Nov. 20, 1909.] 
811 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
‘•I would rather get a lynx than a moose,’’ 
replied Ben, “but we won’t get either this trip.” 
Then we held a meeting around the fire. We 
had brought a dog 1,000 miles to hunt lynx, but 
there were no signs of them around that coun¬ 
try. The bear had apparently holed up for the 
winter, beechnuts were scarce and there was 
nothing to keep them out late. Jimmie thought 
there was a big moose on Mitchell’s Ridge. It 
was away from all the lumber camps and it 
looked as though the moose would yard there 
that winter. We agreed to make an early start 
for our last hunt. 
The morning was clear and frosty and we 
had about three inches of fresh snow. The old 
crust underneath made some noise, but we 
moved quietly by walking single file, the second 
and third man stepping in the leader’s tracks. 
Some four miles from camp Ben saw a buck 
and downed it with one shot. It had a fine 
even head with eight points. It did not take 
long to dress that deer and hang it up. The 
head was skinned out and Jimmie carried it 
along. Moose tracks began to be plentiful; they 
crossed and recrossed the old lumber road we 
were on. One large track followed the road for 
quite a distance. “Must have a big head,” said 
Jimmie; "he likes easy traveling.” He had big 
feet, anyway. The road lay along the southern 
side of the ridge and dipped down into the 
swamp in places. On the ridge the hardwood 
trees were fairly open and one could see per¬ 
haps a hundred yards ahead. Ben was in the 
lead and suddenly stopped. “That looks like 
a moose,” he said, looking down a long row of 
trees. “It is,” said Jimmie, “and he has got a 
dandy head, too.” At the first shots the bull 
urned and disappeared behind some trees. Ben 
ran ahead down the road in hopes he would 
:ome out further on. In a moment he fired, 
hen again and again. “I’ve got him,” called 
->en. Jimmie had gone down on the track where 
he moose was first seen and called out: “He 
s down here; he didn’t go far.” 
“Mine is over here,” replied Ben; “there must 
>e two of them.” 
There were two of them and they fell with- 
n a hundred yards of each other. Both were 
iant moose. The heads of each had a 54-inch 
pread and each had twenty points with palms 
rom ten to twelve inches wide. They were 
pparently old rivals, for each bore the scars 
f many battles. Near where they fell we found 
ie snow tracked up like a barnyard and bits 
f hair on the ground and bushes. So evenly 
latched were they that they would likely have 
3 Ught for the control of the yard until one or 
le other lost his horns. A deer and two moose 
1 one forenoon is not bad and we had only 
me that day to dress them out. It was six 
iles to camp and on the way we discussed what 
e should do. Our plan had been to break 
imp and go out to the settlement on the fol- 
wing day. To carry out that plan it would 
■ necessary for someone to go out that night 
t a team. I thought I could do it, although 
e eleven miles to the settlement on top of the 
iy’s walk would mean twenty-three miles. Ben 
d Jimmie were to make a hand sled that night 
d go up early the next morning and haul the 
ads down to camp. Then we would all go 
to the settlement in the afternoon. The meat 
uld be left, and Jimmie agreed to come in for 
after we had gone. 
We reached camp at 4 o’clock. In twenty 
minutes I had eaten supper, slipped some corn- 
bread into my pocket and was off down the 
trail. There was still about an hour of light 
and I figured on reaching the ridges half way 
in before dark. If I could do that I thought I 
could follow the road the rest of the way. A 
half mile from camp I turned on to the poor- 
dash road. I was always curious as to the 
origin of the name “poor-dash,” but the grim 
humor of it came to me now. It is as poor a 
place for a dash as I can imagine, a line ten 
feet wide slashed through the woods and 
STUBBY. 
swamps, over barrens and ridges. Under foot 
a mixture of fallen trees, mud, stones, ruts, ice 
and snow. All is thoroughly stirred up twice 
a week by the heavy tote teams hauling sup¬ 
plies to the lumber camps. I carried no gun 
or axe and trotted along at a good clip. The 
sun went down and a red glow filtered through 
the trees and across the snow. It was a beauti¬ 
ful night. At the edge of a barren I stopped 
a moment to admire its desolate stretches 
touched with the beauty of the setting sun. 
