FOREST AND STREAM 
461 
log canoe, which Peter had mysteriously 
brought to light from some hidden recess on 
the day after our arrival in camp. The dog had 
turned out a promising venture for still-hunting 
—as almost any dog will when taken out every 
day and properly instructed—while the canoe was 
indispensable for trapping, fishing, or crossing 
the river. 
I had opposed the dog at first, but finding he 
was to be an inmate of the camp had finally 
taken him in hand for a course of instruction, 
and as he was not only eager and plucky, but 
tractable, had ended by taking a fancy for him- 
When Ned had got his hardtack, tobacco, 
blanket, rifle, hatchet and a pint flask of rum 
all in marching order he led the dog ostenta¬ 
tiously into the cabin, sprung the snap of the 
chain into a ring on the collar and then marched 
stiffly toward me, holding a cent on his curved 
forefinger with his thumb nail under the edge of 
it, saying, “This is for the canoe—heads or 
tails?” I took at once; and as the cent spun 
high in air said, “heads!” Down it came and 
heads it was; the canoe was mine. 
“As to the dog,” said I, “if he is worth any¬ 
thing to you take him along, I can get on with¬ 
out him very well.” 
“He is worth nothing to me,” said Ned, with 
a majestic air, “if you don’t want him, shoot 
him; I am done with hunting.” He slung his 
knapsack with great deliberation, whistling all 
the while, then filled a pipe leisurely, lit it with 
a friction match which he ignited by rubbing 
on his trousers’ leg, shouldered his heavy single- 
barreled Billinghurst, and turned his back on the 
camp. 
I watched him until his gray coat tails dis¬ 
appeared down the trail and then went into 'the 
shanty, built a rousing fire, caressed the dog, 
wiped the rifle, and tried to convince myself that 
I didn’t care—in fact was glad he was gone. I 
tried the quarrel over again in my own mind and 
made out a wonderfully clear case for myself. 
I took the shaking into consideration and waxed 
irate exceedingly, but it would not do. The 
little monitor which lurks in the bosom of every 
decent man espoused Ned’s cause, reminding me 
of many little items, such as hitter sneers, un¬ 
kind remarks, and surly sarcasms, offered to an 
old and tried friend, for what? Just because he 
had not the heart to enter into my schemes with 
spirit and ardor; because I mistrusted him of 
giving way to a 'boyish love-sick whim, and want¬ 
ing to go hack. What then? Was he not his own 
master? He he not proved himself on many 
occasions a reliable friend, a plucky hunter, and 
a true-hearted fellow? And I had taken the 
liberty of calling him in plain words a 'booby! 
a love-sick spoon, and no hunter! 
The mental mercury in the psychological 
thermometer sank rapidly from wrath to reflec¬ 
tion, from reflection to reason, and from reason 
to repentance. The more I reflected the more I 
grew ashamed of the foolish quarrel, and ere 
Ned had been gone two hours I would have given 
much to have shaken hands with him, told him 
I was sorry, and parted with him, if part we 
must, in a decent manly way, as friends should 
do. I remember feeling an almost irresistible 
impulse to follow him down the trail, find him 
at his first camping place, and own up like a man. 
As the sun was less than t.wo hours high when 
he started and there was a good moon, I could 
easily have done this, but self-love, wounded 
vanity and pride all conspired to keep me hack, 
and I did not go. I wish I had gone; it would 
have saved some heartburning on both sides, and 
would have been more pleasant to reflect on in 
after years. 
Left alone in camp I set myself actively to 
work hunting, fishing, studying the habits of the 
various animals which came under my observa¬ 
tion, and trying various experiments with traps, 
outlines and snares. I succeeded in taking game 
and fish by nearly every mode in use with hunt¬ 
ers. I caught not only ducks but wild geese in 
small traps, as well as on outlines- (The latter 
mode was cruel poaching, and I only tried it by 
way of experiment two or three times.) As the 
season grew cold I set the traps for otter and 
foxes, but, although I was in possession of the 
“hunters’ secret,” my success in trapping was not 
remarkable. Also my traps disappeared at the rate 
of half a dozen per week, and, from the occa¬ 
sional print of a moccasin along the bank of the 
river, I got to surmising that the abducted traps 
might be in some manner attributable to the 
band of strolling Chippewas to which our guide 
Peter belonged—a belief in which I was after¬ 
ward somewhat strengthened by seeing some of 
the identical traps in the hands of the aforesaid 
vagabonds. 
