460 
FOREST AND STREAM 
this build the chimney of sticks chinked with 
clay, let it be of the width of the shanty at 
bottom, carried up at the same angle, or nearly 
so, with an oblong opening at top 8 in. wide by 
20 in. deep, and fitted closely to the end of the 
shanty by “chinkin’ and daubin’.” An aperture 
at the side of the chimney 14x20 in., to close 
with a close-fitting shake, will be all sufficient 
for a door, and in such a camp with a good 
camp-fire and plenty of browse, blankets and 
furs, a man may defy the weather with the 
mercury at 32 deg. below zero, as I happen to 
know. 
It was late in the afternoon of the fourth day 
when the shanty was finished and pronounced 
all right; Peter, who—whether from curiosity, 
affection for us, or a hankering for blackstrap— 
had remained with us during the four days, gave 
a most emphatic grunt of approbation as the 
newly-made fire roared, and the smoke went 
straight up the chimney, giving out plenty of 
heat in the den-like cabin, but no smoke. In 
justice to Peter, I ought to mention that he fur¬ 
nished us most liberally with fish, ducks and 
venison while we were engaged on the cabin, 
though truth obliges me to state that he utterly 
refused to lend a hand at the work in any man¬ 
ner whatever. He could hunt, but toting sticks, 
shakes, and clay for chinking—-that was squaw 
work. 
After the shanty was finished, a nice pile of 
browse stowed back of the footlog and a merry 
fire roaring in the new fire-place, we all smoked 
the pipe of peace and contentment, took a tem¬ 
perate nip of blackstrap, and turned in. I have 
slept well in camps of all descriptions; in camp- 
tents, in open camps, double-faced camps, browse 
camps, and even on the ground beneath a low- 
spreading cedar or hemlock; but I do not recol¬ 
lect having slept more soundly or sweetly than 
on the first night in that lonely cabin on the 
Muskegon. Not that Indian Peter was a desir¬ 
able bedfellow; on the contrary, I feel bound 
to state that his habits were not cleanly, and 
that there was a greasy suspicion of entomology 
about his scalplock and old mackinaw blanket, 
most repugnant to a civilized mind. However, as 
he had on the whole acted fairly by us, we con¬ 
cluded not to let any trifling matter break friend¬ 
ship, but to extend to him the rites of hunter 
hospitality so long as he might choose to stop 
with us. His stay was not a long one; on the 
morning of the fifth day he caught up his ponies, 
took the two cotton, two woolen shirts, and two 
dollars in silver, which we had agreed to give 
him, and wended his way in silence on the upper 
trail toward Muskrat Lake. Just as he was on the 
point of leaving I made him a magnificent pres¬ 
ent of a pint flask filled with blackstrap and a 
large plug of Cavendish. His dark face broke 
into a smile at this, and he held out his hand, 
saying with emphasis, “Giood; me come agin— 
see you more bimeby.” Subsequent events led 
me to the conclusion that the present was a most 
fortunate one. 
Ned and I were left to ourselves and our 
own resources; our stores consisted of pilot 
bread, sugar, syrup, tea, coffee, ammunition, 
tobacco and rum, with some quinine by way of 
medicine. We had also about forty traps—most 
of them small—of the “Newhouse” pattern. On 
the whole the prospect pleased me, and I was in 
the best of spirits. 
I have mentioned that our camp was built on 
a small tributary of the Muskegon, which was 
not so small, however, as to preclude good sport 
with the rod within a biscuit toss of the shanty, 
where I have taken bass which must have weigh¬ 
ed more than 6 lbs. and pickerel of twice that 
weight. Half a mile below the shanty this 
stream emptied into the main river, forming a 
sort of marshy cove which was a very paradise 
for wildfowl and pickerel. I have seen but few 
places which could equal it for sport. Deer 
were extremely plenty, bear were tolerably so, 
and there was an occasional elk to be seen among 
the openings, though the latter animal seemed 
rather to affect the extensive swamps and 
marshes—places which the hunter who is a 
stranger to the country had best keep clear of. 
