296 
THE MAINE WOODS. 
observed to the Indian, “ You did not stretch your moose- 
hide last night, did you, Mr. Polis ? ” Whereat he re¬ 
plied, in a tone of surprise, though perhaps not of ill 
humor : “ What you ask me that question for ? Suppose 
I stretch ’em, you see ’em. May be your way talking, 
may be all right, no Indian way.” I had observed that 
he did not wish to answer the same question more than 
once, and was often silent when it was put again for the 
sake of certainty, as if he were moody. Not that he was 
incommunicative, for he frequently commenced a long- 
winded narrative of his own accord, — repeated at length 
the tradition of some old battle, or some passage in the 
recent history of his tribe in which he had acted a prom¬ 
inent part, from time to time drawing a long breath, 
and resuming the thread of his tale, with the true story¬ 
teller’s leisureliness, perhaps after shooting a rapid,— 
prefacing with “ we-ll-by-by,” &c., as he paddled along. 
Especially after the day’s work was over, and he had put 
himself in posture for the night, he would be unexpect¬ 
edly sociable, exhibit even the bonhommie of a French¬ 
man, and we would fall asleep before he got through his 
periods. 
Nickertow is called eleven miles from Mattawamkeag 
by the river. Our camp was, therefore, about nine miles * 
from the latter place. 
The Indian was quite sick this morning with the colic. 
I thought that he was the worse for the moose-meat he 
had eaten. 
We reached the Mattawamkeag at half past eight in 
the morning, in the midst of a drizzling rain, and after 
buying some sugar set out again. 
The Indian growing much worse, we stopped in the 
north part of Lincoln to get some brandy for him, but 