Beyond the barren the woods seemed dark and 
a yellow light succeeded the red. I began to 
doubt whether the light would hold until I 
reached the Plains, as the ridges are called, 
half way in, and I tried to quicken my pace. 
At last I recognized the white birches of the 
ridge, and for a mile or more the traveling was 
good. The woods at the end of the ridge were 
quite dark and I was obliged to slow d'/wn to 
a walk. Something crossed the road ahead of 
me, probably a rabbit. Further on a deer 
whistled quite close to the road. I thought of 
the fight those bucks had had near Camp Storey 
and hoped I would not meet either of them. A 
gun would have given me a more comfortable 
feeling. I picked up a good sized stick and car¬ 
ried it along, thinking it would be good for a 
cane, anyway. It was surely a relief when the 
poor-dash left the woods and wound down 
through the meadow near Big Hole Brook. It 
was still a mile to where the brook empties into 
the Miramichi River at Storeyville, but I cov¬ 
ered the distance quickly and arrived at Jim¬ 
mie’s house at 6:35 p. m. After supper I saw 
Jimmie’s brother Dan and arranged with him 
to drive in with me early the next morning. 
Dan called at 5 a. m. with the news that his 
mother was sick and she did not want him to 
go in; he would try to get brother Josh. I had 
breakfast and waited around, but Josh did not 
appear. A messenger brought back word that 
Josh was not going; was afraid he would be 
fined. I learned that an old law prohibited 
everyone from going into the woods on Sun¬ 
day. I had promised to be in Massachusetts on 
Tuesday to be with my father and mother on 
their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and it was 
worth a fine to get there; I would go in with 
the team alone. The sled that hauled our out¬ 
fit in had been taken to the lumber camp. A 
neighbor had one, but for some reason would 
not lend it; afraid of a fine, I suppose. Jimmie 
had a new steel-shod sled in his barn chamber 
and his twelve-year-old boy helped get it down. 
It was shy a floor and sides, but we made these 
out of the body of a wagon, then hitched in 
Jimmie’s pair of horses, threw on some food, 
an axe and a soap box for a seat and at 8 o’clock 
I left the settlement for the woods. 
Poor-dashing is not all joy. There were 
places where I could only sit tight, steer and 
hope for the best. The horses were well trained 
for their work; they took the mud holes with 
a rush and walked the rotten old corduroy 
bridges as a matter of course. On the barrens 
in spots they went in up to their bellies and 
we plunged through showers of mud and water. 
About 11 o’clock I made camp and put up the 
horses in the stable or hovel. After caring for 
them I got some dinner, then packed everything 
on the sled. A note left by Ben informed me 
they were starting at daybreak and hoped to be 
back by 1 o’clock. It was 3130 when they came 
in, completely tired out—the only time I ever 
saw Jimmie tired. Some dinner and hot tea 
put new life into them. They were obliged to 
leave the heads two miles up the trail. The 
snow had softened up and it had taken them 
six hours to haul and push that sled with its 
heavy load four miles. They quit only when 
they were so tired and hungry they could not 
pull another pound. 
We arranged to go up after the heads with 
the team. At the poor-dash road we unpacked 
the sled and Ben and Rex stayed with the out¬ 
fit. I went on ahead with an axe to clear out 
the old road and Jimmie drove up behind me. 
We lost no time loading on the heads and re¬ 
turning, but it was dark when we reached the 
outfit. Ben had the lantern lighted and Rex 
whined a greeting. We quickly loaded the sle^I, 
the heavy stuff at the bottom, the heads on top, 
then roped it all on securely. At 6:30 the pro¬ 
cession started down the poor-dash; Jimmie 
drove, I walked ahead of the horses with the 
lantern, and Ben, with Rex on a rope, kept just 
