263 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March i, 1913 
sped on before us in chase of a solitary black 
duck, which we soon had the pleasure of seeing 
fall to his excellent aim as it rose from the 
water; and we, Allie and I, forthwith entered 
into an altercation as to the way in which that 
duck should be cooked. To be sure, it wasn’t 
our duck, but we quarreled about it just the 
same, and we were deep in the controversy of 
broiled versus roasted, when we joined Unk and 
Lou. Unk’s only comment on the subject was 
one solemn wink at Lou, and a mumbled re¬ 
mark about the “Emperor’s beard.” 
Then we moved up West River and the trout 
were there, nice fellows, eager for the fly and 
lots of them. If it wasn't the seventh heaven, 
it was well up in the celestial scale, and we 
camped at the head of navigation thoroughly 
well content with the day’s work. But here at 
once broke out a most obstinate and virulent 
controversy—cornbeef hash versus canned beans. 
You must know that Unk is a six-footer and 
a champion destroyer of comestibles. And he 
doesn't affect the delicate and the subtle. Solid 
grub is what Unk demands in the woods, and 
his idea of what the normal man should have 
three times a day is about three or four heap¬ 
ing platefuls of hash, cornbeef hash made of 
beef, potatoes, onions and pork, the last three 
severally cooked, and the whole afterward 
browned on both sides in the frying-pan. Now, 
I like hash; I have long been a poor penny-a- 
liner, and I know it well and value it. But 
when it comes to hash twice a day and warmed 
over for the other meal, even hash palls. As 
for Allie, though he is by no means an inferior 
trencherman, I know well that hash once a day 
was enough for him. And yet that marplot 
aided and abetted Unk in his hash cult just to 
spite me, I am convinced. There were a dozen 
or more cans of baked beans in our provision 
baskets, and I like beans, being from Boston 
originally. Besides, beans are heavy, and it was 
good policy to eat the heavy things first before 
the long carries came, so as to lighten the load. 
But what happened? Four times out of five, 
yea five out of six, I was voted down and 
■forced to eat hash. In vain I drenched my 
plateful with Chili sauce until that excellent dis- 
guiser was exhausted. Allie and Unk sent out 
to the club house as we passed a day or so 
later and got a further supply. The result was 
that hash triumphed and we not only carried 
those heavy beans all the way to Silver Lake, 
but more than half of them are cached there 
to this hour. ‘ I am going back there this year, 
still-hunting, and neither Allie nor Unk will be 
there. Then—beans ! 
Another thing irritated me from the start. 
I didn't seem to be able to get “rises” out of 
Allie as easily as I expected. The trouble was 
that his reputation (of course fictitious) for wit 
was such that those dratted guides needed but 
to see his lips begin to move in order to break 
out into uproarious guffaws. No matter how 
subtle or how barbed my bon mots, the most 
insufficient answer from Allie was quite enough 
to put the laugh on me, and they often added in¬ 
sult to injury by exclaiming, “That’s a good one. 
on you, doctor!” I began to see that this man 
Allie was gradually getting the whole camp on 
his side, and I brooded over it bitterly, harbor¬ 
ing my dire revenge in hopes. For a time things 
seemed to mend, for Hod and I won the first 
shooting match with our .22s, and I was high 
man. Then Lou bet me one dollar that no ducks 
would be shot that day, and I nearly fell over 
when that Redskin lifted a dollar bill out of his 
jeans that night and handed it to me without 
comment, though sadly. I never suspected what 
was coming in reprisal, the less so that I had the 
luck to net the big trout the next day. Never 
mind what it weighed; it was a whopper as trout 
go in Bluenoseland, and it fought hard after tak¬ 
ing the fly, as trout do near the breeding season 
in that country. I kept it to bake, for it was a 
male, and I believe earned a cigar each from 
Allie and Unk for being high rod. 
The first night in camp took the form of a 
celebration. It was the first meal of hash, which, 
prepared in Horace’s inimitable style, was good; 
and then there were trout, broiled, fried and 
roasted on sticks. Then came buckwheats with 
maple syrup, and stewed apples, with a little rum 
to give them “kick.” After that pipes and 
blague and fish lies and general content. There 
were three tents with the cosy camp-fire between. 
Unk and I occupied one lean-to, Charlie and Hod 
another, while Allie stuck to the old wall tent 
of “Tent Dweller” fame. Unk and I had really 
started on a moose hunt and were only whiling 
away a few days with Allie until the season 
opened, and we reviled him as a “mere fisher¬ 
man” and for using a “house tent” in autumn. 
