578 
F O R E S T AND S T R E A M 
October, 1918 
A little doe picked her way quietly past I was naturally surprised and pleased to 
me, but I was waiting for a pair* of horns. find the tracks of a big bull moose 
With my rifle at the ready I stole alon 
softly on the big fellow’s hoof-prints 
DOUBLE-CROSSED AND DIAMOND-HITCHED 
“NEWT” NEWKIRK ESSAYS THE THANKLESS ROLE OF GAME WARDEN IN THE BIG 
GAME COUNTRY AND DISCOVERS THERE ARE TWO SIDES TO EVERY PRACTICAL JOKE 
T HERE were four of us in camp— 
Bill, Doc, Sam and I, all pals of long 
standing. Bill, Doc and Sam, being 
bona fide residents of the state, were not 
required to purchase hunting licenses while 
I, a non-resident, had been obliged to dig 
up 25 bones for such a document before I 
could lug a gun in that neck of woods. 
The camp wasn’t much to brag about, 
but it answered the purpose for the two 
weeks we occupied it. The building was 
an old abandoned lumber shack which 
stood in the heart of the woods about a 
mile back from Clear River, in a good deer 
country with now and then the chance of 
bringing down a bull moose. Bill, who 
had hunted here before, was pilot for the 
party and we employed no guides—not 
even a cook, the culinary labors being di¬ 
vided among us. For instance, Bill was 
the baker, Doc the cook, Sam washed the 
dishes while my job was to make the coffee 
and keep the woodbox full. 
We were all as full of pranks and mis¬ 
chief as a quartet of kids just out of 
school. Knowing there would be a lot of 
horse-play going on I took in with me a 
few portable jokes which A picked up at a 
joke-shop in town before leaving. One 
was an innocent looking glass salt-shaker 
with a screw-top full of holes, but under 
the holes was a thin layer of transparent 
celluloid. First chance I got I filled the 
shaker half full of salt and sneaked it on 
the table. Doc got it first and after a few 
shakes and a few choice cuss-words 
dropped it and grabbed the other shaker. 
While this saltless-shaker went up and 
down the table I nearly choked with mirth. 
Finally Bill vowed he’d find out why the 
salt didn’t come out, or die in the attempt. 
When the mystery was solved I denied 
knowing anything about it. 
One evening after supper I slipped a 
lifelike rubber beetle in the tin-dipper 
which hung near the water-pail. Sam was 
the first thirsty victim. He got the beetle 
in his mouth before he woke up. Then 
with a roar of disgust and horror he spat 
it on the floor and took the lamp to ex¬ 
amine it. We all gathered around and 
when Sam found it was rubber he said he 
could lick the guy who pulled the joke. 
Again I was innocent. 
By NEWTON NEWKIRK 
An evening or two after that the four 
of us sat down to supper hungry as six 
bears. Deer meat was on the menu. The 
only light we had to eat by came from a 
smoky lantern overhead. Doc (the cook) 
served me with a piece of venison which 
I couldn’t seem to cut with my knife. At 
last, in desperation, I took it into my prim¬ 
itive paws and began to gnaw into it. Then 
I discovered that the deer meat was in 
truth the rag which Bill used to grease 
his biscuit pans, fried to a crisp! This 
caused considerable joy around the table, 
especially from Doc. 
The next day a newcomer was to arrive 
in camp for a few days’ hunting, in the 
person of Hen Ryder from Boston, who 
was a long-time friend of Sam’s, but a 
stranger to the rest of us. Sam said we 
must pool our wits and put a good one 
over on his friend Hen who could take a 
joke as well as anybody. 
N EXT morning after breakfast I shoul¬ 
dered my trusty rifle and, with a bit 
of lunch in my pocket, poked off 
alone for a day’s hunt. I followed an old 
tote-road that ran several miles north 
from camp and after two miles left it and 
struck east, knowing I could find it again 
any time by traveling west by compass. It 
was a crisp morning in late October and 
what little breeze there was blew in my 
face where I wanted it. I had the whole 
day before me and didn’t hurry, but pussy¬ 
footed it softly along and every little while 
I’d stop, look and listen. This is *my fa¬ 
vorite method of hunting and will con¬ 
tinue to be until I can see better, hear bet¬ 
ter and smell better than a deer or a 
moose. Once as I sat silent in the shade 
of a spruce I heard a faint rustling in the 
leaves and presently a young doe stepped 
daintiU into view and browsed her way 
past me. She interested me, but not as a 
target—what I wanted to connect with 
was a big, husky buck with say 12 points 
on his horns. 
When noon came I ate my snack and 
indulged in a bowl of tobacco. Consult¬ 
ing my compass I decided to work slowly 
north a couple of miles or so and then 
strike westward to hit the tote-road back 
to camp about dusk. A little way ahead 
I came to a low, soggy bogan of consider¬ 
able area which I started to detour. Pres¬ 
ently I stopped dead and my pulse jumped 
from normal to about no! 
There right under my nose, in the soft 
ground, was the clean-cut track of a moose! 
Beyond it was another and yet other 
tracks skirting the bog. I examined them 
carefully and deduced the following two 
important fa<^s: The animal was a bull— 
the round bluntness of the hoof in front 
told me this. He had passed that way not 
more than half an hour before—the water 
which stood in some of the tracks was 
still roiled and unsettled. 
Here was luck indeed! As I’ve said 
bull moose were scarce in this territory, 
yet here was one in the immediate vicinity. 
What would the boys at camp say when I 
reported that I had downed a handsome 
bull with a spread of perhaps 60 or 70 
inches? The only thing which worried me 
was that a head of this size would be too 
large for the wall of my den at home. 
Examining my trusty rifle I tiptoed for¬ 
ward on the track keyed up to the highest 
pitch of expectancy. I reflected that so 
long as the bull stuck to the low, soft 
ground trailing would be easy, but if he 
took the notion to traverse a ridge it would 
fuss me to follow him. I went slowly and 
softly with my finger on the trigger, ready 
every instant for the big fellow to flush. 
S UDDENLY about 20 rods ahead there 
was a snort of fear and the big animal 
I had been following broke cover 
and started madly up the grade! Clapping 
the rifle-butt to my cheek I glanced along 
the sights and pulled! A 35 softmose 
sped from the barrel and I saw the bark 
fly from a beech just over and beyond the 
big fellow’s shoulder! I also saw some¬ 
thing else:—my moose was dark red 
marked by white spots which is an unusual 
color for a gentleman moose! His horns 
were round, short and pointed, which is 
also out of the ordinary! Not only that, 
but his tail was about four feet long!— 
whereas a bull moose has no tail worth 
speaking of. 
To tell you the nude truth my bull moose 
was a big, husky, badly frightened steer! 
I didn’t shoot a second time—I stood 
. ♦ 
