836 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Dec. 9, 1911. 
we saw the muddy water rising from the fresh 
tracks of the moose. 
Around the camp-fire that night we decided 
to hunt the woods the balance of our trip, al¬ 
though it was sure to be noisy traveling. We 
found the country to the north of the lake cut 
up by many tracks, both in the green timber 
and on the ridges, and I think we started four 
moose, because we heard S. shoot twice off 
to the east of us. He had seen four moose 
running and his hurried shots went wild. Along 
the shores of a little lake we saw wolf tracks, 
beaver signs, moose tracks and tracks of the 
smaller brethren of the woods, but nothing 
in life except plenty of grouse and red-head 
ducks. This seemed to be a good game coun¬ 
try, but we thought a side hunt would break 
the run of poor luck; if not that, at least break 
the monotony, as well as give the moose a 
rest around Whitefish Lake. Sandy Inlet is a 
well known place for moose, and they are said 
to have large heads there. So we took tents, 
grub, etc., and embarked for Sandy Inlet. C., 
growing fat from inactivity, waved us good-bye 
from the cabin door. 
Away we raced for the portage to Sandy 
Inlet, about three miles away. I am sure it 
was a race. John was giving his paddle the 
same “kick” as when we raced for the moose 
in the bay, so I worked diligently at digging 
holes in the water, and a glance around revealed 
everyone else doing the same thing. I had 
paddled with John enough to know his gait, 
and I know that when we were traveling with 
other canoes lie put everything he had into the 
paddle. 
I caught the inspiration, but whether it came 
from that wonderful air or from an excess of 
vigor, I could not tell. The portage seemed 
about half a mile long or rather up and down. 
We took to the water at the foot of a towering 
cliff. From there we went about a mile and 
pulled our canoes up on the beach in a likely 
looking place for a camp. Quill made the dis¬ 
covery that we had left a bag of bread behind, 
and we needed it badly. This is the way the 
Indian mind worked in such an emergency. 
The three talked it over in Ojibway,'and John, 
who was always the goat, jumped into his canoe 
and pushed off. They had figured that he would 
probably find the bread at the other end of the 
portage; that Abe would see that we had left 
the bread at the cabin and bring it that far and 
leave it there. That was what Abe did, and 
John found the bread on the portage as ex¬ 
pected. I asked C. about it afterward. He 
said Abe saw the bag of bread after we had 
gone and said, “Take bread over portage. 
1 hey get it.” If Abe had not had the training 
of the North, he would have let that bag of 
bread lay. but having it, he paddled the six 
miles as a matter of course. 
By the time John had returned the tents were 
up and the kettle boiling. I tried a sleeping 
bag at night. It was made there out of the 
blankets pinned together with safety pins. I 
had never been in a sleeping bag before and 
never want to be again, unless the feeling is 
different in a regulation bag. I felt so much 
like a prisoner that I was irritated mentally and 
physically into getting up in the night to take 
the pins out, so that I could use the blanket in 
the regulation way. 
When we awoke in the morning we found 
the weather threatening. There was a strong 
wind blowing and heavy clouds were chasing 
one another across a stormy sky. We had been 
hoping for wind and rain, singly or together. 
A high wind causes many noises through the 
treetops, breaks dead branches and otherwise 
detracts from the noises made by the still- 
hunter. We hunted hard all day over diversified 
ground, through tamarac swamps, around open 
muskegs, shores of small lakes and the hard¬ 
wood ridges. Everywhere we went we found 
signs in plenty, and several fresh beds on the 
ridges showed where we had probably caused 
the moose to take fright. From ten o’clock 
until twelve we stood sentinel on top of a high 
hill which commanded some open places 
scattered here and there in the panorama be¬ 
low. A cold rain had set in. We were well 
chilled from standing so long in our exposed 
position, but I was learning the lesson of 
patience from the Indian, as, indeed, that lesson 
is taught by them continually. 
We at last left the hill for the lower ridges, 
John ahead and I bringing up the rear. I 
kept watch of his bow legs, taking note of his 
steps and mine, to see how they compared in 
stride as well as quickness, and I solved the 
reason of my trouble in keeping him in sight. 
When the ground was open I was there, but 
over the down timber and where the rocks were 
thick and sharp I lost out, because I could not 
go over the rocks and find a good place to step 
without hesitating, while John went over such 
places without a pause. The same over down 
timber. If he stepped on a fallen tree trunk 
he took the next step off just as quickly as if 
lie stepped over. There was no hesitation be¬ 
fore the next step. Watch him go past and you 
would think he was slow; try to follow him 
and you would be sorry he had that Indian glide 
and that you had to keep up with him all day. 
