374 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 2, 1911. 
the last camp. Naturally, we all now said we 
knew we were not going in the proper direc¬ 
tion, but, somehow, we never took the time to 
think the matter over, and undoubtedly would 
have gone miles further only for the chance 
meeting with the lumbermen. However, it was 
a lesson learned at the expense of back-breaking- 
work, and will, therefore, be impressed on our 
minds in the future. 
At the first camp we spent some time looking 
for the old trail, without result. In desperation 
Bill took a southeast trail leading into the 
roughest kind of wilderness, and, after pushing 
on without a pack for about half a mile, came 
back, stating that he thought it led in the right 
direction. Meanwhile Jack discovered that he 
had left his compass on a stump and struck 
across country to secure it, instructing Ted to 
answer his calls to insure traveling in the right 
direction. Not reaching the road after cover¬ 
ing quite a distance, he started back, but had 
difficulty in finding the way, on account of hav¬ 
ing to pass around and under fallen trees, which 
made him lose his bearings. 
Having decided to take up the trail Bill fol¬ 
lowed, we sat down for a little ‘‘bite,” for we 
had had nothing throughout the entire day and 
were nearly starved and, consequently, a little 
weak. On and on we went, and it seemed 
hours before we reached the top of a slope from 
which we could see Bottle Pond, where we 
dropped our loads with a heavy sigh, and de¬ 
cided to make camp on a small island in the 
center of the pond. There we disposed of the 
largest meal eaten on the whole trip. There 
was no camp-fire for us that night, you may be 
sure, but only a pipeful to make us forget the 
hardships of the day, and ere darkness came 
we were asleep. 
We made an early start and the entire morn¬ 
ing was taken up in crossing small ponds, with 
quarter, half and three-quarter mile portages 
between. Ted and Jack joked Bill on one oc¬ 
casion for starting out first with the maps and 
a compass in his possession and bringing up 
on the opposite side of a pond, making a semi¬ 
circle. About midday we entered Forked Lake 
and shortly came to the • half-mile carry into 
Raquette Lake, which was made with ease, for 
the past few days had made us thoroughly ac¬ 
customed to the tumpline, which at first seemed 
to be a neck-breaking contrivance. On account 
of the success he had had about two weeks be¬ 
fore, Jack was anxious to try here for bass, as 
it was some days since he had felt the joyful 
tug of this king of fresh-water fishes, but hav¬ 
ing made up our minds to reach Eighth Lake, 
we kept on. 
At the Raquette Lake railway station we 
stopped for provisions, and one of the “neces¬ 
sities” purchased was a can of molasses, with 
the words “guaranteed not to contain anything 
injurious to health” stamped “void.” This did 
not deter Ted and Jack from using it, but Bill 
positively refused to take it in any form, for 
which he was teased unmercifully by his com¬ 
panions, who wound up their remarks by stat¬ 
ing that lie did not possess the essentials of a 
true backwoodsman, which was not very pleas¬ 
ing to Bill. 
We made good time through Brown’s Tract 
stream and over the mile-and-a-quarter carry 
into Eighth Lake, camping on a small island, 
whose only possession was a very old log 
cabin, which we were told later on had been 
used by a hermit. On examining the interior 
we found the names of canoeists who had 
traveled through this region in previous years 
and were particularly pleased to see the names 
of several of our friends, who had slept in this 
dilapidated shack during October, with the 
mercury at freezing and the ground covered 
with snow. 
Here on the island we stayed two days, pass¬ 
ing the time loafing, fishing and debating. Our 
discussions varied all the way from supply and 
demand to questions of international import¬ 
ance. Several times our arguments became so 
heated that the sergeant-at-arms—whoever he 
happened to be—had difficulty in preserving 
order. 
On the following day we were homeward 
bound, passing through Seventh, Fifth, Fourth 
and Third lakes, until we came to a small island 
in Second Lake, where we made our last camp. 
It was a beautiful spot, about thirty feet wide 
by ninety feet long, loaded with birch and pine 
trees; a strong westerly breeze made it an un¬ 
usually cool and attractive campsite and kept 
the mosquitoes and black flies away. In the 
evening we had a splendid camp-fire and talked 
over our past experiences. It was very late be¬ 
fore we could tear ourselves away from the soft- 
glowing fire, and a feeling of sadness came over 
us at the thought that this was our last night 
in this beautiful country. By tracing the maps, 
we estimated that we had covered 176 miles, 
fifteen miles of which were carries, had passed 
through twenty-seven lakes and several rivers; 
had caught innumerable black bass and trout, 
and had seen four deer. 
