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 104546 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
' niverslty Library 
 
 limmimmml^,"'' °' "'3watha; or, The 
 
 3 1924 016 410 395 L. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 641 0395 
 
t^iA^<y ^cn^^f-M. 
 
HUNTING 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LAND OF HIAWATHA 
 
 OR 
 
 The Hunting Trips of an Editor 
 
 The Siora/ of Seven Annual Hunting Trii>s of the Author, being at 
 interesting narrative of the incidents peculiar to Camp Life 
 amongthe fines and spruces in the North Country — The Land 
 of ^^ Hiawatha.^* Establishing the location of the scene 
 of Longfellow's "Hiawatha," giving a full descrip- 
 tion of the beautiful Tah-gua-me-non River, on 
 •which "Hiawatha'^ builded and floated his 
 phantom canoe, together with its early 
 history and traditions, and illustra- 
 ting its Great Falls, also giving 
 one of the beautiful legends 
 of the Tah-Qua-me-non. 
 
 BY 
 
 A. D. SHAFFMASTER 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM VIEiyS TAKEN BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
 
 407-429 Dearborn St. 
 
Copyright 1904, by 
 A. D. SHAFFMASTER 
 
 ;?? ^y 
 
 / 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. First Annual Hunt 7 
 
 II. Second Annual Hunt 23 
 
 III. Third Annual Hunt 45 
 
 IV. Fourth Annual Hunt 69 
 
 V. Fifth Annual Hunt 83 
 
 VI. Sixth Annual Hunt 113 
 
 VII. Seventh Annual Hunt 133 
 
 VIII. The Land of Hiawatha— The Beauti- 
 ful Tah-qua-me-non 153 
 
 IX. Hints on the Art of Still Hunting. ... 167 
 
 X. The Timber Wolf 175 
 
 XI. Sentiment of Hunting 181 
 
 38 1 
 
TITLES TO ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Author Frontispiece 
 
 The Big Buck of 189S 8 
 
 Camp Number One, 1898 9 
 
 A. D. Shaffmaster, Journal Camp 16 
 
 Haunts of the Deer 17 
 
 East and West Road 24 
 
 George Brown, Journal Camp 25 
 
 Cedar Camp, Group No. i 32 
 
 Cedar Camp, Group No. 2 3;^ 
 
 Cedar Camp, Axemen 40 
 
 Homeward Bound 41 
 
 George Brown and 250-LB. Buck 48 
 
 McNearuf's Home on Tah-qua-me-non River... 49 
 
 The Beautiful Tah-qua-me-non 56 
 
 The Editor and Big Buck of igoo 57 
 
 Group of Hunters in front of Hotel 64 
 
 Station Agent Bussette and Daughter 65 
 
 Our U. S. Mail Box on Stage Road 72 
 
 The Drs. Outwater's Camp 73 
 
 Ai, and His Big Buck of 1901 80 
 
 Our Camp at Silver Creek 81 
 
 Al Has a Fresh Kill 88 
 
 Clark Green Bringing in a Deer 89 
 
 The Beaver House, First View 96 
 
 The Beaver Pond 97 
 
 Our Load Starts for the Railway Station . . . 104 
 
 On Tah-qua-me-non Bay 105 
 
 A. D. Shaffmaster and Great Wolf 112 
 
 Our Camp on Silver Creek, 1902 113 
 
 Where the Bear was Caught 120 
 
 A. D. Shaffmaster and the Black Bear 121 
 
 Group Number Two 128 
 
 The Load Ready for the Station 129 
 
 On Top of Lookout Ridge 136 
 
 Sager and the Editor Bringing in Al's Deer . 137 
 
 On the T.4H-QUA-ME-NON RiVER 152 
 
 Camp Group 153 
 
 The Load Ready for the Station 168 
 
 Deerfoot Lodge 169 
 
 Great Falls of the Taii-qua-me-non 184 
 
PREFACE 
 
 In presenting this work to the pubHc, the author 
 does so, knowing full well no attempt has been 
 made to make this narrative other than it is, the 
 simple recital of incidents peculiar to Camp Life 
 in the woods. He offers no apology for perhaps 
 a liberal sprinkling of the Nectar of the Woods 
 which has been allowed to leak in and permeate 
 the breath of his narrative ; nor for the unbound- 
 ed love which he breathes for the Wild, and the 
 creatures of its domain. 
 
 It is sought to preserve for the use of future 
 lovers of the Woods and Waters, these plain tales, 
 and to dedicate this work to all who may read 
 these pages and find aught of pleasure, solace or 
 satisfaction therein. 
 
 Allen Dyer Shaffmaster. 
 
 Bronson, i^Iichigan, August, 1904. 
 
HUNTING 
 
 IN THE LAND OF HIAWATHA 
 
 OR 
 
 The Hunting Trips of an Editor 
 
 FIRST ANNUAL HUNT 
 Chapter I 
 
 See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs. 
 And mounts exulting on triumphant wings * * * 
 
 — Pope. 
 
 "When do we start?" 
 
 "This afternoon, Dick. Have you your outfit 
 ready?" 
 
 "All ready except loading a few extra heavy 
 charged shells, you know we may need such if we 
 should run onto a b " 
 
 But the sentence was hardly finished when I 
 broke into a hearty laugh, and chaffingly took up 
 the unfinished subject by adding, "bear." 
 
 "Yes, bear. You've done nothing but talk 
 about bear, deer, wolves, wildcats, panthers and 
 th' other varmints that's, as you ses, is roamin' 
 round in them north woods, for more'n 'er month 
 past, an' I don't believe in going up there with 
 no toy gun." 
 
 And the speaker, a broad-shouldered, muscular 
 mechanic, standing over six feet in his stockings, 
 
8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 with a pleasant open countenance, lighted up with 
 a pair of honest blue eyes, and a half quizzical 
 smile on his face, continued the work of oiling up 
 a heavy single barrel shot gun which he held in 
 his hands, while he continued: "I've hurried up 
 this gun, cos I wanted to take it with me, an' it's 
 all my own work. Yes, it's an eight bore, weighs 
 
 thirteen pounds, and it'll shoot clean thro' a ! 
 
 Well, you just wait and see what it will do." 
 
 "All right, Dick," I replied with a smile, "we 
 will finish packing our box, then away for the 
 happy hunting grounds." 
 
