March 23, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
45 i 
jortunity. Finally he obtained another chance 
hot. on the side of the mountain, where he sur¬ 
mised old bruin behind a stump, but the latter 
moved a cause of defeat and a second time the 
>ear made its escape. It traveled almost twice 
■.round an entire township, shot through, and 
•et eluded his pursuers at the end. 
About ten o’clock we decided it was time to re- 
ire. People had warned us about the discom- 
ort of an open camp and how the cold sank into 
me’s very bones, so we piled everything on top 
>f us, except the wood for the fire, and pre- 
>ared to freeze even at that. It happened, how- 
ver, that the night was warm. Peace reigned 
or perhaps an hour, and then I commenced to 
trow uneasy, wondering whether or not this 
,ense of suffocation was in my imagination or 
)therwise. I could not sleep, and to pass the 
ime away, I peeled bark from the nearest log. 
"For goodness sake, stop that noise, or I shall 
to away!” came from the Naiad in tones that 
>oded ill. I obeyed promptly. 
“Whew! I’m fried!” As C. made this an- 
lotmcement, he hurled aside coats and blankets 
vith the energy of desperation. 
“Don’t put them on me!” I cried, enraged to 
ind myself breathing an atmosphere of tropical 
leat and conscious that I was slowly smothering. 
leaped up and dashed a pail of water on the 
dazing logs. As I returned into the camp my 
’oot came in contact with a hot coal. At this 
uncture the silence was rudely broken, but I got 
ittle sympathy, for while C. laughed, the Naiad 
nerely glared at me, saying I had no considera- 
ion for other people. Half an hour passed be- 
ore our troubles began again. Then Reuben 
ame forth, built up the fire and for some un- 
athomable reason nobody told him to stop. Soon 
ve were once more roasting merrily, and the 
Maiad speechless w r ith misery, sat bolt upright 
taring into the bright, crackling flames. My 
houghts became blurred and C. gave vent to 
1 leep drawn sighs. This was too much, and for 
third time I rushed out and threw water on the 
ire. Clouds of smoke and steam filled the camp. 
“She’s using no self-control!” I heard the 
\ T aiad say in a low furious voice. C. wisely held 
lis peace and, feeling crushed and humiliated 
inder the former’s eye, and with some rage in 
ay own heart, I went back to bed and to sleep. 
The following day I hunted morning and 
•vening, but had no luck, as it was very 
loisy. We all took dinner on the site 
if a deserted lumber camp which nature was 
| naking beautiful again with masses of briers and 
; licturesque undergrowth that effectually con- 
ealed the remains of an unworthy invasion. A 
ligh south wind was shaking the leaves down 
a golden showers, and by nine o’clock the same 
flight a gentle rain began to patter on the roof 
f the camp. Of Notus or the south wind, Ovid 
j ays, “With soaking wings the soqth wind flies 
broad with pitchy darkness; his beard is loaded 
^ith showers, the water streams down from his 
1 oary locks, clouds gather upon his forehead, his 
j/ings and the folds of his robe drip with wet; 
; nd, as with his broad hand he squeezes the 
! ianging clouds, a crash arises, and thence 
j bowers are poured in torrents from the sky. 
1 ris, the messenger of Juno, clothed in various 
olors, collects the waters, and bears a supply 
pward to the clouds.” 
• Next morning the forest lay drenched and 
teaming with mists. Presently in long shafts 
| he sun shone through this vaporous dream, and 
paces of azure sky broke the sober heavens, 
was reminded of what I had read the night be- 
ore in Thoreau’s “A Week on the Concord and 
ferrimack Rivers,” where, speaking of an early 
1 list, he said, “It was even fragrant and in- 
| igorating, and we enjoyed it as a sort of earlier 
unshine, or dewy and embryo light.” * * * 
Again, as I looked out into the soaked, glisten- 
ig deeps of autumnal foliage, those lines of a 
ioem, recently penned by an ill-fated young 
Englishman, came to my mind, seeming rarely 
uited to the influence of this cleansed and serene 
our: 
“What land of silence, 
Where pale stars shine 
1 On apple blossoms 
And dew-drenched vine, 
Is yours and mine? 
