454 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March 19, 1910. 
day?” Louis pointed to the north and replied: 
“That, guess.” Our party separated into three 
divisions. We were to meet on the shore ef 
Lake Bois France, about three miles further 
north. If it was dark the party who arrived 
first was to build a fire on the shore, which 
would serve as a beacon, and wait for the others. 
Louis and I took a northerly course as he had 
indicated, our objective point being a rise of 
land some 500 feet in altitude situated about 
eight miles distant. 
It is very little work and really no trouble in 
early October to kill a moose, as many do, by 
having an expert call the bull. It is another 
thing to still-hunt one, traveling ten or fifteen 
miles a day through the wilderness of an un¬ 
broken forest, through snow,, slashings, wind¬ 
falls and swamps, and the rockiest places one 
ever saw and finally, by patience and skillful 
seeking, kill your moose. That is real hunting. 
That is sportsmanship. 
Louis broke the trail. He peered into the long 
dark vistas of evergreens with the keenest vigi¬ 
lance. Many times we stopped and carefully ob¬ 
served the direction of the wind. At noon we 
were at the base of the hill we intended reach¬ 
ing. Nothing had broken the placid stillness of 
the wilderness up to that hour, except the flight 
of a snowy owl which we had routed from his 
perch, and the crack of a few twigs caused by 
a doe and a little fawn that had crossed our path 
in a hurry. No sign or sound of a moose. We 
ate some cold venison and biscuit for lunch and 
then resumed the hunt. 
Louis pointed to the hill before us and said: 
“Moose there, guess.” Now we proceeded more 
slowly and carefully. We looked longer and 
further about us before entering new territory. 
An hour elapsed and we were half way up the 
steep side of the hill when Louis, looking in a 
direction to our left, said: “Moose, moose, 
but in the next instant he exclaimed, “Cow.” 
(It is unlawful to shoot a cow moose in Quebec.) 
For the following second I never saw anyone 
perform such gymnastics. Louis craned and 
twisted his neck in every direction. Soon I saw 
a large body moving rapidly through the woods 
about twenty rods to our right. Louis sighted 
the animal about the same time and yelled, 
“Bull.” It was a chance shot, but I fired three 
times in rapid succession. Louis sprang through 
the brush toward the spot where the moose had 
been, while I followed as closely as possible. We 
could hear the huge body crashing through the 
brush and trees, although we had lost sight of 
it. About one rod from where the moose was 
discovered we came to a precipice easily thirty 
feet high. The moose had made this jump, and 
much to my astonishment Louis did likewise. I 
clattered down a tree and continued the chase. 
The crashings had ceased now and we could 
only hear the limbs of trees drumming against 
the antlers of the moose. This made welcome 
music to our ears, especially as the ground was 
red with blood. When Louis saw the blood in 
the snow he shouted, “Hit!” The trail was easy 
to follow, not alone on account of the .great 
splashes that crimsoned the ground, but a path 
had been made through the trees by the moose 
like the swath from a giant scythe. About fifty 
rods beyond I found the moose. Louis was ador¬ 
ing his antlers, which were of huge size. This 
fact, together with the peculiar gray color of 
his coat, proved that we had bagged the moose 
monarch of Bois France. Louis reached out that 
great right palm of his and said: “Shake. Its 
him. Guess I get boat.” 
“Yes, Louis,” I replied, “I guess you get boat 
all right.” 
We now hurried back on the return trail and 
found our friends. Each party had secured a 
trophy and we reached camp in high spirits, con¬ 
gratulating ourselves on the success of the hunt. 
The following day we brought the heads to 
camp. Mine had an antler spread of sixty inches, 
the largest taken out of the country that year. 
When we were about to take the train at 
Kippewa for the States, Louis came to bid us 
good-bye. While shaking hands he said: ‘ S pose 
you come back again?” “No, Louis,” I said, 
“probably I shall never come again.” A wistful 
expression crossed his bronzed features. He 
turned in the direction where, many miles away, 
he knew the glad waters of Bois France danced 
in the moonlight, the erstwhile home of the 
moose monarch, and he said: “Guess I don’t 
want boat.” “What!” I exclaimed, “you don’t 
want the boat?” “No,” he said. “Squaw, she 
want sewing machine.” Three days from that 
date a sewing machine company shipped one of 
their finest productions to Big Louis, of Kippewa. 
of Kippewa. 
Many a white man of refined sentiment, blessed 
by the beneficent touch of the hand of civiliza¬ 
tion, has refused to sacrifice on the altar of self- 
denial as much as this illiterate Indian when he 
surrendered that boat to the wish of his dusky 
scjuaw. G. A. Whipple. 