 After a pleasant trip of some 350 miles, through 
 one of the handsomest and most picturesque sec- 
 tions of the state, through Paradisian Southern 
 Michigan, via the Lake Shore & Michigan Southern 
 Ry., and for 300 miles due north on the Grand 
 Rapids & Indiana Ry., famous as "The Fishing 
 Line" gliding through alternate forest and wood- 
 land, interspersed with the countless sylvan lakes, 
 which makes this line of railroad famous the world 
 over as traversing the finest fishing country in all 
 the known world, we arrived at Trout Lake, a 
 small station on the Duluth, South Shore & At- 
 lantic Ry. I had been advised by Editor Jones 
 of the St. Ignace Enterprise, to try this place, so 
 we were soon enjoying the hospitality of the Trout 
 Lake House. We made camp on a little penin- 
 sula, about half a mile from town, where we hunted 
 with indifferent success for about a week. There 
 seemed to be quite a number of deer, but the num- 
 ber of hunters were in excess of the number of 
 
THE BIG BUCK OF '; 
 
CAMP NO. I, i8 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor g 
 
 deer. We only saw one deer, a very large buck, 
 in our week's stay, but shot quite a number of 
 partridge and ducks, and Dick shot a very large 
 porcupine, tipping it from the foremost branches 
 of a lofty hemlock with one charge from his big 
 gun. The animal would weigh about 25 pounds, 
 and Dick examined it with a good deal of curiosity, 
 as it was the first one he had ever killed. We 
 secured a quantity of its quills and I cut off two 
 of its feet to take back with us as souvenirs to 
 show our friends. 
 
 Believing that we would not be very successful 
 in getting deer at this place, and as time was slip- 
 ping away, the season having opened on the eighth, 
 I proposed that we move our camp farther up the 
 line, in a more remote section of the country, and 
 Dick assenting, I fell to studying a small state 
 map which I carried in my pocket. 
 
 "See that river?" I exclaimed, as I pointed to 
 a thread-like line on the map. 
 
 "Yes, but what of that," replied Dick. 
 
 "Well, I believe that near that river — the Tah- 
 qua-me-non, there is plenty of game, and I pro- 
 pose that we pull out of here at once." 
 
 "All right, Al, I don't believe we will get any- 
 thing here. Too many hunters, and luck seems 
 to be against us." 
 
 The result was, when the train bound north came 
 along, we were passengers, bag and baggage, and 
 after about an hour's ride through a series of 
 spruce swamp and wild tangle, which at once 
 
lo Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 stamped it as a game country, we arrived at Ecker- 
 man about noon on Saturday, Nov. 13. 
 
 It was a queer looking place, and a typical back- 
 woods one at that. Only a few houses, not over 
 half a dozen, mostly log or half log and half frame 
 structures. We spent the afternoon in loitering 
 about the place and picking up such information 
 as we could in regard to the country, and in secur- 
 ing the services of a teamster, a Mr. McMuUen, to 
 take us out on the following day. The next day 
 (Sunday) we were hauled out into the woods 
 some ten miles north, by Sam McMullen, the team- 
 ster. He drove us about a mile off the stage road, 
 which is nothing but a winding team trail through 
 unbroken forest, and deposited us near a small 
 cold spring of running water, in the shelter of a 
 group of hills, and in the shadow of towering hem- 
 locks. We did not reach our camping place until 
 about three o'clock in the afternoon, and as we 
 had not brought a tent, we had to build a camp. 
 I selected a place at the base of a sloping bank, 
 and between two big trees which had fallen parallel 
 with each other, and about ten feet apart. With 
 the aid of a shovel and our axe to cut the roots, 
 we dug and shoveled alternately, working like 
 beavers, and just at dusk, had the satisfaction to 
 move into our snug little quarters, which were 
 about 8x12 feet, and just high enough to stand 
 upright in. It was a real hunter's camp, I told 
 Dick, as we had constructed it with our own hands. 
 An old canvas, with plenty of hemlock branches, 
 made a good roof, while dirt, logs and more branches 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor ii 
 
 formed the enclosure. A large box we emptied 
 of camp duffle answered as a door, we entering 
 our hut first, and placing the box in the opening 
 afterwards. We made a bed of freshly cut hem- 
 lock and spruce tops, and set up our camp stove, 
 brought water from the spring, and were ready 
 for the night, which was now upon us. 
 
 Being eleven miles from any human habitation, 
 we were alone in the heart of the forest. It was a 
 new sensation for Dick, who seemed to regard the 
 approaching gloom of night with considerable un- 
 easiness. But I reassured him with encouraging 
 words, and we prepared our supper. 
 
 The next day we cut some wood, and watched 
 on runways near our camp, but did not see any- 
 thing. We began to get more familiar with our 
 surroundings, and made some excursions into the 
 woods. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. i6. — We did not wake very early 
 this morning, it is so dark here surrounded by tall 
 trees and we have no window in the cabin, only 
 such light as steals through the cracks and our 
 lantern which we keep burning most of the time 
 when at home. Started out at 8:00, and I took a 
 north and easterly course while Dick went a little 
 way south to watch a runway. I returned to camp 
 at 3 :oothis afternoon, havingfollowedarunway back 
 into the woods three or four miles. I saw three 
 deer, and fired at each, but did not get one of them. 
 I only saw the flag of the first one, and fired at ran- 
 dom; the second one was back in the thick brush 
 and among the trees, and although I fired three 
 
12 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 or four shots at it, it did not run at all, but walked 
 along as unconcernedly as though nothing had hap- 
 pened; I was about loo yards from the deer and 
 it did not see me at all. The next one I ran across 
 farther along the trail, and it was a fine buck. I 
 was just getting ready to turn to go home, when 
 he ran out of the woods on my left and I caught 
 sight of him when about 75 yards away; he saw 
 me, but I stopped and stood still and he did the 
 same, looking steadily at me, while I slowly drew 
 up my rifle, and taking a too quick aim fired; the 
 shot apparently did not hit him, as he with a big 
 bound turned and ran into the woods and I fired 
 three more shots at him as he went, but do not 
 think I hit him. There was not enough snow to 
 track or I could have followed him and got another 
 shot, I think, as he did not run very fast nor go 
 very far after I fired at him. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 17. — Up at 4:50 this morning, 
 and find on peeping out through the chinks of our 
 hut, that the ground is covered with snow. We 
 had breakfast at 6:00 and at 6:30 started with our 
 guns for the haunts of the deer. Dick went in 
 on the east side of the old runway and I took my 
 old trail of yesterday, supposing I could find my 
 way back to the place where I saw the three deer, 
 but after a long tramp I found that too much 
 snow had fallen during the night, which effectually 
 hid many objects which otherwise might seem 
 familiar to me and aid me in locating the vicinity. 
 Dick got into camp before I did, and reported 
 some fresh tracks but no deer. I did not see any 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 13 
 
 deer either, but plenty of fresh tracks in the snow. 
 We are both tired from the day's tramp and shall 
 retire early. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 18. — We found on looking out 
 this morning that more fresh snow fell last night, 
 and it is still snowing a little. We started out as 
 usual, going east of our camp about a mile and 
 then turning almost due north or northeast. 
 
