Forest arid Stream 
Vol. LXXXIII. October 17, 1914 No. 16 
A Winter in Michigan 
The Third Instalment of What Generally is Considered the Best Work of America’s Greatest Outdoor Writer 
By Nessmuk (Writen about 1890.) 
It was, if I mistake not, the first day in De¬ 
cember on which I got a most beautiful shot 
at a large buck elk, and it proved my last shot 
for that reason. 
Nearly a mile above the camp there was a most 
notable crossing place for deer, and half a mile 
further up was another one nearly as good. 
These two runways were merged in one at the 
distance of a mile or so from the northwest 
bank of the river, the point of convergence be¬ 
ing a gap between two high knolls, where there 
was a well worn path some io in. wide and sev¬ 
eral inches deep, cut into the soil entirely by the 
hoofs of deer. After passing the gap the path 
branched again and again, until at the distance 
of two or three miles it was lost in the multi¬ 
tude of trails which crossed the openings in all 
directions. The practiced hunter will see at a 
glance that the gap aforesaid must have been 
rather a promising runway to watch when deer 
were stirring about the openings—as they al¬ 
ways are during the acorn season. 
The few last days of November had been cold 
enough partially to close the river, but had 
moderated considerably on the first of the suc¬ 
ceeding month. I had been keeping camp for a 
few days through feeling agueish, but on the 
day above mentioned I took the rifle and saun¬ 
tered out to the gap for a shot. How vividly 
I remember every little incident of that day’s 
hunt—because, I suppose, it was my last in that 
region. First I went to the runway, took a seat 
on the log, by the thick clump of hazel bushes, 
where I had already killed some ten or twelve 
deer, and had a meditative smoke; then a flash¬ 
ing glimpse of something white bobbed along the 
trail at the distance of ioo yds. or more, and 
along came a fawn, large and in good condition. 
I did not want him and he went on his way 
scatheless. Then an hour or two of patient 
watching and waiting, at the end of which a 
plump, short-legged buck came trotting unsus¬ 
piciously along up the trail, still wet from his 
swim over the river. He was what we call in 
the backwoods a “swamp buck,” and had a sym¬ 
metrical well-branched pair of antlers. I wanted 
him for something besides the meat; so a short, 
sharp cry stopped him, the pea-ball whistled 
through his lights, high up and well back, that 
he might have lift to give the trail wide berth 
in his dying struggles, and he ran out into the 
opening a few rods, when he turned over and I 
shortly cut his throat secundum ardem. 
An hour, two, three hours passed with nothing 
save the numerous black, gray and fox squirrels 
to vary the monotony of a dull cloudy December 
day, when, far down the trail I caught sight of 
an enormous pair of antlers above the bushes, 
and wagging toward me at a rate which would 
have speedily left the little bay mare nowhere. 
I am not subject to panic, or buck fever, but 
my heart did give an extra jump as he broke 
from the hazel thicket into the open, and I saw 
before me the finest buck elk I had ever seen. 
He had most likely been frightened by wolves 
or Indians and was laying his course at a .rate 
that promised to take him far enough out of 
harm’s way in an hour, but the sharp yell that 
every hunter knows how to give brought him 
up standing, and he stood staring at me, the 
wildest, gamest looking animal imaginable. All 
varieties of the genus Cervus have a peculiarly 
game look, but none more so than the elk. The 
two sunken dead-eyes below the real eyes give 
him a strange, wild appearance, and his odd- 
Since Primitive Days. 
looking movements as he trots off with the speed 
of a locomotive, his nose sticking straight out 
and his antlers lying along either side of him— 
the trick he has, too, of staring at you like a 
statue for two or three seconds, then, just as 
you were beginning to touch the trigger, wheel¬ 
ing like lightning, and at a few tremendous steps 
placing himself beyond your reach; all lend such 
a fascination and gaminess to elk hunting that 
I have seldom known a hunter who did not 
prefer a shot at a buck elk to any animal which 
runs the American woods- 
I did not give him time to dodge. As he 
came to a full stop the bead filled handsomely 
on his breast and I pulled, sending a small, 
sharp cone of lead directly into “'the sticking 
place,” which must have ranged nearly the whole 
length of him. Away he went over the opposite 
knoll, and I loaded quickly, whistling meanwhile 
to convince myself that I wasn’t a bit exoited. 
He bled most profusely from the start, and I 
would not have given a man one shilling to have 
insured the saving of him; but “there’s many a 
slip.” An elk with a small, sharp conical ball 
in his breast may keep his feet strongly for 
half an hour, or even more; likewise, he can 
do his little mile in two minutes over rough 
ground and fallen logs; “hinferen'ce is hobvious.” 
Mile after mile I followed the trail, finding 
plenty of blood all the way, but seeing nothing 
of the elk, and at last the sun (which went 
down at a preposterously early hour on that 
day), gave indication of sudden leave-taking— 
it began to grow dark. I still hurried on as best 
I could, feeling hot and anxious, until, at the 
edge of an immense swamp, night overtook me 
and I could keep the trail no further. Here I 
decided to let the dog go; he 'had been showing 
unwonted eagerness all the way, and I was sure 
he could find the elk in a few minutes—also 
having found it he was sure to notify by howl¬ 
ing long and loud; so I sent him in. For som ■ 
five minutes after he started all was silent; then 
came the howl I was waiting and wishing for. 
Good! the elk was safe and within half a mile 
of me. 
There was no use attempting to penetrate such 
a swamp after dark—a man would be a fool to 
try it—so I commenced collecting wood for a 
fire, and making other little arrangements for- 
passing the night endurably. Hardly had I be¬ 
gun to fix a rough camp, however, when from 
the swamp arose such a series of yells and 
howls as few nervous persons would care to 
hear in close proximity on a dark night; and in 
a marvelously short time Pete, the dog, was 
cowering and growling at my feet in an agony 
of terror. 
The swamp seemed literally alive with wolves. 
They collected about the carcass of the elk, and 
in the stillness of the night I fancied I could 
hear the bones crack under their powerful jaws, 
as they fought, snarled, gormandized and howled 
by turns. It was in vain that I went as far 
into the swamp as I could get, shouting myself 
hoarse and firing toward them repeatedly. The 
rascals seemed to know I was impotent to do 
them any harm, and only howled the louder. 
The opportunity which this incident afforded 
for observing the traits and peculiarities of the 
sanguinary cowards would have been worth 
the sacrifice under other circumstances, but I 
was very anxious to possess the head and skin 
of a buck elk entire, and I knew the brutes too 
well to expect anything more than the bare 
antlers after they were done with it; so I gave 
up trying to scare them and listened to their 
beastly snarling and wrangling as they gobbled 
and tore at my elk, inwardly swearing that 
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