The Razorback Hog. 
Hendersonville, N. C., March 10 .—Editor 
Forest and Stream: The shooting season is 
over in some of our counties, but in this, one 
can shoot until April 1. On account of the 
severe winter some sportsmen did very little 
shooting. I for one do not care to shoot birds 
in the snow. One man, I am told, bagged over 
800 quail, disposing of some of them at fifteen 
cents a piece. This was one of the counties 
withdrawn from the Audubon society’s influence 
by the last Legislature, politics, of course, being 
at the bottom of it. 
For myself, I bagged less than twenty par¬ 
tridges (quail) the whole of the season. I hope 
that as a result of less shooting the birds will 
greatly increase this season, and we may there¬ 
fore look for good sport next fall and winter. 
The two heavy snows we had, about six inches 
each, did not last long enough to cause much 
distress to the birds. 
The stock law is now being gradually extended 
to the mountains, so that the razorback hog’s 
days are gradually being numbered also, and 
when he is finally a “pre-historic” animal, the 
ruffed grouse and wild turkeys may have their 
innings again. 
Since March came in we have had spring-like 
weather and the robins are here in numbers. 
Robins, redbirds, wrens, flickers and many other 
birds are here and vie with each other in sing¬ 
ing the news of spring. The other day I heard 
a mockingbird. We have but four of them, but 
those are fine songsters. As yet the thrasher, 
woodthrush and catbird have not become evi¬ 
dent, but it will not be long. 
I am ready now for the streams and trout, 
and it will not be long till I make a trial on 
Green River. Ernest L. Ewbank. 
In the Drowned Lands. 
Water, water, water, north, south and west - 
miles of it—varying from three or four inches 
to three feet in depth, stretching away as far 
as the eye could reach! The monotony of the 
wide expanse is broken only here and there by 
small clumps of palmettos or stunted yellow 
pines which grow on little rises of land too high 
for the water to entirely stifle their growth. Ex¬ 
cept for this all else that meets the eye is water. 
That is how the flats or drowned lands of East¬ 
ern Florida appear during the rainy season.. 
It was some time after one of these periods 
of downpour that we pitched our tent on a long 
pine-covered ridge on the edge of this drowned 
country. A crowd of Seminoles had come into 
the settlement that morning and reported the 
water falling and the deer abundant, and of 
course that was enough to start us off. In a 
short time our outfit was packed into a wagon 
and we were on our way to the hunting coun¬ 
try. 
Floundering through mud, water and palmettos 
was hard work for the horses, so one man was 
detailed to drive the team, keeping to the higher 
lands as much as possible, while the others of 
the party, four in number, took the dogs and 
started in a beeline for the place chosen as our 
first camp site on the edge of the drowned lands . 
proper. Several of the dogs were good deer 
hounds and paid no attention to the smaller 
game, but some of the pups in the pack were 
continually off after raccoons. In passing by a 
little flag pond, one pup treed a big ’coon in a 
dead pine tree, and while he was barking at it, 
the other pups discovered three more among the 
flags and there was a battle royal. For a few 
minutes there was a confused mass of dogs, 
’coons, vegetation and water in the air, and the 
din would have done credit to any menagerie at 
feeding time. Alf and George took a hand in 
the game and switched the pups so severely that 
they gave up ’coon hunting and thereafter gave 
us but little trouble. A little later the old hound, 
Lester, started a deer, but we were unable to 
get a shot. 
When we reached the camping ground we 
found that someone else had just vacated it. 
The ridge pole of their tent was still in position, 
and fastened to nearby pine trees were two deer 
heads and four turkey feet, showing that suc¬ 
cess had attended their hunt. We soon had the 
canvas up, horses picketed and a fire going. Two 
of the boys, Charlie and Frank, went out hunt¬ 
ing and found several coveys of quail and killed 
enough for our supper. After the meal was over 
we sought our blankets. The fire died down 
along with the conversation and soon the camp 
was wrapped in darkness and in slumber. 
After breakfast travel through the water was 
resumed and by noon we were again on land 
dry enough for camping purposes. George, 
Frank and myself did some hard hunting dur¬ 
ing the remainder of the day, but though tracks 
were numerous, we saw nothing and returned 
to camp empty handed. 
Next morning several of the boys had an ex¬ 
citing chase after the horses, which had strayed 
away from camp and when found were taking 
the trail toward home. After their return we 
set forth, Charlie and Alf on horseback accom¬ 
panied by the old dog Lester, while the rest of 
us with the other dogs started out afoot. I have 