 We found the fresh fallen snow of last night 
 just enough to effectually cover over all the old 
 tracks of yesterday, so it is what is called in the 
 hunter's vernacular "good tracking." It is now 
 just 7 o'clock, and we have finished supper, and 
 Dick had just added the finishing touches to the 
 meal by washing down his last slice of bread with 
 the last remaining pint of coffee in the pot, which 
 makes an even three pint cupfuls he has taken 
 for his supper. When I first came into the woods, 
 I smiled to myself when I beheld the pint cups 
 we intended to use to drink from and wondered 
 if I could down the contents of one of them — ■ 
 strong rich coffee without milk — at each meal, but 
 now after two weeks in the woods I find to my 
 utter surprise that I can and do easily drink two 
 pint cupfuls every meal, and a little swallow now 
 and then between times. Dick drinks the coffee 
 pot empty every chance he gets, and I do believe 
 he could easily drink a barrel of coffee a day if he 
 could only get it, which he cannot here. 
 
 It is about the same way with the amount of 
 solid foods which we can stow away in this climate. 
 
 Dick got lost today, and returned to camp just 
 
14 Htuiting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 at dusk, white as a sheet with fright, and nearly 
 exhausted. After separating this morning, we 
 each went a different direction, and agreeing to 
 meet at a marked tree at four o'clock. I was there, 
 but Dick did not come, so I returned to camp after 
 first waiting for him until nearly dark. I had a 
 good laugh at him tonight when he told me of 
 his adventure. It appears he was tracking a big 
 buck, and did not pay much attention to where 
 he was going, until it came time for him to meet 
 me at the appointed tree. He started, and after 
 tramping around awhile, he came upon a track 
 in the snow, whick he took for mine, following it 
 until he came out to an open space in which there 
 was a large birch tree with a very large knot half 
 way up. As this tree seemed somewhat familiar, 
 he paused to think, when he remembered having 
 passed the same tree in the morning. He had been 
 following his own tracks of the morning. So he 
 started off in an opposite direction, and as dark- 
 ness was falling, he hurried his steps, and after 
 thrashing around over several miles, jumping logs, 
 crawling through tree tops, and dodging trees, he 
 again came to a halt, and lo, and behold, the old 
 birch tree with the knot was before him. Now, 
 thoroughly convinced that he was lost, his head 
 began to whirl, and the cold sweat came out on 
 his forehead. But still determined to get out, he 
 started agam. He now no longer turned out for 
 brush or tree tops, but plunged madly through 
 them, scratching his face and bruising his flesh, 
 but he minded it not; his gait became a trot, and 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 15 
 
 his breath came in big gasps. Several times he 
 was on the point of stopping and dimbing a tree, 
 he said, but still kept on. At last, by sheer luck, 
 he struck my tracks where I had come out an hour 
 before, and was soon in camp, a sadder and wiser 
 boy. 
 
 After he had related the substance of the fore- 
 going to me, I told him that a compass was an 
 absolute necessity to a man in an unknown and 
 pathless woods, and that he would have made a 
 big mistake that might have cost him his life if he 
 had given up for lost that night and climbed a tree 
 as he thought of doing, and told him if he ever 
 got lost to build a big fire, which he could have 
 easily done as there were many dry pine and other 
 trees and stubs of trees, also stumps where a fire 
 could easily have been started notwithstanding 
 everything was covered with snow ; when he had 
 a good fire started, I could have located him by 
 the smoke or the light from the fire, and as long 
 as he kept the fire burning no wild animal would 
 approach him, besides he could have kept himself 
 warm, whereas if he had taken refuge in a tree the 
 cold winds and falling snow might have chilled 
 and benumbed him so thoroughly he would be in 
 great danger of falling to the ground and being 
 frozen before help could come. I think this in- 
 cident taught Dick a good lesson, and I noticed 
 that afterwards he kept close to me in the woods 
 or where he could follow his own back tracks in 
 the snow. 
 
 Friday, Nov. 19. — Breakfast at 7:00 this mom- 
 
1 6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 ing, and while eating the same we find our sugar 
 pail getting quite alarmingly low, that is not the 
 pail but the sugar. This fact leads me to take an 
 inventory of our remaining stock of provisions and 
 I find the following: 
 
 Bread, six loaves, i 
 
 Butter, none, f 
 
 Baking powder, }4 pound, 
 Cake, none, 
 Coffee, 2}4 pounds. 
 Flour, s pounds. 
 Ham, about 3 pounds, 
 Lard, 2 pounds, 
 Potatoes, >2 bushel. 
 Pie, none — too bad, 
 Pepper and salt, plenty. 
 Saturday, Nov. 20. — We have had quite an ad- 
 venture today, at least I have, at any rate, and 
 tonight dined on venison from a fine large doe 
 which I shot this forenoon. Supper has just been 
 finished, and a good brisk fire is now crackling in 
 the stove while we with lighted pipes are settling 
 ourselves into comfortable positions to discuss the 
 day's events and while so doing rest our rather 
 fatigued bodies, as we have had quite a little hard 
 work today. 
 
 After getting a good start this morning, we ob- 
 served that in traveling towards the bay, we had 
 seen a good number of fresh tracks where the deer 
 had crossed the road all along our backward route, 
 and I told Dick it looked as though there were 
 more deer moving than usual, and as all the tracks 
 
A. D. SHAFFMASTER. TOURXAL CAMP. 
 
HAUNTS OF THE DEER. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 17 
 
 had the appearance of being recently made, I 
 suggested that we stop and watch this trail awhile. 
 
 I stepped back from the runway about four rods 
 to where a good sugar maple offered me a chance 
 to conceal my person from the direction of any 
 approaching game on the runway. Dick found a 
 large hemlock just across on the north side of the 
 road and about the same distance back from the 
 runway. The sun was shining brightly, and fell 
 with diffusing rays upon the surrounding ideal 
 forest sceiie ; not a breath of air was felt or visible 
 by as much as a tremulous leaf — only the unfath- 
 omed and indescribable silence of the deep 
 woods — the gleaming sunshine as it caught and, 
 lightning like, flashed for a brief moment, upon the 
 darkly polished steel of my rifle and along its 
 enameled barrel, served to momentarily draw the 
 sweeping gaze of my eye from the surrounding 
 scene. 
 
