April 29, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
651 
branch covered with quills buried half an inch 
in the green wood, lay nearby. We saw several 
deer and Albert pointed out places where he 
had met bears. As we descended to the valleys 
the trees grew greener; red and white trillium 
and little bluets made the trail lovely. And then 
we struck into a deserted lumber road marked, 
“Sixty miles to Chesuncook” where the finger 
pointed through the deep forests. 
Soon Chain-of-Ponds lay before us, and as 
we drew to the landing I pulled out the minnow 
trap set the night before. In it we found a 
dozen suckers and a huge eel. I asked Albert 
if he would eat it, but he simply grunted. To 
the same question Leopold said: “Gor, I’d as 
soon eat snake.” In vain I told them the charms 
of eel pie. They cast the big W'rithing fellow 
out on the bank where I found him some twenty 
minutes later with his skin all dry and wrinkled 
from the sun. Just to see what would happen, 
I cast him back in the water. He gave a few 
erratic whirls and then made off. 
Then we started out trolling. The wind 
roared through the gap in the bare mountains, 
but we had many strikes, though somehow none 
took good hold, so we concluded that they were 
small trout with mouths too little for the huge 
spinner we had on. We saw a couple of deer 
on shore while ducks and loons dove in the far 
waters. Just then I spied—was it a snake? Call¬ 
ing Albert, I said: “There’s a snake swimming 
toward us; let me get a shot at it.” We pulled 
over and then we saw it was—a red squirrel 
chased into the cold water by some swift enemy 
on the bank. He was pulling sturdily for the 
opposite bank a quarter of a mile away. We 
were right in his path, but he came straight 
for us. His toes scratched along the paddle we 
stretched out for him, then along the boat, and 
finally, as we passed, he struck out for the dis¬ 
tant rocks with might and main. 
The vapors were hanging in veils along the 
mountain and lake as we started next morning. 
A buck and a doe walked out of the birch thicket 
and two waterfowl were sporting some 250 yards 
away. “What are they, Albert,” said the Deacon. 
“Ducks?” But just then they told us by their 
cry. They were loons making an early meal on 
trout. I had read much of the difficulty of 
shooting these lightning divers, and when the 
Deacon asked if my automatic pistol would carry 
that far, I took the hint not to kill, but only to 
see them dive at the flash. The first shot sent 
the water showering over them, but they did 
not dive. Up on their tails they sat, shook their 
wings and sent out that looney laugh as if to 
say: “Never touched us.” The next shot 
struck right between them and this time they 
went down like a flash, but only for about two 
seconds. A third shot showered them once more, 
but they did not dive at the flash. Perhaps the 
smokeless powder made no flash visible at that 
distance; perhaps the echoes from the mountain 
prevented them from locating whence the shot 
came, we were so far away. At any rate they 
only flapped their comical wings and sent out 
their shrill, mocking laugh. But at the fourth 
shot Indian Albert said: “Got him!” As far 
as I could see they were still untouched, but 
when we rowed up, one dove while the other 
floated. It proved to be a male, shot right 
through the head, and so beautiful was his plum¬ 
age that we decided to carry him out and have 
him mounted. 
On we went to anchor and fish in a round 
pond that joined the lake. Here the trout were 
big and gamy and many came to the net. But 
the time had come for us to separate. Cave 
Man, Gray Rabbit and the Deacon were to stay 
longer, while the Doctor took the trail home¬ 
ward. But while the guides prepared a luscious 
dinner, Cave Man took the Doctor out for his 
last try, with a Parmacheene Belle and a Little 
Injun on as flies. 
Then things began to happen. Almost at the 
first cast a landlocked salmon took the fly, and 
the trout followed as fast as we could land them. 
It seemed as if the fish were out to say good¬ 
bye. Even as the dinner call came, they were 
rising three at a time. 
The loon was packed in a cornucopia of birch 
bark with the smooth side in. Farewells were 
said, the Doctor and the Indian took the .trail, 
while the others waved God-speed till a bend 
hid them from view. Mile after mile we 
plodded, now stopping to take a pistol shot at 
a hawk, now gazing in silence where deer 
jumped from the thickets or ran along the trail 
ahead. Now a beaver colony appeared and just 
as the sun was setting we reached Arnold’s 
Pond again in time for the Doctor to cast a 
line athwart the lingering shadows, and to play 
a fine salmon in the afterglow; the last fish, as 
the first one on the trip, being a salmon. 
