136 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 28, 1906. 
went ashore and must have been out of sight. 
The calf had been away for half an hour or 
more when the cow became uneasy and called 
it. The calf answered, and came out into 
the shallow water. The cow, satisfied that her 
calf was safe, went on feeding and paid no 
further attention to it. The calf continued to 
call, and tried to coax the cow to come out 
and then went in to her. After swimming 
around her once or twice it went back to the 
shallow water and waited for her to come out. 
When the cow came out, as Dan said, she 
“mosied” up over the hill, the calf following 
her till she got our scent, then we heard a 
snort and the crash of brush as she plunged 
into the woods. The spike-horn was still feed¬ 
ing when we left the lake to go back to camp. 
The next day we went to the deadwater, and 
saw a cow and a calf moose. 
To reach the hunting grounds from our 
camp, unless we went to the deadwater, meant 
a walk of from two to three miles each morn¬ 
ing and back in the evening after dark. The 
heavy frogts had filled the forest with wonder¬ 
ful colors. When the trail led down a long 
steep ridge, and we stood at the top and looked 
down that forest aisle, which led down, down, 
down, I felt that 1 must dance down that en¬ 
chanted colonnade, so full of color and light 
and beauty. The colonnades were beautiful 
and enchanting to the eye, but to the feet they 
were full of snares, and I did more falling on 
them than dancing. Even by the light of the 
lantern it was hard work getting over the 
trail after dark, and I got a good many falls. 
Dan had never taken a woman on a moose 
hunt before, and I did not want to discour¬ 
age him, so I got up quick, hoping he would 
never know I had fallen. 
When we reached Harris Lake the next 
morning, there were a doe and a fawn stand¬ 
ing on the shore. The Doctor took a shot at 
the doe, which was watching us, but the ball 
went clean over its head. A pine needle had 
caught in the rear sight. A spike-horn came 
out on the opposite shore and was still feeding 
when we left to get our lunch. All afternoon 
we did not see a moose, but toward evening 
they commenced to come into the lake. We 
counted five feeding in the lake at one time, 
and Dan said if we did not leave they would 
have us surrounded. 
Dan and Archy heard a bull down at the 
lower end of the lake, and we crouched down 
in the bushes, hoping he would come out. We 
must have waited half an hour or more, when 
we saw him coming across a point directly 
toward us. I could see his big antlers as he 
came through the bushes, and my heart was 
beating at an astonishing rate. I wondered 
what I would do if he did come out. Did 1 
really want him to come out or would I 
rather he would not give me a chance to shoot, 
for fear I might miss? He was coming right 
on, his antlers striking the bushes, and occa¬ 
sionally he would grunt. Breathlessly I 
watched him, every nerve strung to the high¬ 
est tension. The seconds seemed like hours. 
Could I hit him? What would I do when 
he came out? Would I lose my nerve and not 
be able to shoot, or would I make a clean 
miss? Could I hold my gun steady? I tried. 
Yes, steady as an old hunter. That settled my 
nerves, and the moose walked out on the 
shore in plain view about one hundred yards 
away. He stood facing us, just on the edge of 
the bushes, and I had a chance for only one 
shot. If I missed or only slightly wounded 
him he would be gone. If he came out to the 
water, as it seemed almost certain he would, 
I could scarcely miss him. My! but he looked 
big! He was quite black; his antlers stood 
high and were very brown. He raised his 
head and looked in our direction, then turned 
and walked ofif. A man would never have 
missed such an opportunity, but I was so 
anxious to succeed that I did not want to take 
any chances. After he had gone we looked at 
each other, then started around the point after 
him as fast as we could go. We made good 
time over a bad trail, but did not get sight of 
him again. 
Taking two shelter tents, our blankets and 
provisions for two days, we went to Harris 
Lake the next day. We saw no moose all 
day, but in the evening a cow and a young bull 
came to feed on the opposite shore. Dan had 
gone to look over the lower end of the lake 
and Archy went for a bucket of water. At 
the upper end of the lake a road had been 
cleared down to the shore, and in the dusk it 
looked like a black hole in the forest. I had 
looked at that hole a good many times, but as 
I looked at it now there appeared to be two 
branches of brown autumn leaves in* it that I 
had never noticed before. I called the Doc¬ 
tor’s attention to it, and while we were look¬ 
ing at them the two branches of leaves walked 
out on the shore. The moose was a mile or 
more away, and it would be dark long before 
we could get near enough to shoot. Hoping 
to get him to come to us, Dan called, but the 
moose paid no attention. When Dan gave a 
grunt, the moose would give an answering 
grunt, but he would not come any closer. 
That nigfht we sat around a tiny little camp¬ 
fire till quite late telling stores. Dan told one 
about a man fishing through a hole in the ice. 
The man said the trout were so hungry that 
when he held his bait over the hole the trout 
jumped up through the hole faster than he 
could kick them to one side. When asked if 
he did not get a “heap of trout,” the man re¬ 
plied, “No, a mink carried them off faster than 
I could kick them aside.” 
That was my first night in a shelter tent, 
and how delightful it was to lie there wrapped 
in blankets and watch the stars through the 
treetops. We were awakened once by what 
we thought was a fox, but the guides said it 
was a deer. I awoke in the night, and think¬ 
ing it was getting daylight, put on my shoes, 
then wakened the Doctor. He suggested look¬ 
ing at the watch before waking other people. 
I took the hint, and found it was only 3 o’clock, 
and the moon—not the sun—was coming up. 
I took off my shoes and went to sleep again. 