On our last day we paddled into Old Forge 
and packed up the outfit for shipment home. 
Occasionally, while on the train southward 
bound, we would peer out of the window at the 
fading North Woods, regretting our forced 
leave and yearning for the year to pass when 
we would, perhaps, get an opportunity to again 
enter their fastnesses and lead the carefree life 
of the wilderness, away from the whirl of 
business and the city. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
To one who is not familiar with sclmetzen 
rifles a visit to a rifle range where marksmen 
of European parentage congregate in numbers 
is a revelation. An old backwoodsman's eyes 
would bulge in a first glance at the rifle stocks. 
In some of them the resemblance to a sunfish 
or a fat bass is so marked that one would be 
justified in thinking that they had indeed been 
modeled from fish. Carve a head on the tang 
and a few marks like scales and the illusion 
would be complete. But if your backwoods¬ 
man fails to appreciate the utility of the deep 
and thick stock, with its Swiss butt plate and 
spur trigger guard, he will never be found lack¬ 
ing in praise of the accuracy of the rifle and 
the skill with which its owner punctures the 
bullseye. The stranger could not hit a squirrel 
with it at thirty feet in a hundred shots, for it 
is sighted for 200 yards only, but a very few 
trials would convince him that at the target it 
is indeed a superb instrument, which, after 
all, is the main thing. And since rifle clubs 
have admitted telescope sights the small space 
into which sclmetzen marksmen fire a series of 
shots is marvelous. The yellow journals laud 
the trick shooter who breaks flying targets with 
rifle or revolver, but see little to grow en¬ 
thusiastic over in the skill of the marksmen 
who seldom miss an eleven-inch bullseye at 200 
yards, shooting offhand. And yet, in order to 
do this, one must practice steadily for years. 
* * * 
An enthusiastic writer says in the London 
Field that “the fox hunter on the lookout for 
a new and fascinating hobby would do well to 
devote a few hours a week to practice with the 
lasso; a few attempts will enable a rider to 
catch a runaway horse by a safe method.” The 
enthusiasm of the armchair sportsman is won¬ 
derful to behold. It would indeed be easier “to 
catch a runaway horse by a safe method” than 
with a rope. Evidently the writer believed that 
throwing the rope accurately completed the per¬ 
formance, whereas the culmination of a success¬ 
ful throw is but the prelude of what invariably 
follows, and of this exciting period he says noth¬ 
ing, for the reason that he knows nothing about 
it. He explains that a lasso, as he calls it, has 
a running noose at one end, but the other end, 
he evidently believes, is to be held in the rider’s 
hand. That a trained horse, its rider and a big 
saddle with a rigid pommel are all component 
parts of the game, he overlooks. The captain 
of a tug might try to tow an ocean liner by hold¬ 
ing the hawser in one hand—but he don’t; he 
prefers to take a couple of turns around the bitts 
instead. And the saddle horn must withstand 
even greater stresses, relatively, for the strain 
that spells success comes suddenly and must be 
met with skill and muscle on the part of pony 
and rider. 
* * * 
In real estate advertisements it is not unusual 
to see references to the number of acres of corn 
or wheat or timber on a certain tract of land. 
A Southerner’s letterheads bear a legend that is 
not so often seen. It says “200 acres under 
fur.” The owner raises minks, ’coons, musk¬ 
rats, vegetables and fruits. Fancy the fascination 
of harvesting your “crops” with a rifle during 
the open season, and the uncertainty of keeping 
the four-footed produce and the fruit and garden 
truck separated at other seasons! Not a dull 
moment at any time. It is an attractive proposi¬ 
tion to consider, in view of the haste with which 
so many people are starting game farms and 
frog farms and skunk farms. 
iJC 
A writer to a Calcutta paper says that natives 
of India believe that, “by licking one shoulder, 
tigers and panthers satisfy their hunger, but if, 
having killed, they have no appetite, they lick the 
other and acquire it. This idea, I fancy, arises 
from the two peculiar bones found quite detached 
in the fleshy part of the shoulder, the lucky bones 
or Suntoke and Muntoke.” Grizzly King. 
