G10 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 16, 1909. 
who knows the ferns. The beds of New York 
ferns were all bleached white as Indian pipes, 
and the dark green fronds of the Christmas 
fern stood up in beautiful contrast with the 
brilliant carpet of falling leaves. 
The following week was spent with Alick as 
guide. We covered a lot of country, but did 
not get a shot. The weather remained clear 
and the woods became so dry that it was im¬ 
possible to travel in the leaves without making 
a great noise. Besides a few birch partridges, 
our only trophy was a three-toed woodpecker. 
Hunters and guides now began to fill all the 
cabins at Heald Pond, and also the surrounding 
forest. As the drouth continued, the woods 
were too noisy for successful hunting. For al¬ 
most two weeks no one killed a deer. There 
seemed no way for me to get a buck with a 
head suitable for mounting. Yet, even though 
I should not get a big buck, I must have some 
venison to take home. I hunted alone; out 
every morning before daylight, hunting until 
7 or 8 o’clock. After breakfast start off again 
as soon as the other hunters had departed. 
On one of these bright, sunny mornings 
Jessie offered to guide me to Bald Mountain 
stream, where her father said I ought to find 
partridges. After a half-hour’s walk along a 
tote road leading back through the hardwood 
forest, we came out to a log bridge spanning 
a stream, which, Jessie said, had lots of trout 
in it when the water was high. As I had given 
up all thought of big game, we started on the 
run, springing from one stone to the next, fol¬ 
lowing down the brook. Jessie and I were old 
friends now, and we made little noise, even 
though we were having a good time. Of 
course, we watched the banks on each side for 
partridges, and after going almost a mile, we 
began to see tracks in the sand. Soon we 
jumped a small deer which sprang away into 
the woods as we rounded a turn. Then a dis¬ 
covery dawned upon us; the deer were coming 
down to this stream to drink, as all the springs 
and small ponds were dry from the long drouth. 
We went on slowly, examining each side of the 
stream more closely. Jessie knew the little 
hoof-prints in the sand and gravel at the water’s 
edge, and each heart-shaped track told its 
story; either buck, or doe, or fawn had come 
down to drink. I soon grew anxious to be 
alone with my rifle in this opportunity. There 
would just be time for a treat of sweet chocolate 
in my cabin, so we started back to camp, Jessie 
promising to keep our discovery a secret. 
The sparkling white frost bit hard next morn¬ 
ing as I started off for all day with a pocket¬ 
ful of cold biscuits and a small steak. Going 
straight to Bald Mountain stream, I followed 
along where Jessie had led me the day previous. 
I saw more tracks, but did not start a deer. 
Keeping on down stream, fresh tracks were still 
found on both sides. Finally about ten o’clock 
I came to some splendid deer tracks so clear 
and fresh that I could go no further. Three 
deer had come down to the water and gone 
back into the woods by the same runway. To 
enter the woods I had to get down on my hands 
and knees. The trail led straight back through 
a cedar swamp for about seventy-five yards, the 
brush and slash so thick that creeping was 
necessary. 
Although it was the most difficult sort of 
work, not one twig snapped. Just as the 
ground began to rise and I could see the trees 
opening out a bit where the hardwood growth 
began, I heard a rustling in the leaves on the 
ground. It sounded like a red squirrel racing 
through the leaves, and twice I was tempted to 
go ahead, but I waited and waited to be sure. 
There, coming toward me through the second 
growth was a fine buck, his head down, feeding 
along quietly. As I rose upon my knees and 
took aim, the pumping inside was much too 
hard and the fore sight went around in circles. 
My buck fed on slowly, and presently, as he 
stepped out into clearer view, everything quieted 
within me. I raised the rifle, squeezed it hard, 
and fired. He jumped off to the right and then 
stumbled blindly, never getting out of sight. 
The lead had gone straight. 
Scrambling up through the slash, I reached 
him almost as he went down and hurried his 
death with another shot. There lay a good 
and lucky ending for my .long vacation; the 
hope of many hungry hours spent in the big 
woods. I could go home now, but there was 
some hard work first. It was impossible to 
slide the deer more than ten yards toward the 
brook, so I stopped work to eat. This was cer¬ 
tainly a happy meal, although eaten alone. I 
built a fire of dry twigs against a large stone 
near the water, where the gravel was wet, and 
I had the brook for company. 
After the toasted biscuit and broiled steak 
were gone, I went back to work. And work 
it was, cleaning that big, fat buck and cutting 
out the hindquarters. This good meat was to 
be shipped home, a three-days’ trip. Leaving 
on the hide, I hauled it down to the brook over 
one log and under another and finally sunk it 
in the ice-cold water. 
Returning to camp late in the afternoon, I 
was soon found out. Fred discovered some 
blood stains on my clothes and knew the rest, 
of course. Jessie at once told how she had 
found so many fresh tracks the previous day. 
When my luck was known to all the campers, 
Jessie received great praise for being so good 
a guide. 
Keep One Eye on the Bank. 
As has been said so many times before, in its 
uncertainty lies the hidden charm of angling. 
Uncertainty, not only as regards the catch, but 
also as to one’s experiences afield. 
A friend of mine once pursued and captured 
a small bear cub, while on a trout stream down 
in Pike county, Pa., only to be pursued in turn 
by the angry bear mother, and held captive in 
a friendly tree for several hours, though he 
dropped the cub. 
Few of us have ever experienced anything 
quite so exciting, nothing from which we might 
construct so good a story as being chased by 
a bear. Nevertheless to the keen observer there 
are often things of greater interest to be seen 
upon the bank than in the stream. 
Some of my most treasured recollections are 
not of the trout I caught (or lost), but of the 
things I saw along the bank. 
The most unusual experience of the kind that 
ever befel my lot occurred some three years 
ago while on a fishing trip in Monroe county, 
Pennsylvania. 
I was alone, having dropped quietly away from 
the other members of the party to try a big 
trout down in a well known pool. So fixed was 
my purpose that I did not try a cast on reach¬ 
ing the stream above the pool, but walked down 
a path beside the water, and finally, to avoid a 
stone wall, out into a field. Surely I would get 
him this time. The day was perfect, with noth¬ 
ing to disturb me or turn me from my pur¬ 
pose. I was well away from everybody; I was 
going a-fishing. 
As I paralleled the stone wall I was roused 
to sudden interest by the sound of rustling 
leaves on the other side, and I stepped up close 
and peered over. There was a mass of tumbled 
stones, and along these in and out of miniature 
tunnels, ran a family of weasels. Four, five, 
six I counted and finally a seventh passed, none 
of them paying the slightest attention to me as 
I stood there in plain sight watching the in¬ 
teresting procession. 
When I was sure the last one had gone I re¬ 
sumed my way to the pool, wondering mean¬ 
while what mission could bring these wary little 
fellows on such an evidently purposeful journey. 
A hundred yards further on I came to the end 
of this wall which here was entirely tumbled 
down and scattered over the ground. 
I was approaching my pool and supposed the 
weasel incident closed, when to my great sur¬ 
prise I saw the little band again nearing the 
end of the wall. 
I stood for a moment just looking, but as the 
first one jumped down into the grass and I saw 
the others were going to follow, an idea flashed 
into my mind—I might catch one. 
Then things happened quickly. I jumped right 
in among them like a great hawk descending 
upon its helpless prey. For a moment they were 
taken by surprise, bewildered and crouched there 
at my feet perfectly still. In that instant my 