 Scarcely 30 minutes had passed since we had 
 taken our positions behind the trees, when on look- 
 ing far down along my end of the trail, a moving 
 object, just discernable among the trees, caught 
 my eye ; instantly I was on the alert ; I had raised 
 my crouching figure to obtain a better sight 
 of the approaching game, for game it was and of 
 the most royal kind. Not for a second did I take 
 my eyes from the sight which then slowly but 
 surely was developing before me. On he came, 
 occasionally half pausing to lower his antlered 
 head and sniff the trail before him; presently he 
 came into full view as the trail wound round a 
 
1 8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 small knoll and a gleam of sunshine shot from the 
 polished surface of his massive antlers as he slowly 
 turned his head while it was poised high in the 
 air. What a picture of self superiority of defiant 
 pride. Observing that if I would get a shot at 
 all, I must act quickly, I brought my rifle to my 
 shoulder, took a quick but cool, careful aim, at a 
 spot just under the right foreleg, and fired! The 
 sharp crack of the rifle brought him to a standstill, 
 and for an instant I could not tell whether I had 
 hit him or not; but the next moment he started 
 out through the trees on a bound, I pulled the gun 
 into line and crack, crack, crack, went the old 
 38-55, while in headlong bounds my noble and 
 erstwhile game was making towards the fringe of 
 thick heavy timber a mile to the south. At the 
 sight of my fast escaping game I grew sick and 
 faint and my legs shook and quaked so I could 
 scarcely keep my position. 
 
 Dick heard the shots, but sat still, thinking 
 perhaps the game would come on along the run- 
 way and he would get a shot, too, so he did not 
 even get a glimpse of my noble buck. After this 
 we started in the direction where the buck was 
 when I first fired at him, and found on reaching 
 his tracks that the distance was about 100 yards, 
 through a rather close growth of trees, and in- 
 clined a little down hill from where I fired at him. 
 On the off side of the buck's tracks lying and 
 scattered over the snow was a large bunch of hair 
 cut by one of my bullets (probably the first one) 
 from the buck's neck; it must have cut it there. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 19 
 
 as we figured the problem from all points and could 
 come to no other conclusion. The fact that I had 
 missed my game after so careful and deliberate 
 an aim and had yet cut a bunch of hair from his 
 neck after aiming so low as the foreshoulder sud- 
 denly shed a great light upon the results of several 
 other occasions related, of where I had fired at a 
 buck on as many different times and had had the 
 mortification and astonishment to see each one 
 of them run off as though nothing had happened 
 after firing three or four shots at each. Dick 
 broke the silence, which, as I gazed most ruefully 
 at that bunch of long thick hair, was exceedingly 
 
 profound, and said: "If that d gun of yours 
 
 had been sighted right you'd have killed him and 
 the other three you lost before this." I felt the 
 truth and force of Dick's blunt words keenly, for 
 this last shot had opened my eyes to a heretofore 
 unsolved mystery, and the facts stood out plain 
 and unquestionable — / had shot over and missed 
 four of the finest bucks that ever stood on four feet, 
 and all within two weeks' time, and every one of them 
 should and could have been killed in his tracks 
 had the gun put the ball where I had aimed it. 
 It was a new rifle that I had, and one I had never 
 shot a dozen times until I came into the woods. 
 This taught me a profound and lasting lesson, and 
 from that moment I determined if I had another 
 opportunity, that I would aim low enough to 
 fetch down my game or know the reason why. 
 The opportunity came sooner than I anticipated, 
 and in less than two hours from that time I was 
 
20 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 bending over the prostrate form of one of the 
 largest and finest does I had ever seen and the 
 first deer I ever killed. How did I get her? Well, 
 it's easily told. 
 
 After we had made a fruitless attempt to track 
 up the buck that I had shot at, we separated about 
 half a mile south of the road, and I started on 
 another track while Dick retraced his steps towards 
 the scene of our first adventure of a short time 
 previous. After I had wandered around through 
 the woods for about an hour, I started out towards 
 the road, but not having kept strict account of 
 my bearings, I did not know just what direction 
 to take, so kept going and looking out for the 
 opening where ran the road. 
 
 Suddenly and without the faintest sign of the 
 proximity of game, a deer's head bounded up from 
 the ground right in front of me and about 50 yards 
 distance. I did not stop to analyze the subject 
 of how the head came there or anything of the 
 kind, but quick as a wink the rifle bounded to 
 my shoulder, and with the silent warning and ad- 
 monition of a short two hours ago to hold low, I 
 drew a bead on the immovable and clear cut head 
 before me, and then lowering the gun until the 
 neck of the animal showed through the rear sight, 
 I pressed the trigger. It was all over quicker 
 than I can tell it ; but there was a second surprise 
 for me at the same moment. When the rifle 
 cracked, down went the game that I had fired at, 
 and instantly there sprang into view, the slim, 
 symmetrical form of another deer, perhaps 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 21 
 
 two-thirds grown, which had been lying on 
 the ground only a few feet from where the 
 other one then lay dying with a mortal wound, 
 the ball having struck it in the right eye and torn 
 the inside of the head to pieces. Fragments of 
 bone and brains were scattered over the snov/ 
 nearby, and as Dick said when on first viewing 
 the dead doe: "No wonder that deer died, just 
 see that hole in her head." 
 
 But to return to the other one, as soon as I had 
 fired at number one and instantly saw it go down, 
 I worked the lever, throwing a new cartridge in 
 the barrel and prepared to shoot again if I saw any 
 chance of the game attempting to escape, but 
 before I could note whether another shot was 
 needed or not to keep my game quiet and safe 
 for me, number two had bounded to its feet and 
 stood, mutely and astonishingly regarding me from 
 a slight knoll 50 or 60 yards away. Up came the 
 rifle to my shoulder, and crack, crack, crack went 
 three shots in quick succession, while from my 
 position, not having stirred from my tracks since 
 shooting the first one, I caught a faint glimpse of 
 a phantom-like, brownish-gray streak vanishing 
 with the rapidity of a streak of lightning through 
 the vista of scattered timber in the distance. Then 
 I paused and said something you could not find 
 in the dictionary, meanwhile my first one was 
 stone dead, as I found on approaching her. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 22. — Up at 6 this morning, and 
 breakfast finished, we hustled around and made 
 ready for our departure. We have to carry our 
 
2 2 Htmting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 camp outfit and deer through the woods over a 
 mile to where the main road intersects with the 
 one on which we have been camping. It is now 
 10:30 a. m., and I have just come out from camp 
 with the last load, our stove, which we thought 
 first we would leave in the woods, but finding we 
 had time to spare, I volunteered to go back after it. 
 
