Oct. 8, 1910 ] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
575 
predicament made the sweat start afresh, and 
evidently my appearance shocked the fish, for 
he quickly dove and started the fight anew. 
Like the fellow that held the wires of the 
electric battery I could do nothing but hold on. 
Shortly the trout came to the surface and feeb¬ 
ly waved his tail as a signal of distress. Now 
was my time and the only thing to be done, 
according to my mind, was to pull that fish 
upon the mud bank on which I was standing. 
The slope into the water was gent’e and I 
grasped the line with my left hand and lifted 
the rod. There was. a crackling sound and the 
middle section of the rod parted. But the trout, 
owing to the fact that I still grasped the line, 
slid upon the muddy flat and also off the hook. 
Immediately he began a frantic flopping and 
each motion carried him closer to the water. 
I tried to grasp him, but he 
slipped front my hands. Finally 
and desperately I threw myself 
bodily down into the mud and on 
top of that trout, and there I lav, 
panting like a Marathon runner. 
I could feel the fish moving under 
me and I tried to reach him with 
my hands, but failed. I knew that 
my only hope was to lie on him 
until he moved no more. At last 
it was all over and I arosq. The 
fish was about half buried in the 
mud. From hair to feet I was 
covered with it. 
After placing the fish in the 
creel and estimating his weight at 
two pounds, I directed a sly 
glance toward Charlie, as I was 
wondering if he had been a wit¬ 
ness of the melee. He was stand¬ 
ing in the water, knee-deep, with 
his back toward me. His 
shoulders seemed to be rising and 
falling. Once I thought I heard 
a wheezy sound. I concluded, 
therefore, that something funny 
had happened. Then, having the 
trout securely confined and quite 
beyond further violence to my 
feelings and appearance, I cracked a.few smiles 
myself the while I scraped the ooze away. 
But the history of the day was not complete. 
I happened to glance again toward Charlie a 
moment later and his attitude had changed. He 
was erect, alert, busy. It was plain that he had 
a fight on his hands, for his line was hissing 
back and forth in the swift water. I watched 
the battle with interest, for he had no landing 
net and no mud flat to aid him when the end 
came. Up and down and across went his trout 
and Charlie gave not an inch more than was 
necessary. Calmly and with a confidence born 
of long experience he fought that fish. It was 
too beautiful an exhibition to last, however. 
Suddenly I saw Charlie's line fall limp on the 
water and then about his head I thought I saw 
a sulphurous glow. His trout had hit a sub¬ 
merged tree root and broken the line. When 
Charlie turned to look at me he saw nothing 
but my back, as I was looking far up the river. 
But under the mud my face was purple as a re¬ 
sult of my efforts to hold my merriment in 
check. 
I recovered my pipe and hat, and as I ap¬ 
proached Charlie he looked at me sadly and said : 
“Had a three-pounder on, but it got away.” 
“However,” I said, “you maintained your dig¬ 
nity and observed all the time-honored ethics of 
the ancient and gentle order of anglers, even if 
you did lose your fish.” 
“Yes,” he replied, “but you violated all the 
rules in addition to making your dignity look 
like that of a carp, although you did secure your 
fish. I never did approve of the Graeco-Roman 
wrestling method of catching trout.” 
Back to camp we paddled without a word, but 
we were both thinking. As we pulled the canoe 
up beside the log landing and removed our 
creels. Charlie said : “Been a fierce day, hasn't it?” 
“It has,” T replied. 
» 
V.—AS TO DEER HUNTING. 
