How I Got Mine. 
“Yes, that’s his head. Isn't it fine? Looks 
great over that leather davenport, with his 
mahogany shield and his stunning horns. 
Hasn't he got a fine bell? Sometimes when the 
light from the hickory coals flashes into his 
eye he seems to glare like he did when I last 
saw him alive, half down, snorting and bristling 
in the mire of a Canadian bog. Had the best 
time getting him, too. It was better than all 
the other times — even the last deer hunt, when 
I got my buck in an Adirondack swamp just 
before dark — the last stage of the trip to 
Thomas’ camp on Ripogenus by canoe, when 
the moon rose over Katahdin as we glided 
silently along, changing gloom to light; the first 
moose on a New Brunswick caribou bog in the 
early morning as the mist lifted and the sight 
of him slowly moving about, until his majesty — 
and the cold — had me shaking like a dried oak 
leaf in a snowstorm. 
“Last year I needed a long rest. I wanted 
to go to a new country and get away off by 
myself. After much correspondence I decided 
on Kippewa, Quebec, and made arrangements 
accordingly. In October I left New York for 
Montreal, and boarded the Western sleeper for 
Mattawa. We were delayed because of trouble 
to the West from forest fires, and got to 
Mattawa after the scheduled starting time of 
the Kippewa train. However, the train was 
not ready to leave until hours later. But in 
spite of assurances that I had plenty of time, I 
rushed to a hotel for some sandwiches, then 
hurried to the station and looked for the train 
any minute. It surely was slow in coming. It 
was drizzling and cold and I walked up and 
down in a bad humor indeed, until a young fel¬ 
low in the jail nearby began to sing and bluster 
out his woes from a window, and then I took 
notice of him and began to feel that I was not 
so very badly off after all, as I did 'not have to 
stay there all my life. 
“When the train arrived I was glad to find a 
very comfortable, warm coach. Other hunters 
got aboard, and proved excellent company, and 
we had a good trip to Kippewa. Some of us 
got together and swapped yarns. Among the 
number was a young farmer from Illinois, who 
wanted to go into the woods with me, and as 
he seemed to be a pretty decent chap, I con¬ 
sented, on condition that he get his own guide 
and share with me the cost of the grub. But 
when he said he could travel the woods as good 
as any guide and thought he did not need one, I 
told him plainly I would go it alone. He said 
there ought not to be any trouble in getting a 
moose, as all one had to do was to hang around 
some pond where there were lilypads, and when 
the moose came to feed, shoot. This being 
early in October, I had my doubts about this 
plan, but whether he practiced what he preached 
or not, he got a moose, because the last I 
heard of him was some weeks later, when a 
lumberman told me he had run across this fel¬ 
low in the woods, squatting over a fire with a 
home-made broiler in his hand, broiling moose 
meat so it would keep. 
“Arriving at Kippewa, I began to perk up 
after supper, slept soundly, and the next morn¬ 
ing thought I was fit to start into the woods. 
I purchased my provisions and met my guide, 
a halfbreed known as Louis Grand Louis, and 
he proved to be very capable and willing. He 
was a thick-set chap, strong as an ox. 
“We packed up and boarded the lake steamer 
in plenty of time—always ‘plenty of time’ in that 
CALIFORNIA MULE DEER 
THAT NEVER SHED ITS HORNS. 
From Frank Stephens, San Bernardino, Cal. 
Loaned by the late Manly Hardy. 
country. We put our birchbark on deck with 
the canoes of other hunters, likewise bound in, 
and settled down for the trip. From the start 
until late afternoon the wind blew hard and 
kicked up a big sea. It was cold, but I hunted 
up a cubbyhole alongside the boiler and kept warm. 
“The lake was pretty enough, with evergreens 
along its irregular shores, but I had not waked 
up to a state where I could see much beauty 
in it then. Late in the afternoon we saw a bull 
and a cow moose swimming in the lake. They 
saw us coming, and turning to the shore from 
which they started, disappeared in the woods. 
Lanterns were lit and it was pitch black when 
we reached the narrows nearly up to Red Pine 
Chute and ended the boat journey. 
“Louis and I got our canoe into the water, 
loaded her and started. That was a wearing 
two miles in a choppy sea, dark and cold, but 
I stuck—I had to. The Indian found a camp 
about a hundred yards back from the shore 
among the trees. We lit a lantern and hung it 
on a tree. Louis had a fire going in a jiffy, we 
got the tent up, had some tea and a co'd bite 
and I rolled into my sleeping bag instanter. 
“I slept fine and got up early, a new man. I 
felt so good I consented to hike three miles to 
a little lake over a ridge, and while Louis 
packed some grub and a teapot in a couple of 
blankets and my sleeping bag and put on a 
tump line, I took my .22 and scouted for birds. 
I got two—enough for a meal before we started. 
“I packed the blanket bundle and Louis car¬ 
ried the canoe and paddles. About three in the 
afternoon we reached a pretty lake. A loon 
voiced his displeasure at our intrusion. We 
paddled to a high point and pitched a blanket 
A fashion for a tent, got some boughs together 
and sat down to wait until evening. Louis had 
found time to make a calling horn before leav¬ 
ing the first camp, and was ready. 
"We started out over the still water as the 
sun was setting. The lake was part in shadow. 
Occasionally Louis called. It began to grow 
colder, and as we got no answer, we returned to 
camp. It was a fine initiation for the trip. 
“The next day we called again and looked 
over the ground, but found no promising signs, 
and finally started back to our first camp, 
arriving about dark. As’Louis had come there 
only that we might be handy to the lake, and 
as I wanted better drinking water and higher 
ground, we decided to go to Balsfrone Lake. 
A swift paddle brought 11s to Red Pine Chute, 
where we got a jug of milk and some fresh 
bread, carried over the falls and put in just 
above on Red Pine River. Then began a beau¬ 
tiful trip. This river is narrow and wide by 
turns, clear and generally not rapid, surrounded 
by. evergreens, with vistas of hills and bays and 
sky. No house, no camp, no smoke—an atmos¬ 
phere of moose and wolves and nature undefiled. 
“At noon we built a fire on a rocky eminence 
overlooking a barren, which we found on in¬ 
vestigation to be literally cut up with old moose 
signs. We had a feast of bread and milk, then 
started again, paddling strong, until we came 
to a swamp. Wide waters, grasses, low brush, 
evergreens, white birches, fantastic shore out¬ 
lines, mist, a hint of gloom yet the beauty of 
fairyland. Some fire keeper had a tent there 
and had put out muskrat traps fastened to 
stakes and bushes. Some rats had been caught. 
“Passing into a narrow channel, we came to 
a brook and began a fierce trip among the mud 
fiats of a great swamp. Its edges were covered 
with evergreens, its length and breadth were 
a mixture of streams, muskrat houses, cran¬ 
berry bushes, grasses, sand and mud. Our 
course was along a narrow, shallow stream. 
Soon we were in such shallow water that we 
had to wade and haul the canoe. But at last, in 
a muddy hollow just by the hills we were bound 
for, we unloaded and began our carry around 