“The silent valley 
That we will find, 
Where all the voices 
Of human kind 
Are left behind.” 
I wish to say a word about books and their re¬ 
lation to wilderness solitude. Camp life with¬ 
out them is like a flower void of fragrance. 
Prose and poetry must needs hold a place among 
those necessities brought with us, or we shall 
find something lacking in the ultimate conclusion 
of our pleasures. Ten or fifteen pages of 
Emerson or Thoreau before retiring, are de¬ 
liciously profitable. Read Shelley’s “West Wind” 
by the light of a lantern, with a night breeze 
stirring softly amid the leaves, and notice the 
result. No doubt you will dream of Venetian 
sunsets or Neptune’s most exquisite grotto. In 
the woods we crave a reflection of the inner 
spirit, and communicating with our best loved 
poet or author, find our minds more sensitive, 
as though the spirit and substance were brought 
into closer union. The individual who goes into 
the wilderness after whatever pursuit, mental, 
physical, or both, knows best his own needs and 
can most adequately fulfill them. Perhaps he has 
no desire even to turn the pages of a book, and 
perhaps again he goes abroad with some com¬ 
fortable little volume in his pocket and glow¬ 
ing like a love-letter against his heart. 
On the third day we packed up and departed, 
leaving our camp in the possession of a party 
of Canada jays. In spite of frequent arguments 
and lapses into whittling, when everybody walked 
off in opposite directions after a heated discus¬ 
sion, more unconvinced and rebellious than ever 
—we nevertheless keenly regretted breaking up 
what had proved a memorable trip and bidding 
farewell to camp-fires and camp food. After all, 
we were not so unbearable to each other, being a 
mixture of brothers, cousins and sisters, and, at 
any rate, variety is the spice of life. C. reached 
the point where he contradicted every naturalist 
from Pliny to Audubon, with a few modern ones 
thrown in, while the Naiad and myself com¬ 
pletely exhausted our vocabulary and breath in 
the bargain. But, at any rate, Pan had proved 
our friend and attended to our wants, for which 
we were duly grateful. Our spirits, in spite of 
heat, smoke and argument, received benefit, and 
our appetites underwent a regeneration, during 
those three never-to-be-forgotten days spent in the 
woods. 
Disappointment constitutes a chief factor in 
the experience of every sportsman. How often, 
after a disheartening day, do we return home 
feeling that—as the result of a bad shot, bad 
luck, or bad judgment—the joys of life were few; 
and yet these very errors should urge us to 
make greater drafts on our ability to outwit hard 
luck in order to overcome those faults which 
have been the cause of failure and baffled hopes. 
One episode of recent date in my own experience 
illustrates what might fairly be termed “a case 
of bad luck,” with a peppering of bad judgment 
to make it complete. The tendency of many of 
us is to record only days when the game bag 
was full; but I feel it my duty to relate this 
incident. 
At 4 P. M. one cold October morning, I turned 
out filled with hope. After a violent struggle to 
subdue the alarm clock, which shrilled and rattled 
in the darkness like an animate creature, I 
dressed and made my way down to the kitchen, 
where breakfast was waiting steaming hot. The 
air greeted one with a cold stinging shock and 
the planets were dazzlingly bright. Twenty minutes 
later Wallace brought the wagon around, and 
off we started, the wheels crunching and grind¬ 
ing over the frozen road. There was still no 
sign of coming daylight, and the moon shed a 
cold pallor through the woods, robing their 
dim, still sanctuaries with vague serenity. As 
we emerged into an old clearing, a yellow auroral 
light glowed along the eastern tree spires like a 
winter dawn. The landscape seemed invested 
with crystals, and not a blade of grass but had 
been heavily coated with frost. Two miles from 
camp we tied the horses and set out on foot, 
keeping along the main road. Before we had 
gone a quarter of a mile we saw a doe and two 
fawns run off into the woods near an old sugar 
camp, and it was just beyond here that our mis¬ 
hap took place. I was walking ahead and w’e 
had come up over the crest of a hill with the 
utmost caution, when a loud crashing on the left- 
hand side of the road brought us to a standstill. 