 Concerning this hunt there isn't much more to 
 tell, except that we reached Eckerman in the even- 
 ing of the 22d and, with a number of other hunters, 
 took the train for Soo Junction, where we changed 
 for St. Ignace thence across the straits to Mackinaw 
 City and arrived home safe and sound on the after- 
 noon of the 23d day of November, having been 
 absent just three weeks, and enjoyed the outing 
 and its various incidents immensely. 
 
 The deer which I shot was shipped home by ex- 
 press, and arrived in Bronson the day following 
 our arrival. The cause of its delay seemed plain 
 enough to me, as when it was loaded into the car 
 at Eckerman, there was at least 10 or 15 other 
 deer carcasses put in at the same time, and before 
 the train had reached St. Ignace, the express car 
 was filled to the very roof with deer; it was a 
 grand sight for the sportsman to behold, and 
 could not help but send the sporting blood tingling 
 through one's veins as one contemplated the spec- 
 tacle and ruminated on the scenes and transpiring 
 events which must have occurred to bring each 
 and every one of those beautiful inanimate animals 
 from its home in the heart of the deep forest. 
 
SECOND ANNUAL HUNT 
 Chapter II 
 
 She scorned the praise of beauty, and the care; 
 A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair; 
 A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds. 
 And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. 
 
 — Pope's Windsor Forest. 
 
 The editor and George H. Brown, an old timer 
 and buffalo hunter, left Bronson Nov. lo, i8g8, and 
 arrived in Eckerman the following day. Although 
 a man past the prime of life, the old buffalo 
 hunter had the vigor of youth stamped on his face, 
 the agility of an Indian, and the cunning of a wolf. 
 It was with this old timer of the plains, who had 
 spent ten years of his life on the border, hunting the 
 buffalo, deer, antelope, bear, lion, wolf and other 
 game, and dodging Indians, that the author received 
 his first real lessons in the art of still hunting big 
 game, and his success afterward he attributes 
 much to that careful training and joyous camp 
 companionship of the old buffalo hunter. 
 
 For our camping place we selected a spot 13 
 miles north and west of the station. This would 
 place us about three miles west from my camping 
 place with Mr. Addicks of last year. We arrived 
 at the camping place, which was near a group of 
 small lakes, about 11 in the forenoon. Our goods 
 were unloaded, and the teamster drove away and 
 left us alone with the trees and wild animals for 
 
 23 
 
24 
 
 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 daily companions. Not a human soul except 
 ourselves, within six or eight miles of us. 
 
 Our camping-place was an open space some five 
 rods square, on the summit of a hill just off the 
 road a few yards. We found a small trail which 
 led down over the hill until it reached a little gem 
 of a lake, only about 30 or 40 rods away, where we 
 should get water to cook with. After getting the 
 tent up and stakes all down, I took a pail and 
 started down the trail towards the lake for water. 
 There was, as I have previously mentioned, a little 
 snow on the ground, which made tracking quite 
 feasible, but not exactly plain. However, while 
 descending the trail until I reached the edge of the 
 lake, I had noticed in coming down a number of 
 deer tracks made the previous night or in the 
 early morning. On reaching the lake and glancing 
 over its slightly congealed surface white with snow, 
 I was surprised to find such a tiny but sylvan gem 
 in these woods; the prospect was entrancing to a 
 sportsman, and stepping carefully along the outer 
 edge, I contemplated the scene with silent but 
 deep admiration. Glancing down at my feet, I 
 was astonished to find the freshly made tracks of a 
 good big bear, and following the tracks with my 
 eye, I could trace his large, open trail entirely 
 around the lake. Finding a clear spot in the ice, I 
 broke it open with my hatchet, and filling my pail 
 with clear, sparkling water, started up the hill in 
 a hurry. When I reached the camp I caught sight 
 of George, running towards the northeast part of 
 
/. ^ 
 
 EAST AND WEST ROAD. 
 
GEORGE BROWN, JOURNAL CAMP. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 25 
 
 the hill, rifle in hand, and bounding over the fallen 
 trees with the ease and agility of an Indian. I 
 wondered what he was after, and fearing to scare 
 the game, if any, did not hail him. 
 
 After reaching the tent, I glanced around and 
 saw George approaching, a smile on his face and 
 eyes sparkling. When asked what he had seen, he 
 replied that just after I had gone towards the lake, 
 he thought he heard something running north- 
 east just below the hill, and had grabbed his rifle 
 and ran out in that direction to see if he could catch 
 a glimpse of the animal, if any, but did not see 
 anything. As soon as he related this to me, I 
 told him about the fresh bear tracks I had seen 
 around the lake, and together we went down the 
 path to investigate. When nearly down the hill 
 and in sight of the lake, I discovered the bear track 
 up the same hill coming from the direction of the 
 lake, and headed northeast, and as it was the same 
 track I had seen below, we concluded the bear was 
 down there prowling around until he heard us at 
 the camp, and then he ran up over the hill, and this 
 is what George heard running a few minutes before. 
 
 The day was pleasant, with sunshine most of the 
 time, and we worked like beavers getting our tent 
 and stove up and unpacking our goods. About 
 one o'clock we stopped long enough to snatch a bite 
 of cold lunch, after which George said he would 
 take his rifle and go out in the woods a little while, 
 while I finished arranging things about the camp. 
 I got the stove set up, and then took the axe and 
 
2 6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 cut some dry maple from a tree which had been 
 felled long enough to be well seasoned. There was 
 an abundance of beech, maple and birch wood near 
 the camp, and all dry and easy to cut, so I soon had 
 a good pile of wood in the tent and a cracking fire 
 in the stove. 
 
 Grouse or partridge were very plenty, and every 
 day we saw many and could have shot a great num- 
 ber, but only clipped the heads off a few near the 
 camp. They were the finest eating we ever tasted, 
 having a peculiarly fine, gamey flavor not usually 
 found in the partridge of the lower peninsula. 
 