Even his guide deserted him and slept with the 
others in the lean-to. 
Conversation finally began to lag and from 
Charles the Strong came a peculiar sound that 
sounded suspiciously like an incipient snore. 
This brought Unk to his feet, for barring work¬ 
ing like a horse toting stuff over the carries, 
he recognized only two duties in camp, both 
nocturnal in character. One was to fill and light 
the two little acetylene lamps, a splendid inven¬ 
tion by the way, which illuminated the camp 
as with the sun. This was in his capacity of 
scientist to the expedition. The other was to 
brew the good-night potion, for which Unk ex¬ 
hibited uncommon talent, not to say enthusiasm. 
And Unk’s Iirew was good by all the gods, and 
we enjoyed it the more because it was, with ex¬ 
ceptions, the only one we permitted ourselves 
each day. Lhik knows German, and no doubt 
is an admirer of Schiller, for his punch is con¬ 
cocted according to the receipt given by that 
immortal: 
“Vier Elemente, innig gesellt, 
Bilden das Leben, bauen die Welt!” 
Three of his vier Elemente were the identi¬ 
cal ones recommended by the German poet, ■ 
namely, lemons, sugar and boiling water, but 
Unk’s fourth element was a richer and more 
fiery ichor than was ever quaffed on the heights 
of the 'VVeimar Olympus, for it was old forty- 
overproof rum brought for our especial sakes 
from a far and fair country of the south. No 
finer brew “ever drove the skeleton from the 
feast or painted landscapes in the brain of man.” 
With hearts full of the love of everything on 
earth and above we quaffed it, while poor Charles 
and Hod, who never touch strong drink, turned 
their heads away with a miserable imitation of 
indifference. 
It would seem that the appearance of Allie 
in the woods was the signal for things to hap¬ 
pen, and they started right in the first night. 
Along toward morning I vaguely felt a weight 
on my legs, and murmured something about 
■‘getting off my foot.” This awakened Unk who 
sat up and stared, exclaiming: “Well, I’ll be 
darned!” Then I sat up myself and nearly 
bumped noses with a porcupine that was sitting 
fairly on my lap. Mutual astonishment—tableau! 
Porky came to his senses first and waddled off 
into the darkness before Unk could secure a .22. 
We regretted his loss, for porcupine’s liver is 
one of our favorite delicacies. Even that chicken- 
hearted Allie, who objects to the slaughter of 
anything, has now come to the point of “porky- 
cide,” as he calls it. 
We did not tarry long in the vicinity of 
Fairy Lake, but turned our bows to the south 
across the lake, through George’s Runs, with 
the beautiful Hemlock Island (Uksoost Manago) 
and on down the Liverpool for miles and miles 
to “the big lake,” Rossignol, passing Loon Lake 
Falls, where Allie on a former occasion landed 
the champion trout of the expedition, dubbing 
him “King Edward.” It was on this run that 
Unk caught a beauty weighing about two pounds. 
I had not been fishing much, but had one or two 
good ones aboard, so that when Lou, after com¬ 
ing alongside and glancing at my catch, bet me 
a dollar that they would get the biggest trout 
that day, I took him up. To be sure there were 
a couple of hours left before making camp, but 
the wily mimic reflected that, with the low 
stand of the water, we should be too much occu¬ 
pied in picking out channels to do much fishing. 
The inevitable result was that Lou triumphantly 
won the bet with Unk’s big trout caught early 
that morning. Unk indignantly denied all com¬ 
plicity, and growled out something about being 
easy, and a fool and his cash, etc. That man 
Allie positively roared with unholy glee. 
Meanwhile our three-cornered Pedro tourna¬ 
ment proceeded steadily. “Pede” is the ideal 
game for the woods, with a good deal of head- 
work, but no continued mental effort. Allie and 
Charlie got the lead the first night at West River 
and held it all along to the very day they left 
us at our hunting camp, when Hod and I suc¬ 
ceeded in tying their score; Unk and Lou a very 
good third. 
We camped at the old tree on Wildcat Point, 
convenient both to the duck coves and the fur¬ 
ther side of Rossignol, and thence Unk and Lou 
hunted and hunted, with varied success. But the 
water was different from the year before, when 
we had seen hundred of ducks, and their luck 
soon deserted them; in fact, we began to say 
sarcastic things about their prowess. 
(Conclusion next week.) 
