so as to fit the hands, and to them are fastened 
broad straps, which are arranged to pass up over the 
shoulders, and which assist greatly in distributing the 
weight. With this kind of a rig, two moderately strong 
men, who have a little sand and who will take it cool and 
not try and overdo, can carry a heavy deer a distance 
that is surprising. Of course, in a brushy country, they 
will be bothered, but in such places "go slow" is the word, 
and a little patience in going around bad spots and fre- 
quent rests will result in more progress than any attempt 
to hurry or to force a way through by main strength. 
When hunting near waters that can be navigated, a 
boat or a raft is a back-saving institution, and still better 
a horse that is used to the woods and will allow a dead 
deer on his back, beats them all. But the genuine hunter 
likes to be independent. He likes to be able to do most 
of his work for himself, for that is one of the charms of 
his hunt, and aftfer it is. all oVl;r, tHcmgh his back may 
ache, and every motion cause a sore muscle to respond 
with a twinge of pain, yet if he has been careful, he is 
better for it physically and mentally. He will glory in it 
and in the freedom of the hunters' circle he will delight 
in exploiting his efforts. He does not want to hunt if 
someone has to do about everything for him but shoot 
the game, and he is right about it, too. 
On the morning in question we got our ropes, straps, 
hatchets and nails ready and prepared for a hard day's 
work. It made me think of the first big deer I ever 
helped to carry out, and it happened on my nineteenth 
birthday. I had been hunting all day with little or no 
luck, and with a companion was on the way back to camp. 
At about a quarter of a mile out we came within speaking 
distance, and as I stood on a log, out jumped a big 
rabbit and sat looking at me. "Shall I shoot him?" says 
I. "Might as well," was the answer. "We haven't much 
meat in camp and they are pretty fair eating now." "All 
right," I responded, and slipping out a buckshot cartridge 
I substituted some small shot and took aim. I don't 
know what influenced me, but something seemed to be 
urging me not to shoot, and after hesitating a few 
teconds I said, "I guess I won't," and dropping the gun 
took out the fine shot and put the buckshot back. I 
hadn't gone fifteen rods from there when up jumped _a 
monster of a deer, not over eight rods away. He ran in 
front of me, and as I caught a good sight on the shoulder, 
I let go with the rifle barrel. The old fellow ran right 
up a very steep hillside, and getting up a little way 
stopped and looked back. Then I gave him the buckshot, 
and down he came, rolling over and over. My com- 
panion coming over, we secured the assistance of some 
men, who were on the hill top prospecting for iron ore, 
and we hung him up. In a few days we started to carry 
him out, and built a stretcher for the purpose, but he 
came awfully hard. It was our first lug, and we had a 
hard time of it. Finally, when we were near the road, 
Henry, who was ahead, stepped upon a log. The top was 
rather rotten, but the sides were still sound, and he broke 
through ; I stumbled at the same time, and pitching for- 
ward came so near to breaking both of his legs that it 
made me feel faint all over. That taught us a lesson, 
and forever after we were more careful. 
After getting our traps together we started after the . 
buck which the Colonel shot, and for which we had such 
a chase. The Pembine was then frozen over, and we 
thought we could slide him down the creek quite easily. 
We found him hanging undisturbed and frozen solid as 
a rock, so we fixed up a little travoy and hauled him 
down to the creek and on the ice, starting at once toward 
camp. All went not swimmingly but slippery, so that 
we made good progress at first, with one ahead pulling 
and one behind pushing with a long pole. _ Now and then 
a little anchor ice would bother us, and in a few places 
where the current was swift and the water not very deep, 
the ice was thin, but we managed to get around all such 
places in safet}^ At about a mile or a mile and a half 
from Avhtre we started, the creek took a wide bend and 
went off at ahnost right angles to the course we ought 
to pursue, turning again and gradually bearing straight 
toward camp. On reaching this point we debated some as 
to whether to carry the buck across land to the other end 
of the big bend or to follow along the ice. It was a long 
way across and still longer around, but the deer slid much 
easier than he carried, so we decided to stick to the ice. . 
All went well until we reached the middle of the big 
bend, when suddenly, without any warning, as he stood 
resting, the Old Trapper went through the ice, and stood 
up to his waist in the cold water. The Colonel laughed, but 
the echo had hardly died away before he went through, 
first with one leg and then with the other, and in hustling 
to get out of danger, I suffered the same fate. There 
we were up to our waists, the thermometer way below 
freezing, the ice impassable ahead, and nearly two miles 
from camp It will not do to tell what we said. What 
we did was to rig up a stretcher and carry Mr. Buck the 
rest of the way. We were worse off than if we had not . 
tried the ice, for getting wet was the least of our troubles. 
The land inside this big bend was all swampy, and the 
banks 01 the opposite side of the creek were high, rocky 
and inaccessible. The ice was weakening, and we could 
not go back, so that nothing was left but to carry that 
buck about half a mile through alder brush and swamp 
to hard land. I won't say how many times we fell down, 
or how many times we went into the mud and water over 
our knees. I won't say how many times our faces and 
hands were scratched by the brush and our arms and legs 
bruised. I won't say how long it took us to get through, 
and least of all will I ever reveal the language that was 
used, for fear the reputation of the party might be 
destroyed forever and forever. I will say, however, that 
late in the afternoon four weary, sore, cold, bedraggled 
men reached camp with one fine dead buck, and as each 
one of those men stepped into camp, if he didn't say 
whiskey, he thought it, and got it, too. Once, and once 
only, have we had as hard a pull, and that was on a pre- 
vious hunt, when by chance we caught and shot an old 
doe as she was swimming across the pond above an old 
logging dam. This was four miles from camp, and after 
wading around in the mud and water to get her out, two 
of us carried her into camp so as to have some venison 
the next day. It was a back-breaking job, for I can re- 
m.ember the last time we rested we had about "all we 
wanted to do to get upon our feet, and once up, our legs 
were none too steady. We call it hard work, but after 
all, who is the worse for it after the job is done? No 
one. On the contrary, every one is better for it. Sore 
muscles, aching joints and back, and bruised shins give 
way soon to a healthful feeling. The muscles become 
hard and strong, the eye clear, the complexion good, and 
the appetite after such a trip— well, the appetite becomes 
a devouring monster almost insatiable in its demands. 
Sweet, dreamless, refreshing sleep waits on such trips, 
and after they are all over a man feels that they have 
done him good and fitted him for some of the hard work 
and knocks of every day life. The Old Trapper says it 
makes his back squeak and his joints complain every time 
he sees a big buck now. But the Old Trapper at sixty 
is like a war-horse — the sound of the gun puts new life 
in him, and he becomes only twenty once more. 
We difin't attempt to carry in any more 'deer that day. 
CiAROLUS. 
