A Fall Fur Hunt in Maine 
* . 
VI.—The Friends’ Parting—On Thin Ice—The 
Moosehead Trip—Conclusion 
By MANLY HARDY 
I N the morning Rufus and I shook hands and 
parted, he to look the Loon Lake traps on 
his way back to our old camp and I to sack 
my pack toward civilization. I hated to say good¬ 
bye, as we had had storms' and sunshine to¬ 
gether for nine weeks, with never a word of 
trouble, working together like one’s two hands. 
One finds out more about a man in a month in 
the woods than in years out in the States. 
Wadleigh got me to guide and we crossed a 
small brook which I took to be a branch of Big 
Scott, and striking an old tote road we came to 
a new camp where only the head man was at 
home. His name was Mose McKay, and al¬ 
though we at first refused, no excuse would 
answer; he must fry us some pork and make 
us a dipper of tea. His men had gone to theii 
wangan boat for food. He told us that an old 
tote, with men’s tracks leading west, would take 
us to Russell Stream, and there we must take 
the ice. We would find a camp on the south 
side of Russell where we could get further direc¬ 
tions. 
Following the old tote we met a man and a 
large boy carrying a barrel half full of molasses 
slung on a pole. They had brought it several 
miles and had several more to carry it. We 
could hear the molasses swish as they passed. 
This is what in the woods is called “soul-cart¬ 
ing” i A 
At about io o’clock we came to the stream, ana 
seeing a camp smoke to the right, I left the 
others to try to get some directions. I found 
a big negro, probably the cook, who, if he knew 
where he was, was too important to talk with 
common people, so we took the ice. We soon 
came to a batteau frozen in hard. As we went 
down on the ice we could see where the crew 
had broken ice for a long way, but finally had 
to abandon their boat. Near noon we reached 
Russell Pond and found the camp of Babb and 
Strickland, Levi Davis, of Veazie, head man. 
He was a w-hite man, gave us a dinner of the 
best he had, and after dinner went a mile across 
the lake with an axe to try the ice and show us 
what is called a “wrinkle”—where the ice is 
thicker—as it was raining and he said the ice 
was not safe. He wondered how we dared to 
come on the ice to his camp, for he said his men 
tried to go up the day before and backed out, 
and that owing to the warmer weather and the 
rain, the ice was weaker. He gave us good di¬ 
rections and treated us like brothers. Poor man, 
while felling a pine the next winter the tree 
jumped back, and as he stood in front of a 
rock it cut his leg off, or so that it had to be 
taken off. 
We kept the road until we came to a river 
driver’s table stood up on end for a sign, and 
then, as Davis had told us, we turned to the 
left until we came to the stream where a tall 
spruce had been felled across it, because it was 
open. The butt of the spruce was toward us, 
but the top barely reached the other shore and 
the current made the further end spring up and 
down. As the shore end was small and the 
water was running over it a foot deep, it was 
not much of a picnic to walk it. However, we 
all crossed safely and in due time we reached 
the West Branch of Penobscot, about a mile 
above the Northeast Carry. Here was a new 
camp, but no one at home. There was a track 
broken through the ice and a batteau lay on the 
further side. I fired both barrels to call some¬ 
one to set us over, but after waiting a while 
during which time I was firing heavy powder 
charges, Wadleigh said that if I would go back 
to an old driving camp which we had passed 
and get two setting poles and a split he would 
try to cross. I brought the articles he desired 
and some rope yarn which I found. With it 
he tied together the ends of the setting poles, 
and laying them on the ice like a V, he laid a 
wide split across, lay down upon it and began 
to make a swimming motion which moved him 
slowly across. The ice buckled badly under him 
and I tried to get him to come back, since if he 
broke in we could not save him, but he per¬ 
severed, although the ice was so thin that he 
could stick his hand through it. He had barely 
got across before a Frenchman, who had been 
attracted by firing, came and set us over. 
We reached the camp at the east end of the 
carry just before dusk. As we came south the 
snow which had been ten inches when we started 
grew less, until there was not more than an inch 
here. Owing to the detours I had been obliged 
to make. I had traveled fully forty miles, carry¬ 
ing a rifle and a forty-pound pack which did 
not grow any lighter. At the camp were some 
twenty men, mostly Canadian-French. This-was 
a large log camp with an earth floor and bough 
beds on one side of the long .log fire. I had 
brought in my pack a full outfit of clothes, in¬ 
cluding hat and heavy overcoat, and as what 
I had on was so torn as to be worthless, I threw 
them away and changed to a decent suit. 
“Nov. ii. Snows hard. Saw a robin sitting 
on a stump in the clearing and he looked ver> 
lonesome. It is singular how little bird life we 
have seen. In nine weeks I do not remember 
seeing a single chickadee or nuthatch we rarely 
have any but the red-bellied—not a pileated 
woodpecker nor a woodpecker of any kind, noi 
a crossbill. One day I saw three pine gros¬ 
beaks in the red plumage, the first I ever saw in 
this dress.” We did not see a single eagle, 
hawk, raven, crow or heron, dhree bitterns, 
as many sheldrakes, one pied-billed grebe, a few 
buffleheads and a very few wood and black- 
ducks early in September, and three old squaws 
which came in a storm were all the bird life 
except owls, Canada jays and a couple of blue- 
jays, and early in the season a few loons. We 
averaged seeing about one partridge in two days. 
Coming out the forty miles we did not see a 
single living bird or animal, nor the track of 
anything except the bear and fisher previously 
mentioned. Moose were really quite plentiful 
in that region, but at that time as soon as they 
smelled smoke or heard axes, they usually left 
the vicinity and did not yard until they were 
at least three miles away. 
Although this was not a regular steamer day, 
we hoped she might come to bring some crews 
coming in, so Wadleigh and I went across two 
miles to the Moosehead end of the carry to be 
ready if she came. The only shelter over there 
was a frame covered with spruce bark where 
lumbermen’s supplies were stored. We went 
back for dinner and returned in the afternoon 
in a thick snow storm. Hour after hour passed 
and I had just been out on the end of the long 
log pier and put a leaf from my journal in a 
split stick with “Passengers at the other side, 
whistle,” and had stuck it up for the captain to 
see, if he came, when Wadleigh called to me 
and pointed down the lake. Looking, I could 
see through the snow storm a small dark speck. 
Soon I could see it was the steamer’s smoke¬ 
stack, but she turned side toward us and seemed 
to be going to Northwest Carry. We had given 
up all hope when suddenly she hauled her wind 
and bore down for us. It was fortunate we 
were ready, as she did not stop over five minutes 
and then started for the Northwest Carry. The 
“Fairy of the Lake” had been taken off and re¬ 
placed by the old freighter “Moosehead.” She 
was crowded with supplies and put off nineteen 
tons of baled hay and other goods. After the 
freight was landed we found that the engineer 
was drunk and had let the fires go out, and be- 
