650 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 29, 1911. 
streak of red curled for a moment, and then 
blended with the dark green. Now, I can’t say 
that I saw a shark take the man, for really I 
don’t know what it was, but I saw the swirl and 
the shadow, the stain in the water, and the arms 
of the man thrown up as he disappeared. So I 
put two and two together. Other men may 
doubt that sharks attack men, but I take no 
risks, thank you.” 
There was a quiet little Englishman present 
and I saw he had something to tell; the follow¬ 
ing: “I was fishing Mer Meer in Cheshire, 
England, for pike. I had a gudgeon on for bait 
and got a strike. But when the fish came near 
I saw it was a good-sized yellow perch. I let 
him have his way for I was not anxious about 
him, anyway, so he ran out about twenty feet 
of line. Suddenly I felt a strong pull and struck 
smartly. After a ten-minute battle I landed an 
eighteen-pound pike. The hook had projected 
from the mouth of the perch and thus caught 
the pike when he took my catch. \\ hen we cut 
him open he had two young birds, whether duck 
or marsh hens I could not tell; also there was a 
quantity of half-digested fish which I took to be 
gudgeon. And another one we caught that day 
had a full grown pigeon, not our small kind, 
but those big European ones in whose stomach 
we found whole ears of wheat, not the grain, 
but the whole ear, and acorns with cup and all. 
Some of the acorns were almost as big as his 
head, and how he got those hairy ears down 
without tickling himself to death I do not know. 
So the conversation ran of roosters that swal¬ 
lowed mice, of snakes so full of eggs that they 
positively popped when smitten with a club, but 
when the Deacon started on the classic of the 
fish that swallowed a Jew and then a box of 
lemons, only to be found later with the Jew in¬ 
side, selling the lemons two for five, we broke 
up the party and turned in with a sigh of bliss. 
Over the boundary mountains the clouds were 
piled up in great masses, through the rifts the 
stars twinkled, and far off o’er the tall crags 
a comet blazed. Thus lying cosily beneath the 
blankets I floated off to dreamland with my last 
conscious moment occupied in listening to a por¬ 
cupine scratching industriously at the logs and 
grunting whenever he came to a knot. 
Next morning the Deacon and the Doctor 
started with Albert for the top of Snow Moun¬ 
tain, while Cave Man and Gray Rabbit fished 
Big Island Lake. We were climbing steadily up 
the hard trail, sometimes with hands as well as 
feet, when Indian Albert pointed to a thicket 
and grunted. We could hear a strong rustling, 
and as we turned aside, out from the brush 
there broke a great black animal which started 
up a tall spruce, the chips flying from the dry 
bark as he climbed. “Bear,” shouted the Deacon, 
and with his empty hands he started after the 
beast. But as it turned and showed its teeth, he 
paused to meditate. By the time we came up 
the animal was perched high up among the ever¬ 
green boughs, and a big, bristling mass he looked 
indeed. “Wait a minute,” said the Doctor, draw¬ 
ing his pistol. “Let’s have a shot at him, any¬ 
way.” “Crack” went the pistol, the beast gave 
a heave that sent my heart beating as I thought 
he was going to jump, but he only clutched a 
limb with his long claws, and began to haul 
himself still higher up in the forest tops. 
Thinks I, he’s a big bear cub, surely. Again the 
pistol cracked and yet again. Then with a tre¬ 
mendous crackling of branches the shadowy mass 
hidden in the foliage came down with a bump, 
and we rushed forward to find a huge porcu¬ 
pine lying in a heap, while silent Albert grinned; 
that was an Indian joke. 
Poor beast, he put his ungainly black paws to 
his face and sobbed out his last breath, while 
a wave of pity went over us. The Indian 
laughed at us and affirmed that porcupine was 
as good as any mutton, but we digged a hole, 
and after plucking some quills, Albert buried 
him solemnly, while we determined never to 
shoot another one of these interesting creatures 
unless he got in bed with us. 
But all our regrets were forgotten when we 
waded through the last snow and reached the 
peak. Far as the eye could reach in every direc¬ 
tion, great mountains towered, and hidden away 
in the forests scores of lakes glimmered. Not 
a human habitation could be seen. Everywhere 
crags and peaks, forests and streams, and be¬ 
hind them all more mountains and sky. 
When we reached camp again, Gray Rabbit 
and Cave Man had the finest trout so far, a 
landing net full of two and three-pounders. So 
off we went to scour the brush for trails. A 
rabbit or two, a covey of grouse, and again two 
or three deer started up; in fact, we approached 
so close that any hunter could have shot them, 
but the law was on and we were not out for 
game, so we took a photograph of a year-old 
buck. 
Next day we started to fish Big Island Lake 
on a wager that the Deacon, though “a novice” 
would catch most fish, and he did, for at eve¬ 
ning he had a string of two-pounders to his 
credit while none of us had more than one. 