For two or three days after the camp was 
finished and Peter had gone, Ned was in capital 
spirits and joined me in hunting and prospecting 
1 
He Caught Up His Ponies. 
with sportsmanlike zeal. Then, as the last day 
of October came on dull, cold and cloudy, with 
indications of snow, his spirits flagged, he moped 
about without the heart to go a mile from camp, 
and gave unmistakable signs of homesickness. 
Here was a nice fix. If his heart failed him 
so early in the season when we had everything 
comfortable about us, with fish and game as 
plenty as we could ask or expect, how would it 
be in the dead of winter with the snow several 
feet deep and wood to cut, split and back to 
camp, when the mercury was at zero? We had 
made rather extensive preparations for an all¬ 
winter trip had “declared our intentions” rather 
audibly to all our acquaintances and friends, had 
dwelt on the pleasures of hunter life and com¬ 
munion with nature to a garrulous extent, had 
promised to add important facts to the natural 
history of the country, and had (at least one of 
us had) taken several quires of foolscap into 
camp on which to record these facts and keep a 
general summary of our Crusoe-like proceedings 
for 'the benefit of any one who chose to be bored 
with the reading thereof. 
All this and much more I pressed on Ned’s 
consideration in a rather extended lecture, and 
he took it all meekly—did not offer a word in re¬ 
buttal until I chanced to remark that “a man 
who would leave such a camp and such hunting 
grounds for a giggling, apple-faced girl, ought 
to trade his rifle for a set of kn?tting needles 
and join a sewing society.” This brought matters 
to a focus. “I might abuse him to my heart’s con¬ 
tent, but I shouldn’t abuse a decent girl on his 
account; he was his own master; when he wanted 
my advice he would ask it,” etc., etc., etc. In 
short we quarreled. It was a foolish thing to 
do, and we have both been heartily ashamed of 
it for years; nevertheless, quarrel we did, and 
nearly came to blows. I made some rather 
pointed observations on bass-wood men generally 
and love-sick spooneys in particular, which Ned 
took to heart; and he gave his opinion pretty 
freely concerning ‘hush vagabonds, who were of 
no account in society, and the height of whose 
ambition was hunting and fishing. For his part, 
he expected to do something in the world besides 
hunt and fish.” 
“Ah, really? Marry a farm and tannery, per¬ 
haps join the church, and become a stump can¬ 
didate for deacon,” I retorted. 
Ned thought it quite possible. “There was a 
sort of respectability about farms and tanneries, 
which was not the case with hunting that ever 
he heard of.” 
I advised him, if he was so out of sorts with 
hunting, to go home by all means; also, I sug¬ 
gested the propriety of taking herb tea and soak¬ 
ing his feet in warm water regularly; with this, 
and the precaution of flannel nightcaps, I thought 
he might manage to pull through the winter 
alive. I really intended, when I began, to give 
the particulars of our quarrel verbatim et litera- 
tum as nearly as I could remember, but it was 
so confoundedly ridiculous that I am getting 
ashamed. 
Let it suffice, that after bandying sarcastic 
hits to the best of our ability for some time, one 
of us gave the lie. There was an instantaneous 
“recognition of belligerents,” a mutual grasping 
for reciprocal windpipes, a mutual missing of the 
same and a seizing of coat and collars instead, a 
violent shaking and hustling of some seconds’ 
duration—in which I, being much the lightest, 
got the worst of it—and we stood still gazing 
defiantly in each other’s faces, two of the biggest 
fools that ever shouldered a rifle. 
I wish I could add that we shook hands and 
laughed at our foolishness, as we ought to have 
done; but we did not. I knew that Ned was 
dying for a sight of Hannah Needham’s pretty 
face, and that nothing else ailed him. He knew 
that I was aware of this, and also that I de¬ 
spised love-sickness beyond any other weakness 
or illness that flesh is heir to; likewise he felt 
to resent my remarks on his du'lcinea, and I 
felt a trifle sore at the unmerciful shaking I had 
got, so it happened that neither of us chose to 
make any remarks of a conciliatory nature, but 
Ned commenced packing his knapsack at once, 
while I watched the operation in surly silence. 
There were two adjuncts to our camp, which 
I ought to have mentioned before; these were 
a mongrel dog, which Ned had -seen proper to 
bring with him, and a handy little dugout or 