 About the third or fourth day of camp life, George 
 mixed up his first batch of flapjacks, remarking at 
 the time that it reminded him of his old life on the 
 plains in the buffalo hunting days of '71. How- 
 ever, he soon proved that his hand had not lost its 
 cunning, as he tossed up the flapper into the air 
 with the ease of a Hindoo juggler, turning it in the 
 air and dropping it into the pan with a flop, 
 browned side up, every time. Such flapjacks I 
 never enjoyed before, light and browned to a turn. 
 Spread with good home dairy butter, a layer of 
 sugar (George never used the sweet stuff, he said), 
 they were delicious, indeed. Three or four days 
 had passed, yet we had not had a shot at a deer, 
 when George came in one evening, with fire in his 
 eyes, and told how he had just a few moments 
 before, caught sight of the biggest buck he had ever 
 seen, but the old fellow only showed himself for a 
 moment, just long enough to show off his fine, large, 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 27 
 
 rounded form, branching antlers, and then, with 
 one mighty bound, was out of sight in the woods 
 like a flash. George sighed heavily, and filled his 
 pipe, and with lighted match in his hand, continued 
 his story, and told what he would do to that buck 
 if ever he saw him again. 
 
 During the night several inches of snow had 
 fallen, and on stepping forth from the tent that 
 morning we found there was good tracking. George 
 started north and west, while I struck out east for 
 the stage route, to mail a letter and bring back 
 mail. 
 
 Although we tramped over miles of territory that 
 day, scarcely a fresh deer track could be seen, and 
 we concluded that the game had taken shelter 
 from the storm in the big swamp or in the thick 
 clumps of hemlock far back in the woods. Both 
 returned to camp near evening, tired and some- 
 what discouraged from the day's hunt. A brisk 
 fire soon cast a glow of warmth and comfort around 
 us, and a big appetizing supper, consisting of boiled 
 potatoes, fried onions, grouse, fried in butter and 
 big flaky flapjacks, and rich coffee, put us in good 
 humor and cheered our dampened spirits. 
 
 During that night and the next day a large lum- 
 bering camp moved in right near us, and as we 
 learned they were going to lumber all winter in 
 that vicinity, we became thoroughly disgusted, and 
 decided to move. 
 
 During the next two days we did nothing except 
 to make arrangements for moving, and in looking 
 
28 Hitiiting in the Land oj Hiaivaiha; 
 
 up another camping site, which George discov- 
 ered some three and a half miles south and west. 
 We were soon moved and our tent set up for the 
 second time. 
 
 The location was a splendid one, at least five 
 miles from any other hunter's camp, and far enough 
 from our late lumbermen friends to keep silence be- 
 tween us. It was right on the edge of the great 
 swamp and where the line of hardwood ended, so 
 we had both hardwood and swamp ground for 
 hunting, as well as plenty of good dry beech, maple 
 and birch trees handy for fuel ; good water we found 
 only a few rods from the tent. There was an 
 abundance of signs of game all around us. That 
 afternoon, tov/ards evening, it was a dark and 
 cloudy day, the sky betokening snov/, George was 
 cleaning a freshly- killed grouse near the tent, when 
 he heard the long-drawn out howl of a big timber 
 wolf, about eighty rods away, out in the swamps. 
 This made the blood tingle through our veins, and 
 we looked forward anxiously to the morning when 
 we would start out. 
 
 Before the first rays of light swept across the east- 
 ern horizon and had half a chance to penetrate the 
 forest seclusion of our camping site, we were up and 
 had toasted ourselves by the side of a good hot fire, 
 which was from time to time replenished with 
 sticks of good dry maple cut from seasoned trees 
 the evening previous. The never-failing coffee pot 
 had boiled until its savory odor, escaping from the 
 singing vessel, filled the tent with richest aroma. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 29 
 
 A hot flapjack for myself and a pint of hot, rich 
 coffee, with a good lump of butter added and sugar 
 to sweeten to the taste, and I was buckling on my 
 belt, feeling for reserve cartridges in my hunting- 
 coat pockets, and ascertaining at the same time the 
 location of my pipe and tobacco. I was just pre- 
 paratory to stepping from the tent, but first most 
 critically examining my rifle — let her slip out a 
 cartridge to see if it was loaded and the action was 
 perfect, then I was ready for the start. George 
 never eats anything for breakfast, and I believe 
 that he must belong to the anti-breakfast society ; 
 a swallow or two of coffee is all he wants, and grab- 
 bing his rifle he goes through much the same per- 
 formance as myself as to examining its work- 
 ings, and placing any possible doubt as to whether 
 it is loaded and in perfect working order at an end 
 by throwing back the lever until the polished brass 
 shell and soft-nosed bullet is plainly seen, then clos- 
 ing the lever with a satisfied snap, he sweeps aside 
 the flap of the tent, steps forth softly, pauses a mo- 
 ment on the outer edge to look and listen, then, 
 before I have time to take a second glimpse, his 
 stalwart form noiselessly slips away into the semi- 
 darkness of approaching dawn and is lost in the 
 shadows of the great trees which surround us. 
 
 After fruitlessly walking a good many miles, and 
 seeing nothing, I started for camp, and getting 
 there just before dusk. That evening we went over 
 the events of the day. George had been west sev- 
 eral miles and then turned north. He said that 
 
30 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 after leaving me in slashing, and when he had been 
 gone on his way an hour, he heard the cry of a pan- 
 ther a little south of where we separated, and per- 
 haps two miles west. 
 
 "Say, old man," I exclaimed, "you must be mis- 
 taken, as I don't think there are any panthers 
 here," but George replied: "Al, I know that cry 
 too well; I've listened to 'em many and many a 
 time on the plains in the old buffalo days of ' 7 1 , and 
 it was the regular shriek of a big cat or panther. 
 We called them lions, mountain lions in the West, 
 and they are mighty cunnin', too; one night one 
 sneaked up to our tent and stole a forequarter of 
 freshly- killed venison from under my saddle, which 
 I was using for a pillow, and although he only had 
 to draw it from underneath the edge of the tent and 
 slip it away from underneath my saddle, I should 
 have heard him, but didn't. The next morning we 
 could see his trail where he came and went off to- 
 wards the hills very plainly. I tell you, Al, this is 
 a wild country, miles from any settlement, and 
 when you can go out and see deer, wolf, lynx and 
 bear tracks all around you as we can, there is a 
 pretty good likelihood of there being some pan- 
 thers here. Anyway, I'll swear that I heard one 
 scream three or four times today, and I had a no- 
 tion to go back to you and warn you of what I had 
 heard, but I knew you were well armed, and al- 
 though you might not hear a cat scream or know it 
 was approaching you, I felt pretty sure that you 
 would be on the lookout for anything moving, and 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 31 
 
 get the drop on him with that 30-30 of yours before 
 he could reach you; but Al, I want you to be sure 
 and get in nights before dark, or I shall be wor- 
 ried." 
 