At sunrise the trail was again taken, and at 
4 p. M., after a long tramp where squirrels chat¬ 
tered, deer leaped and foxes furtively watched, 
the Doctor stood at the gangplank to say fare¬ 
well to Indian Charlie and the Northern trails. 
The trip was ended, but not the memory of it. 
Still in feverish nights and busy days the Doctor 
goes over the trail again and hears the leap of 
the fish, the song of the birds and the roar of 
many waters. Often the dimpled smile of still 
pools broken by the trout’s rush, after the glow 
♦of the camp-fire and the days of fellowship 
spent with sturdy hearts come back again, and 
he sees once more Cave Man, Gray Rabbit, Leo¬ 
pold, the Indian and the sly smile of the Novice 
on’ the Northern trails. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
Why is a wolf always “a gaunt gray timber 
wolf” when referred to by writers of popular 
stories? A greyhound and the pony on which 
the wolf hunter rides are equally gaunt, but 
these characteristics are seldom mentioned. Why, 
too, is a grizzly bear photographed by flashlight 
while following the trail to the garbage heap 
always described as “infuriated,” his eyes gleam¬ 
ing “balefully” and reflecting “hatred”? Then 
there is the man whom the police catch with “a 
smoking revolver still clutched in his hand,” de¬ 
spite the fact that nitro powder develops little 
smoke, and that this is instantly dissipated. 
“Automatic revolvers” is another misnomer fre¬ 
quently emp.oyed, although in the automatic pis¬ 
tol there is nothing which revolves. There is 
an automatic revolver, but it is made in England 
and is so clumsy and crude that it does not ap¬ 
peal to Americans, whose home manufacturers 
stand alone in revolver and pistol making. 
Britishers are objecting because London police¬ 
men are to carry American automatic pistols, 
but those responsible for the selection of these 
arms knew a thing or two about merit in fire¬ 
arms. Our army officers will shortly be equipped 
with pistols of the same type and make. As a 
matter of fact, these arms are only semi-auto¬ 
matic, in that the trigger must be pressed for 
each shot. The recoil merely ejects the spent 
shell, loads the weapon and leaves it ready for 
the firing of another shot by pressing the trigger. 
Still it is the popular belief that all one need 
do to maintain continuous fire is to press the 
trigger once and hold it. Persons who have shot 
these arms stoutly assert that this is true, and 
the only explanation occurring to me is that the 
novelty of firing several shots made them forget 
that their finger muscles had been exerted at all. 
* * * 
A sufficient number of shooters continue to 
write to the London papers to keep alive dis¬ 
cussion on the alleged danger of mixing 12 and 
20 gauge cartridges. The Field says all 20-bore 
cartridges should be made from black paper, and 
some of the manufacturers are putting out black 
cases of this caliber, while others refuse to do 
so or print a ring of 20’s around cases of other 
colors but of this gauge. All of which, in my 
opinion, relieves Missourians of the stigma of 
being the only people who must be “shown.” 
Even a Britisher, who is assumed to be unable 
to keep 12 and 20 bore cartridges separated, will, 
after a few days’ sojourn here, be able to dis¬ 
tinguish, by the sense of touch alone, the dif¬ 
ference in size and weight of our quarter and 
half dollar silver coins. This is scarcely greater 
than the difference in the two cartridges referred 
to. In fact, when a 20 is placed alongside of a 
12, the size of the latter appears much greater 
than it really is, and the difference in weight 
is considerable. Therefore, I for one cannot 
understand how any man who knows where the 
chambers of his gun are situated, will put a 
stray 20-gauge shell into one of them, and then, 
thinking he had imagined the act, jam a 12-gauge 
shell on top and fire the two. 
* * * 
Here on the top rail is no place for women, 
bless ’em, for it is a perch they seldom attain 
unaided. One of the expressions in a recent 
book, therefore, is mystifying to a mere man, 
for it refers to attempts on the part of the fair 
sex to “sit over a fence” while evolving the 
theory and practice of equitation for women. If 
the woman who wrote this book ever finds her¬ 
self in the Rocky Mountains, and meets the 
numerous women who accompany their husbands 
and brothers on horseback trips to the hunting 
and fishing grounds, she may revise her opinions 
as to the merits of the side saddle, for riding 
astride is, in the hill country at least, popularly 
regarded as the safer if not the more graceful 
method. But the top rail is no place for dis¬ 
cussions of the merits of either method; at 
least not by Grizzly King. 
