53 ° 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 6, 1907. 
the trapper’s line extended miles to the east¬ 
ward and westward, the fisher’s runway crossed 
it nowhere save in the sag and on the outlet 
of a little lake where Burke had a short line of 
five traps. From there the fisher’s runway ex¬ 
tended around the ends of other loops six 
miles eastward and eight miles to the north. Its 
runway must be more than forty miles long, and 
Burke believes more than a hundred. “I’ve seen 
the same fisher’s track on Cotton Lake Moun¬ 
tain and in Big Brook Swamp,” he said—points 
twenty miles apart. 
Hardly less regular in their course than Burke 
in his, the fishers sometimes changed runways 
to take in six or eight traps along Burke’s line. 
With aggravating regularity, the fishers passed 
within a rod or .two of traps set for their es¬ 
pecial benefit. Sometimes they came to the very 
entrance of the cubby houses and peered within 
at the bait and, doubtless, at the traps. Find¬ 
ing a marten in a trap, the fisher promptly kills 
and eats it; but the fishers do not show quite 
the same sagacity as the fox which very care¬ 
fully lifted one of Burke’s traps out of its bed 
and turned it upside down out of the way, after 
which it ate the bait. 
In respect to traps the foxes show less in¬ 
dividuality that the fishers—they keep out of all 
but the most cunningly contrived death ma¬ 
chines. while some few fishers are blunderheads, 
walking into any kind of contrivance; but other 
fishers are as cunning as the foxes. The trapper 
seemed rather disgusted with foxes, all of them 
being “so smart,” but fishers pleased him for the 
variety of their characters. 
The loose snow tormented the furred hunters 
as much as it did the snowshoers. Many ani¬ 
mals, such as the raccoons and bears, refuse to 
go abroad at all after the snow becomes deep. 
Deer, of which we saw many tracks and a few of 
the animals, seek the balsam swamps when the 
snow gets too deep for them to wander at will 
through the woods—but they had not yet yarded, 
as their tracks everywhere showed. With the 
little hunters, however, the loose snow was a 
hardship. The ermine, tiring of trying to run on 
the surface at a gallop, would dive into the snow 
and seek better footing on the old crust twelve 
inches down—perhaps even going down to the 
ground itself, and plowing its way through the 
snow following mice and squirrel burrowings as 
far as possible. 
The short jumps of the mink, marten and 
weasel told of their distress most plainly, but 
it was the fisher tracks that displayed to the 
full the impediment offered by the unstable foot¬ 
ing. Ordinarily the fisher runs, its forefeet leav¬ 
ing the ground as its hind feet strike in the 
same footprints. It is a gait kept up for hours 
on snow crust or ground. One never sees it 
traveling in summer or fall at a different gait, 
but try as it will, the fisher can run only a few 
rods in loose snow without walking a little— 
perhaps out of breath. Then it tries to run 
again, only to be brought back to a walk. 
“It makes him mad to have to walk!” the 
trapper said, and the flip forward, the curve of 
the body, the wriggled paws—shown in the snow 
print—certainly did look “mad,” if one looked 
keenly and compared the signs with the easy, 
methodical gait indicated by nearby fox trails. 
In many respects, the animals of the deep 
forest differ from those of the same kind on 
the edge of the clearings. The difference ex¬ 
tends deeper than habit. Thus the fur of the 
foxes taken in the mountain forests is thicker, 
heavier and finer than that of the same kind of 
foxes taken a few miles away in the clearings, 
or at their edge. The same difference has been 
noted by trappers in regard to mink. 1 hey 
SETTING A TRAP IN A PORCUPINE RUNWAY. 
A MARTEN. 
explain it by saying that the foxes of the 
Mohawk valley work their way in late fall to 
the edge of the woods, where they are killed. 
Being from a warmer locality, and dwellers of 
burrows in the ground, their fur is naturally 
scantier than that of forest-dwelling foxes which 
do not live in holes, and are exposed to the in¬ 
clemencies of all kinds of weather. 
During the summer months, hundreds, per 
haps thousands of summer visitors cross Burke’ 
trap-line route. In the spring fishermen, and 1 
the fall hunters, visit the ridges, lakes am 
streams which he passes; but all winter long h 
has seen only two snowshoe tracks on his lin 
of traps. These we dicovered one day whil 
hunting porcupines for trap bait. It was s* 
unusual, so unexpected, that it demanded ex 
planation by deductive processes. It might bi 
club guides on an inspection tour to preserv 
camps, but it was not likely so, for the snow 
shoeing was very hard. It might be gam 
wardens, but this was scarcely possible, unles 
some one had suspected our own intentions i 
venturing so near the winter quarters of dee 
The true explanation seemed to be that Johnn 
Leaf, a halfbreed Indian, and “French” Mora 
had crossed from the West Canada to Sumnej 
Creek to get work in Sol Carnahan’s loggin 
job. The big round snowshoe of one of tl 
strangers was like Johnny Leaf’s, while th 
delicate bow and pretty stringing of the oth 
indicated the Frenchman almost unmistakabl 
Thus we read the signs in the snow. 
When the marten, mink or fisher leap, th 
throw the snow from their claws back into the 
pad marks. There is a suggestion of their res 
lessness, impatience and hurry in this whit 
thrills. In the track of the trapper himself \v,; 
the same sign of spring and thrust—the sno 
thrown back by the toes of his moccasii 
dimmed the heel marks. Long years in tt 
forest depths had made him quiet, almost silei 
Countless thousands of shots at game, dai 1 
contemplation of victims taken from air, lai 
and water, and almost matchless experience, h; 
given him the step of the weasel tribe who 
chief enemy he is. 
Yet, though without a thought of t 
agony which he doubtless inflicts with traps a- 
bullets, he nevertheless loves the fort 
with a passion greater than money. 1 
could make more than his $300 worth of fi 
and do it much easier as a log camp forenn 
or boss of a gang, but he prefers the toil a 
life on a trap line. 
“I don’t make so much,” he explains, “but 
feel sometimes like I just got to be alone 
the woods. There’s too many ’round a 
camp—I can have a better time just living ba 
here alone, or with just one.” 
Then, in vain, he tries to tell why he li 
the woods better than the clearings. 
Beginning April 13 the Forest and Stream will pub! 
a short series of reminiscences of the wild Indian days 
1S65 by William T. Hamilton, the famous trapper, tra 
and sign talker, of Montana, and the author of “My Si 
Years on the riains.” While the events described 
Mr. Hamilton’s story, “The Council at Fort Bento 
took place nearly a quarter of a century after he f 
began to travel the then untrodden plains of the W 
they also took place nearly a half a century ago. T 
describe the dangers of travel over the old plains, 
ways of war parties, of hostile Indians, the arrogance 
primitive man, protected by his distance from a civilizal 
of whose existence he was ignorant, and furnish a picf 
of wild frontier life such as every reader will be glat 
have presented to him. 
The Forest and Stream will be glad to be put in c 
munication with all owners, superintendents and r« 
agers of boys’ summer camps all over the country, 
has under consideration a project which it is belu 
will be interesting to and will meet the approval of tl 
interested in the instruction and guidance of youth, 
it desires their assistance in carrying it out. Full 
formation given on request. Address Camp Departm 