We arrived in camp after dark. The others 
were in and had a roaring fire started. We were 
all soaked to the skin and did not get dry 
enough to turn in before ten o’clock. K. and 
S. had seen two cows and one bull, all running. 
After hunting the next forenoon, I told John 
to get ready to go back to Whitefish. Pro¬ 
visions were low and we were having poor 
luck. I had bread and tea for the noon meal. 
William and Quill went back with us for a 
fresh supply of provisions. The wind was high 
and we had a rough trip. I, being in the bow 
of the canoe, got the benefit of most of the 
water which splashed aboard. During our 
absence a deer paid C. a visit and was allowed 
the freedom of the place, since the open season 
did not begin until Nov. 1. This is a little out 
of the deer range. There are plenty around 
the Sturgeon River to the south. I was glad to 
be back on a diet of moose, lake trout and 
maple syrup. 
Turning in at eight o’clock and up at 4:30 
gave me enough sleep and an early start for 
our paddle to the north end of Whitefish Lake. 
We hunted northeast of the lake. About 10 
a. M. we saw a spikehorn bull feeding on the 
hardwood twigs. This was the first moose I 
had seen on the trip, and I beat the Indian to 
this one. Still this was not our day. While 
getting supper that night two grouse flew into 
a birch tree right above our cooking fire. C. 
and I shot their heads off. 
About 9 a. m. the next morning we were 
back in the same country we had hunted the day 
before. Our moccasins made no noise on the 
soaked leaves. Near the place where we saw 
the spikehorn the day before we caught a 
glimpse of a big bull as he stepped into a hard¬ 
wood thicket. I did not know whether or not 
he had seen us, but I could not risk a shot 
from where I stood. I felt this was my only 
chance to get a moose on this trip. John was a 
sight to behold. He had thrown his cap aside, 
and as he looked over the top of a bush in front 
of him, his face was set in heavy lines, his 
nostrils dilated and his eyes snapped. He was 
once again a savage. On hands and knees I 
crawled to one side, hoping for an open shot, 
but the woods were too thick. I had a feeling 
that the moose was getting uneasy, so aiming 
at a splash of black which showed through the 
trees, I thought “Here goes,” and turned loose. 
The shot broke the bull’s front leg high up; 
John could see this from his position. I could 
not tell whether it was a hit or a miss, but I 
ran to one side a few steps, where I could 
catch another glimpse of him, and shot twice. 
Both shots were too far back, but I had to 
shoot at any part of him in sight. Then he 
started off and I after him. When I got into 
the open he was just going over the top of a 
hill, but a quick shot hit him and I heard him 
fall. Over the brow of the hill and there he 
lay. John back-tracked the bull and found where 
he left his bed, about fifty yards from where he 
was feeding. 
We estimated that the head and all the skin 
we left on it would weigh 150 pounds. John 
strapped it up with his tump line and carried 
it a mile and a half to the canoe without a rest. 
He went along at a pretty good gait without 
turning a hair. We were back in camp just be¬ 
fore K. and S. arrivel from the camp at Sandy 
Inlet. They had seen two cows that morning. 
After making a raid on our fast vanishing 
food, they went off on another side hunt. 
The next day C. and I loafed, caught a few 
fish and enjoyed ourselves generally, until 
John started the evening meal. Then we saw a 
boat and canoe headed in to our camp. It was 
William’s wife, sister-in-law, four youngsters, a 
pappoose strapped to a board, dogs, cats and 
all the winter furnishings for the cabin. They 
had come from Bear Island, fourteen miles 
away. Soon after K. and S. returned. Their 
bad luck had not left them. They had seen 
three moose, all cows. With them came also 
the rain and darkness. Under these circum¬ 
stances we decided to stick to the cabin, al¬ 
though it was a little crowded, with fifteen of 
11s in one room. 
The rain fell all night; however, we could 
not think of staying in the cabin, so pitched our 
tents on well soaked ground. This time we 
used our tent stoves, the first time on the trip. 
We passed an uncomfortable day in our tent. 
We kept a hot fire going in an effort to dry off 
the ground and our bough bed. This made it 
hot and humid, but rain fell hard all day and 
the inside of the tent was the best place after 
all. 
During this our last night in camp, the rain 
turned to snow, but during the change every¬ 
thing, such as wet leaves, branches, etc., froze, 
and still-hunting was noisy hunting during the 
morning. 1 started a bull and cow, but could 
not get in a shot. Of the eighteen moose seen 