Uncle Hi is not only a great woodsman, hun¬ 
ter and trapper and something of a cook, but 
he is a philosopher of the quaintest kind. We 
had hunted Hardwood Island from end to end, 
through swamps and on the ridges. Coming- 
back toward the river where the canoe awaited 
us I shot a deer at a point not fifty feet from 
the real beginning of the hunt. I thought it was 
strange that I should find the deer at that place, 
especially since we had so recently passed over 
the same ground, and the wind was with us on 
our return. I remarked on the fact and Uncle 
Hi replied, the while he dressed the deer: 
“Ye can’t tell no more ’bout deer than ye can 
’bout human folks. Nussir. There hain’t no 
sure rule ’bout deer huntin’. A man was in here 
once an’ he told me that a writer-fellow had 
written a book tellin’ just how to get a deer, 
an’ he laid down the ole rule ’bout huntin’ 
against the wind, movin’ quiet-like an’ wearin’ 
clothes that looked like the bark o’ trees. The 
rule’s good, but ’tain’t necessary. Deer huntin’ 
is a game every man c’n play accordin’ to his 
own idees. The man who goes into the woods 
an’ larns to hunt at all will make his own rules 
an’ follow his own idees, an’ no book’ll guide 
him. My way is to go slow an’ quiet-like an’ 
against the wind. Charlie here can’t go quiet 
’cause he has a cough, but he gits deer just the 
same. I know lots o’ good hunters that jest 
thrash the woods hippity, an’ they get the meat, 
too. Every man has his own way. I believe the 
deer’s protection is his sense o’ scent. Ye c’n 
fool a deer's eyes an’ ears, but ye can’t fool his 
nose. The noisy hunter with the wind in his 
face ’rouses the deer’s curiosity an’ the fool 
offen wants to see what’s cornin’. Then he gits 
plugged. I’ve known deer to be killed, ’specially 
in mating time, by hunters that paid no ’tention 
to wind, noise ner clothing. A buck deer in 
mating time hain’t got no more sense nor a man. 
He fergits all the senses nater gave him for his 
protection. He only knows he’s huntin’ fer a 
mate aiT'he may blunder up again yer gun an’ 
you in p’ain sight an’ givin’ off scent to beat the 
railroad.” 
Uncle Hi lifted the dressed deer 
to his shoulders and we started 
for the canoe. It was a short but 
precipitous and rocky trail to the 
river. When we arrived at the 
canoe we deposited our game and 
guns amidships and sat down on 
a rock to rest for a moment. 
“Alt’ this clothin' bizness is a 
good deal of a nonsense,” Uncle 
Hi resumed; “ye c’n fool his eyes 
the -easiest of all. Gray clothing- 
looks all right in the woods an’ 
is a sure fooler for the deer, but 
it offen—too offen—fools deer 
hunters. When a man gits shot in 
the woods ye’ll find putty near alius 
that his clothin’ looks like a deer 
hide. An’ there's the trouble. 
Now, there’s all kinds o’ colors in 
the woods. There’s red, an’ 
green, an’ brown, an’ white, an’ 
black, an’ purple, an’ lots o’ 
others. A deer’s used to ’em an’ 
knows ’em. So a man who goes 
huntin’ deer c’n wear any o’ these 
colors he wants to. He’s safer in 
red, purple or black than in any o' 
the others, an’ he’ll git jest as many 
deer. Take a red coat or sweater for instance. It’ll 
excite a deer’s curiosity and he’ll stop an’ look 
at it. An’ he'll stop an’ look at a bright, shinin' 
buckle or button. So I say, don’t mind the 
clothes much. Jest don’t make quick motions 
with yer arms when a deer’s lookin’ at ye an’ 
can’t smell ye, an’ ye’ll git him all right ef ye 
c’n shoot straight.” 
Slowly we paddled up the winding stream, and 
Uncle Hi continued his discourse, based on an 
experience of fifty years in the woods as a hun¬ 
ter and trapper, during which time he depended 
entirely on his skill for a livelihood. 
“It is wrote in the books, I’m told, that the 
deer’s the only animal that c’n go from a sound 
sleep into a full-speed run at one jump. That’s 
true, but it don’t happen offen. There’s jest one 
thing that’ll make a deer do it an' that’s a houn’ 
dawg a-yelpin' on the runway. A deer knows 
when he hears a dawg bawlin’ that he’d better 
git away an' he does it hippity. But ef a deer’s 
jumped from his sleep by a hunter he won't run 
fur, onless he gits the man-scent, until he’s dead 
sure what skeered him. He will make a jump 
er two, an’ then from beneath a brush he’ll look 
fer what woke him up. When he spots the 