 After listening to George's earnest words of warn- 
 ing, I told him that I guessed it would be just as 
 well if both of us got to camp before night set in, 
 and in future, panther or no panther, I should keep 
 a sharp lookout when passing under trees, and es- 
 pecially where a lynx or cat could spring down onto 
 its prey. 
 
 While we were thus talking, and our pipes 
 had been filled and refilled once or twice, 
 George suddenly raised himself on his elbow, at 
 the same instant saying "Hark," and raised his 
 arm in a cautionary movement, inclined his head 
 slightly, while we both remained motionless and 
 perfectly quiet for a full minute. Then, raising 
 himself from the bed where he had been reclining at 
 full length on the blankets, he cautiously ap- 
 proached the flap, and drawing it carefully aside, 
 stepped forth. Calling to me to look out ; a second 
 later I did so, and found the surrounding scene one 
 of beauty, indeed. The storm clouds had passed 
 over, and the moon, almost full, was shining 
 brightly, while all around was nearly as light as day. 
 It was an entrancing scene, and we stood with un- 
 covered heads under the shadow of the giant trees, 
 silently admiring this moonlit forest scene. After 
 we had retreated back into the tent, George said: 
 "Seemed just so to me when I told you to listen 
 
32 Htinting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 that I heard something or other a-runnin' round 
 this tent, and that's why I stopped you talking, but 
 I don't see or hear anything. In the morning, Al, 
 just look for tracks and see if anything did come 
 near us , will you ? " 
 
 "Of course I will," Ireplied, and in a few moments 
 we were both snugly tucked away in our woolen 
 blankets, with each trusty rifle on either side of us. 
 
 The following morning we were up early, and 
 ready for a start before the break of day, but con- 
 cluded not to start out until we could see the sights 
 on our guns, as the moon had then gone down and 
 it was quite dark. 
 
 Getting tired of walking around and seeing no 
 game, I turned towards the camp, which I reached 
 about II in the forenoon. After building a fire, I 
 bethought me of what George suggested the pre- 
 vious evening about looking for tracks near the 
 tent, so took a little circle around to see for my- 
 self. About three rods to the south of the tent, 
 in an old logging road leading into the swamp, I 
 could distinguish tracks of some kind made in the 
 early part of the previous evening, bending down 
 and looking at them steadily I could see very plain- 
 ly that they were wolf tracks, and following up 
 the trail a little further, the tracks became more 
 numerous, and a regular path was beaten in the 
 center of the road. There was a big pine tree 
 lying across the road about 1 6 or 17 rods from the 
 tent, and when I came up to it, I could see the 
 foot-prints of the wolves on its upward side, and 
 
CEDAR CAMP— GROUP XO. i. 
 
CEDAR CAMP— GROUP NO. 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 33 
 
 also noted with some astonishment that the snow 
 was all melted off and hardly packed down on one 
 favorite spot on the tree where the wolves had 
 evidently sat in the cold moonlight watching our 
 tent during the hours when we slept, all uncon- 
 scious of the fact that game was actually within a 
 few rods of us and sitting on that log and calcu- 
 lating the chances of getting a square meal. We 
 kept the lantern burning, so that every movement 
 in the canvas tent could plainly be seen, as our 
 shadows were distinctly outlined wherever we 
 stood up or moved about. Walking back towards 
 the tent, I found tracks within 30 feet of where 
 lay our innocent heads during the night. 
 
 This last discovery was an eye opener to me, 
 and right there I made up my mind that it was 
 wolves that George had heard running near the 
 tent the night before. I ground my teeth in silent 
 rage at the unparalleled audacity of these gaunt 
 creatures that infested these woods in daring to 
 come right under our very noses, and be off with- 
 out our ever seeing one. As near as I could judge 
 by the numerous tracks and size of foot-prints 
 there were at least half a dozen or more in the 
 gang, and one was a monster, too ; his track showed 
 a foot-print fully four inches through each way, 
 and his steps were two feet apart, showing what a 
 long-legged, monster he must have been. 
 
 That evening after George returned we discussed 
 the wolf question, and decided then and there that 
 it would scarcely be healthy for more of these 
 
34 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 brutes to come prowling around our tent by moon- 
 light while we were around. Neither of us had 
 seen a deer that day, but both had seen numerous 
 fresh tracks, and we promised ourselves a deer to 
 hang up before night, at least George said that he 
 was going to get one sure. 
 
 We were up early the next morning, and found 
 the snow nearly gone again, there having been a 
 thaw, in fact there was no tracking as the earth 
 was bare. George got away with blood in his eye, 
 and said he was going west towards the river. As 
 usual I went north on the old road and spent several 
 hours watching for any deer that might cross. 
 These roads make a good place to stand and watch, 
 as one can see a half mile each way in most places. 
 Nothing more than those pesky little red squirrels 
 came near me, and it seemed as though the woods 
 were full of them. They would come right up to 
 my bootleg, stop, look, turn and run off a few 
 yards, then stand up and chatter; such a lot of 
 scolding as one big fellow did give me, I almost 
 felt like throwing a stick at him, because he made 
 so much noise. 
 
 About 10 that morning I returned to camp, 
 somewhat discouraged, and was about to kindle a 
 fire, when a small piece of manila paper stuck in 
 the slide of the lantern, caught my eye. This is 
 what I read: "Al, I have killed one. Take the 
 north road to where it turns east and then come 
 north until you find me." 
 
 The paper dropped from my fingers in a hurry, 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 35 
 
 and I grabbed up my rifle and started up the north 
 road as George had directed me. It was about a 
 mile and a half's walk, and before I had approached 
 within 150 yards of the place, I could easily make 
 out the form of a big buck lying in the road. I 
 was soon on the spot, and examining the wound, 
 which had considerable interest for me, as Geerge 
 was carrying my 30-30 smokeless Marlin, and this 
 being the first deer hit with this modern gun while 
 in our hands, I felt some curiosity to see the effect 
 of the shot. George soon came out of the woods 
 nearby, a broad smile on his face and a merry 
 twinkle in his eye, and approaching the noble game 
 — a beautiful ten point buck — which, even in death, 
 looked majestic and inspiring. To my question 
 as to how he got him, George smiled, rolled his 
 chew into the other jaw, and replied: "I was 
 coming along on the north road about 7 130 when, 
 as I got right here, I saw something move just a 
 little off there to the left in that thick brush; I 
 stopped in my tracks and looked again, and could 
 just make out a brownish-gray spot about 4x5 
 inches through the thicket, and said to myself, 
 (mentally, of course), 'now that's a deer, sure,' but 
 what part of him I was looking at I didn't know. 
 Squaring around I slowly drew up the little 30-30, 
 ran my eye along the barrel until I caught a good 
 bead right on the center of that suspicious looking 
 spot and pressed the trigger. Before the gun crack- 
 ed there was a tumble of the game that I never 
 have seen equaled, not even when I used the old 
 