The loss of a few traps, however, although I 
felt certain that each of the stolen traps held a 
fur animal of some kind at the time of its abduc¬ 
tion, did not much disturb me. The hunt was 
not for profit or for the purpose of seeing how 
much game might be destroyed by one rifle in a 
season’s hunt, but just for pure, ardent love of 
forest life and sylvan sport. Many a deer passed 
me that autumn and went away scatheless, which 
I might have knocked down with certainty, and 
I spent days in traversing the country, rifle in 
hand, with no wish or attempt to shoot a deer, 
although I think I have never hunted a region 
where they were more abundant than there. I 
could not make out the exact whereabouts of the 
camp by the aid of a pocket map at the time, and 
I have never visited the spot since, although often 
promising myself to do so. It certainly was not 
the point to which Peter was hired to pilot us 
by thirty miles or more, and must have been near 
the eastern line of Osceola county, where the 
river crosses it from Clare county. At all events, 
the location was a most satisfactory one for a 
sportsman, and during the crisp, frosty autumn 
weather nothing could be finer. I still think that 
such a camp, with good health and an eternal 
succession of glorious Octobers would be all the 
heaven I should ever require. 
I killed but few deer, and those nearly all 
bucks, as I chose to let the does and fawns for 
the most part go clear—a mode of hunting which 
I venture to recommend in any country where 
deer are yet plenty. The hams, “lines” and skins 
of those I did kill were carefully “tended,” and I 
began to ask myself how the long winter days 
and nights were to pass, when it was too stormy 
or cold to hunt, and the snow lay deep all over 
the vast northern wilderness of Michigan—when, 
steady cold weather having set in, a full supply 
of meat being on hand, the deer having become 
thin in condition and scarce by reason of wolves 
and Indians—there would be no one to talk to 
at night and nothing to interest a man by day. 
It did look a little, just a little dreary. But 
then, couldn’t I find my way out of the forest 
should it become unendurable? There were lum¬ 
bering establishments at no great distance below, 
whence, doubtless, there would be a good road 
to Muskegon Bay, and it would be time enough 
to think of leaving camp when sport gave out. 
So I took it easy and enjoyed the sport hugely. 
A friend of mine who was selling sporting kits 
in the quiet little village of Gotham had besought 
me earnestly to procure him an elk’s head with 
antlers at least six feet long; and another friend 
had commissioned me to get him a bear skin with 
claws, jaws and teeth entire—trifling jobs, which 
each of them seemed to imagine could be accom¬ 
plished by any man who had a few spare days on 
hand- In fact the Gothamite had expressly men¬ 
tioned that he “wouldn’t trouble me if he could 
afford to leave his store for a few days.” 
As they were both good fellows, and as I 
rather liked the notion of sending an elk’s antlers 
for exhibition in the windows of a Broadway 
shop, I did my best to get the articles as re¬ 
quested. 
Now, it is a fact that, while deer were plenty 
and easy to bring under the bead, bear and elk 
were somewhat scarce and hard to be got at. 
The elk seemed to delight in large open pine 
swamps, reed beds and marshes; while bruin 
affected the dense thickets and chose to hide him¬ 
self therein, issuing thence for his quotidian 
acorns mostly by moonlight. After a particularly 
dark, rainy night, however, bear are sure to feed 
early in the morning; and on such a morning I 
got a beautiful shot at one in the openings. I 
discovered him busily at work among the acorns, 
and taking due heed of the wind, cautiously ap¬ 
proached him under cover of the oak trunks until 
v ithin thirty yards, when I got a good ready and 
waited for him to show. This he presently did, 
moving unsuspiciously among the fallen leaves 
for choice acorns, having found which he sat up 
on his haunches and was munching away leisurely 
when the sharp crack of a rifle rang through the 
openings, a pea ball fitted him snugly at the butt 
of the ear; he subsided as calmly as an infant. 
He was an ursine beauty; otter-legged, glossy 
black, and very fat, with a splendid set of claws 
and teeth—decidedly the finest animal that has 
ever fallen to my rifle. It took me the best part 
of two days to dress and dispose of him properly, 
for, be it known, a fat bear in camp at the com¬ 
mencement of winter is no slight acquisition. 
The meat keeps sweet longer than any other, the 
fat is not only valuable for burning in a “witch 
light,” but makes a good substitute for butter, 
and a well-furred bear skin is invaluable in a 
winter camp for sleeping purposes. Moreover, 
there is no exaggeration in saying that a man 
while living mainly on bear meat will endure 
fatigue better, can travel faster and further, and 
will find himself much stronger, than on any 
other diet whatever. If two men of equal powers 
and skill were to engage in any trial of strength 
and physical endurance, the one having trained 
on beef and the other on bear meat, I should 
most certainly consider the latter a good invest¬ 
ment at two to one. I cannot be mistaken in 
this; I have tried it on myself and seen its effects 
on others too often, and I only wonder that the 
fact—for fact it is—has not been observed and 
acted on by some trainer among the athletic “pro¬ 
fession.” 
(Continued on page 486.) 