Going over the record of our catches, which 
we always kept carefully on special blanks, I 
found that so far he was both “high line” and 
“biggest fish,” so I said to Cave Man: “What 
do you think of this? The Deacon casts a line 
as though he would lasso a fish. Is he doing it 
to fool us?” 
“Beginner’s luck,” growled Cave Man in his 
guttural bass, and to that he stuck, so I said: 
“Well, to-morrow we will change boats and 
guides; do you go with the Deacon and I’ll bet 
a cooky he catches more fish than you do.” 
As we started, a pair of woodducks flew up 
from the shallows. Far off in the clouds an 
eagle was wheeling, and soon I had the trout 
rising. One big golden-hued fish rose just as 
you see in pictures. A splash first warned me 
of his presence, then out of the green waters 
of the lake he rose, shook the water from his 
gills, turned gracefully over and took the fly 
as he disappeared. It was ten minutes before 
he came to the net, a two-pounder. 
Thus out of the wind, under the lee of the 
woods, we fished while Leopold entertained me 
with stories of his distant home: 
“Der's an Indian lives near here, Indian Joe. 
By Gor, he has black hair like pig bristles, un 
drink—he do anything for drink. Why, one day 
he come to de pries’, M. le Cure, un say, b caus, 
Indian Joe un’stand a lil’ French: ‘M. Cure, 
voulez vous achete un quartier de moose ferre? 
Dat is, you un’stand, he ask de pries’ if he want 
buy some shod moose. ‘Oui, oui, avec plaisir,’ 
says de pries’; 'et il bon, et gros?’ So de pries’ 
say he glad to buy moose if it good un big. 
‘“Oui, M. le Cure, tres gros et tres bon.’ So 
Indian Joe, he bring de quarter of moose. The 
cure, he ver’ glad un sen’ some to his frien’s 
aiso de boardin’ house man, Boston Joe, bu, 
some, too, un fed his boarders with it, un a) 
say dey lak ver’ much. 
“Nex’ day Indian Joe see de pries’ un ask 
‘De moose ferre, monsieur, et il bon?’ ‘Ou 
oui,’ says de pries', 'tres bon.’ Dat is, you un 
’stand de pries’ say de moose very good. Bi 
jus’ den Boston Joe come un say he foun’ shoe 
on his moose, un what dat mean? Gosh, de cur 
w r ar mad un won’t speak. But Joe, he hur 
about railway trac’ un find a horse broke h: 
leg, un find, too, dat half de horse gone. De 
he remember he find funny hair on his moos 
un den he know what de matter is. He tell c 
pries’, un de pries’ call Indian Joe. But India 
only laugh un say: ‘M. le Cure, je vous par 
de moose etais ferre’ (‘Ah tol’ you dis moo: 
war shod’). But de pries’ remember dat he gn 
de hors’ to his frien’s, un by Gor, he’s ver’ ma 
He say: ‘Indian Joe, you bad Indian. Ain’t 
give you work plantin’ ma potatoes? Un air 
you plant one row un den t’row de res’ in ho 
un cover ’em all up when I give you de mone? 
Un ain’t I ’stonished when I find my potato 
come up in one line un den one big booncl 
Un now you sell me horse for moose—you b: 
Indian.’ 
“But Boston Joe don’ care; he fed it to 1 
boarders un dey say it war good. Un sure, I 
dian Joe don’ care either; he’s got his whisk 
all right, un he don' care.” 
By this time the wind was swooping down a 
I noticed Cave Man’s canoe toiling up with t 
Deacon, smiling. Cave Man had noticed a trc 
flopping on the surface and netted him only 
find that it was hanging from the mouth of 
two-pounder which the net brought in, too. T 
big fish had attempted to swallow the smal 
one and was having such difficulty that be 
were caught. 
After we landed, I interviewed Cave M 
about the Deacon. “Well,” said he, I 
stumped. We put out there and the Deac 
had all the luck. He made a cast and aw 
went my hat, hooked through the brim; anotl 
cast took Indian Charlie on the cheek. The 
dian just grunted and pulled the hook loc 
But just the same the Deacon got the fi 
When the wind came up so strong we put 
to change from paddle to oars, and would 3 
believe it, while we were changing, the Deac 
merely trailing his flies in the water, got 
strike, and after twenty minutes pulled in 
biggest trout so far.” 
I went over to view the catch. Cave ^ 
had only the two-pounder and the eight-ou 
trout caught in the hand net, but the Dea 
had half a dozen fine ones and the prize of 
a three-pounder. “What do you think of 
ginner’s luck now?” said I. “Didn’t I tell yoi 
would ‘wipe your eye’?” But to all my jok 
Cave Man merely shook his head and tur 
away with a grunt. 
After an early breakfast we started on 
trail for Chain-of-Ponds, seven miles away, 
passed two small lakes with ducks padd 
among the weeds and beaver houses hidder 
the marshes. We came across a porcupine 
tent on his day’s work, and when disturbed t 
wrinkling his brow in puzzled discontent, 
stupidly climbing a tree to wait until we 
disappeared. On the trail somebody had ki 
one of these meddlesome creatures, for a t 