At the same instant not thirty yards in ad¬ 
vance a huge buck burst from the sheltering 
underbrush, and without halting, swung away 
from us and fled down the road. 
“Let him have it! Shoot! Shoot!” Wallace 
cried. With vague misgivings and jumping heart 
I took a snap-shot at his hind leg. Alas! the 
result was what I had anticipated; a clean miss, 
and with tail raised even higher he disappeared. 
We went on with depressed spirits and'pres¬ 
ently, leaving the road, struck in on one long 
disused, and returning by this covered so much 
more ground. The woods were open and park¬ 
like, and the trail skirted the side of a ridge 
heavily clothed with deciduous timber. We had 
gone but a short distance, when far ahead we saw 
two deer run down the hill. Undoubtedly they 
had heard us, for the leaves were very dry. One 
of them was evidently a large buck, and soon he 
commenced blowing shrilly and awakening the 
echoes with harsh snorts. Sitting down, I could 
faintly discern his outline and see his foot jerk 
upward as he stamped viciously. I dared not 
risk a shot, as he was more than two' hundred 
yards away, and I hoped that by waiting I might 
obtain a clearer view. Ten minutes later a doe 
walked up to within a few paces of where we 
crouched, but the old buck did not approach and 
at last went off, whistling and thudding out of 
sight. This same deer during the two weeks that 
followed, in spite of every precaution on our part, 
gave me the slip three times. One afternoon I 
watched a runway in this vicinity for half an 
hour, while all the time he was on the other 
side of the knoll, not three hundred yards distant, 
as we discovered later. It was snowing hard 
and the wind driving in sharp gusts through the 
treetops. Once I really heard a distinct and 
peculiar sound, like a short human cough. I 
imagine that it was a raven, but at the time I 
had visions of bruin and clutched my rifle closer. 
Before we got back to camp on the morning 
previously spoken of. we saw in all ten deer, not 
one of which had offered a first-class shot, except 
the old doe. That day is a memory of fleeting 
tails and disappointment. 
Now having duly related a “hard luck” story, 
I feel at liberty to recount an experience which 
stands out in contrast. I find a description of 
this in my hunting journal: 
“Oct. 4.—Clear. One of those warm Indian- 
summer-like days, with blue haze robing the 
mountains and sounds ringing from afar through 
the quiet atmosphere. 3 P. M.—Set out accom¬ 
panied by Reuben for an afternoon hunt. Strik¬ 
ing north from the camps, we branched off an 
old carry, and following this for a short distance, 
again changed and left the trail, walking almost 
due north. I have come to the conclusion that 
Rube knows the topography of this township bet¬ 
ter than most men know their own yard. No 
matter where he goes, or what devious ways he 
pursues, he brings up at the wished for destina¬ 
tion, and 11O' doubt could find it as well in the 
dark. 
“In one place we skirted the base of a rocky 
hill, where the woods were so broken up by 
large boulders that we could see almost to the 
summit. The fern glades and general features 
of the ground in its vicinity were quite entranc¬ 
ing. Rube caught a glimpse of a big fox stealing 
along some distance in advance, but he proved too 
quick for us and evaded our approach. 
“Presently we crossed the course of a small 
brook and I regaled myself with an^ icy draught. 
We went down into a narrow ‘slew,’ or swampy 
depression, where the pungent scent of frosted 
brakes greeted our nostrils and where deeply 
printed in the soft ground we discovered the 
comparatively fresh tracks of a large buck. 
“‘I wish we’d run on to that fellow,’ Rube re¬ 
marked as he scrutinized the marks. Still further 
on we saw what evidently were the same tracks, 
and also observed a patch of ground where the 
old chap had been digging for roots. The sun 
was now well down. We had just passed over a 
slight rise, when off on one side, some seventy 
or eighty yards distant, I detected a motion, and 
(Continued on page 478.) 