There was only one old cow feeding in the 
lake that morning, and we went to a burnt 
ridge, where we had a magnificent view of 
ridges and peaks, rising one above another, 
clad in their wonderful colors. In the even¬ 
ing we saw three moose, but no “big old one.” 
Tom said a bull had made a good deal of 
noise across the river from our camp the night 
before. That was the second time we had 
heard them over there. 
It always seemed a waste of words to tell 
Tom how much we enjoyed the meals he 
prepared for us, the stacks of empty dishes 
spoke so eloquently. Dan said we always 
came back to the old feeding ground, and 
had eaten an acre of ginger bread. He must 
have been close to the truth, for the Doctor 
told me we started on a new “slab” of ginger¬ 
bread each morning, and I knew he was never 
far away when the ginger bread was being 
cut. Tom’s ginger bread left nothing to be 
desired, especially when there w r ere raisins in it. 
Archy was very sick the next morning, and 
the Doctor gave him some medicine, and we 
went with Dan to Peaked Mt. Lake. From 
there we went to a barren that was full of 
moose trails, but no moose. Then to another 
lake about a mile away. We heard two moose, 
but saw only one. Dan would start out in 
the morning at a pretty rapid gait, and he 
seemed able to keep it up all day—up hill 
and down, over good trails and bad ones. He 
seldom or never made a misstep, and never 
seemed to make a noise, while we, following 
behind him, were so tired climbing those steep 
ridges we would have to rest. I was always 
stumbling and tramping on dead branches, and 
Dan would look around, as much as to say, 
“Don’t you know you ought to be quiet?” 
When Dan left the trail to look over some 
out-of-the-way plate, he would glance back 
over his shoulder. Sometimes that look meant 
follow me, and again it meant stay where you 
are and keep perfectly quiet—I never knew 
which, and had to get Archy to interpret. The 
walk to camp after dark, even with the lantern, 
was hard, but at that time in the evening, how 
we did enjoy the fragrance of the pine and the 
fallen leaves, and the clean, earthy smell that 
comes only from the leaf mould in the woods. 
The perfume from the sweet ferns was like 
incense. I would locate myself on the trail 
by a net-work of roots or a bit of corduroy 
road, or by the fragrance from a bed of ferns. 
Archy was all right in the morning, but it 
was raining and very disagreeable, and we 
thought it best to have an easier day, and 
went up to the deadwater. The Doctor shot 
three partridges that morning, the first we had 
gotten, as they were very scarce. 
One end of the dugout had been pulled up 
on a log and the other end was in the water. 
The numerous showers had pretty well filled 
the lower end of the canoe, and a three-pound 
grilse was swimming around in it. This was 
the close season, but that fish had caught itself. 
We killed it, took it to camp and Tom baked 
it for our breakfast. In the pool below the 
dam we saw some nice salmon and dozens of 
trout. Many of them would certainly weigh 
four or five pounds. 
In the afternoon we went to what had once 
been a large lumber camp, but had not been 
used for a number of years. In one of the 
rooms Dan picked up an old lantern, but when 
he lit it the globe commenced to crack. He 
put it out with the remark, that it was not 
used to being lit in the daytime. 
We poled to the head of the deadwater in 
the evening, and Dan went into the woods and 
called. He soon got an answer, and the moose 
came quite close; but getting our scent turned 
and went off over the ridge. The first calls 
made the woods ring, but they grew fainter 
and fainter until lost in the distance. 
Our beds were getting lumpy, and the Doc¬ 
tor and the two guides went for balsam boughs, 
leaving Tom and me in camp. When going 
from our tent to the cabin I happened to look 
up the river, and there was a big bull moose 
walking across the river, scarcely a hundred, 
yards away. I called Tom and rushed into the 
cabin for the gun. I gave Tom mine, but 
waited to put four shells in the Doctor’s. Tom 
and I crossed the little creek and ran along the 
trail up the river, but the moose was gone. We 
heard him up on the ridge, but it was useless 
to follow. If I had only had a gun when first 
I saw him I could scarcely have failed to get 
him, it was such a clear open shot. That was 
the biggest moose I saw on our trip. His 
antlers were very large. Tom said it was the 
biggest moose he ever saw. A. W. C. 
[to be concluded.] 
Wild Deer Visits Holyoke. 
Holyoke was treated to a sensation yesterday 
morning about 6145, when a full-grown buck deer 
with spreading antlers, came across the vacant 
lot adjoining the South Holyoke engine-house 
and entered Main street. As his appearance 
caused an admiring crowd to take notice and 
follow him, he threw his head back and began to 
put on speed. Small boys and dogs began to 
follow him and, becoming badly frightened, he 
dashed up the street and, turning at the north 
end of Depot square, he crossed the Boston and 
Maine railroad tracks and ran up the steep em¬ 
bankment to the east of the tracks without 
diminishing his speed. 
On reaching the top of Depot hill he turned 
into East Dwight street, and after following the 
street for a short distance, he turned suddenly 
and dashed head first through the plate-glass 
window and into the vacant store in Fitzsim- 
mon’s new building. Workmen on a nearby 
building ran to the scene and surrounded the 
deer so that he could not escape. It was found 
that on his dash into the building he had broken 
his right fore leg besides receiving some bad 
cuts on his neck by the broken glass from the 
window. The deer’s legs were tied and Dr. J. J. 
Moynahan was notified, who, after examination, 
found it necessary to shoot the deer to end its 
sufferings. Where the animal came from no one 
knows, but it is probable that it was one of a 
number seen recently in the woods in the vicinity. 
Two were seen on upper Northampton street 
yesterday morning, and this one had probably 
come from the same company.—Republican, 
Springfield, Mass., July 27. 