36 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 50 Sharps in the buffalo days. Say, Al, I would 
 have given $5 if you could have stood here and 
 seen him go down. If that buck had been a fat 
 steer in a slaughter pen and struck with an iron 
 maul in the forehead his feet would never have 
 went out from under him any quicker; down he 
 went all in a heap, and though he tried to stagger 
 to his knees, he could not do it. I saw he was 
 suffering terribly, the blood gushed from the wound 
 in his neck, and in mercy I shot him through the 
 brain to end his misery. The look of human re- 
 proach that he gave me out of those great brown, 
 liquid eyes of his, almost broke me down, and for 
 a moment or two, I confess Al, enthusiastic hunter 
 as I am, I almost regretted that I had killed him. 
 But as the remembrance of days I had spent in 
 hunting him, and, cold and hungry and tired, to 
 return each night to camp almost despondent, and 
 without even a shot, flashed through my mind, 
 and my eye took in, with glowing pride, the fine 
 round form, the perfect antlers, and his noble 
 breast, I was a hunter again, and could not help 
 but gloat over my noble prize, the finest buck I 
 ever killed." 
 
 "And what do you think of the little 30-30, 
 now?" I asked, as we both drew a few feet away 
 to take a seat on a fallen tree near the roadside. 
 
 "Why, Al, when I first started out with that 
 rifle, I called it a pop-gun , good to shoot red squirrels 
 or grouse, but never expected to kill a deer with 
 it; you know 1 wanted to change guns with you 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 37 
 
 just for luck. But I'll tell you right now, that's 
 the strongest shooting gun I ever held to my 
 shoulder, and I have held some of the best. She's 
 a bird of a gun, and I would not be afraid to face 
 even a grizzly with it now." 
 
 As there was no snow on the ground, we had a 
 pretty lively tug, dragging the buck down to camp, 
 about a mile and a half. At last, we had him there, 
 and soon succeeded in suspending him from a pole, 
 which was propped up against two big pines, and 
 here he hung, until we started for home. Say, ye 
 lovers of the game of game, and the mystic charm 
 of the forest, you should have been there to dine 
 with us that evening. Such a feast was never (to 
 our minds) set before two hungry hunters, for 
 you remember we had not tasted food nor drink 
 since before daylight that morning. It was just 
 a little before dusk when our task of hanging up 
 the buck was completed, then George began to 
 swing the axe around pretty lively, and the hard 
 maple and dry birch chips flew through the air 
 like hailstones, while I hurried to the spring (a few 
 yards in the woods), to get our supply of water 
 for the night. A crackling fire made grotesque 
 shadows dance along the walls of the tent, while 
 the lantern cast a soft amber light over all from 
 its high position on the center pole, where it was 
 suspended by about two feet of wire and swung 
 back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. 
 
 Such an appetizing odor as filled our snug canvas 
 home that night makes me hungry just to think of 
 
3S Hunting in the Land of Hiaivatha; 
 
 it — the rich aroma of the boiHng coffee mingled 
 with the irrestible odor of frying venison, and the 
 steam from the hot frying pan as George flipped 
 the browned, flaky flapjacks into the air, all drifted 
 up together to the walls of canvas above us. We 
 drew our camp-stools up to the table, (an upturned 
 dry goods box, about 2x2x4 feet), and well — to 
 use the expression of the waifs of the street, we 
 didn't "do a 'ting to the layout' before us." 
 
 It was 10:30 the next morning before we met, 
 after leaving the tent together before daylight, and 
 I had been up the north road watching the different 
 crossing places, while George had been in west a 
 couple of miles. I was returning to camp along 
 the north road, when I came to a place where the 
 road was tracked up as though a flock of sheep had 
 crossed there. I counted five or six different 
 tracks, all going east, then I walked along a few 
 paces and discovered George's tracks in the wake 
 of the fleeing deer. So when we met on the road 
 a little ways below I knew that while I had been 
 up the road about a half mile watching for game, 
 George had driven six deer across below. George 
 was in a bad humor, and I managed to gather 
 enough information from him to find out that he 
 had gone west about two miles, and driven out 
 about a dozen deer, mostly does and fawns, he 
 thought, but did not see the game, except an occa- 
 sional glimpse of a flag way ahead through the 
 thick woods and brush, impossible to shoot at, of 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 39 
 
 He followed the flock, a ways, then they broke 
 and scattered, six of them going east, and the rest 
 west. He tracked six up across the north road, 
 and said: 
 
 " I knew I was getting pretty near the north road, 
 and that you were probably somewhere along there, 
 and I just held my breath when the gang ahead 
 of me kept right along in that direction. Every 
 moment I expected to hear your rifle but was 
 keenly disappointed on reaching the road, and 
 found the deer had crossed unmolested and that 
 you were nowhere's in sight." 
 
 We went to camp and cooked dinner, then started 
 again. We went back up the north road and 
 George took the tracks of the six deer and followed 
 them east about a mile and a half. I also went 
 north and east, but was a mile or two north of 
 where George was working. About 2 ;3o I was 
 returning down the north road having seen nothing 
 but tracks, when I espied George seated on a log 
 50 yards below. When I had approached him, 
 he jumped up and said: 
 
 "Well, I've killed a small one." 
 "Good," I exclaimed, "where is it?" 
 "About a raile and a half from here," he replied, 
 indicating with a wave of his hand the direction, 
 due east. We started on his back tracks and in 
 half an hour I was bending over the still warm 
 body of a fine four-pronged buck, which would 
 weigh 175 or 200 pounds. 
 
 " I thought you said it was a small one," I said. 
 
40 
 
 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 "Well, it is a small one," he replied, "ain't it?" 
 
 "Not at all, it's a dandy, George, and such a 
 fine noble head and well formed antlers. He is 
 nearly as large as the big five-pronged we have 
 hung up at camp." 
 
 The snow was crimsoned with blood where the 
 buck lay, and a trail of blood was plainly visible 
 where George had dragged him after he fell. 
 
 While we were preparing to hang him up and 
 dress him, George related the exciting narrative 
 of his lucky shot, the best one, he said, he had ever 
 made, which brought down the buck. 
 
 While engaged in hanging up the game, George 
 told the story of the lucky shot, about as follows: 
 
 "After following the six deer about two or three 
 miles, first east then north, and finally south, I 
 suddenly came upon the tracks of this buck. The 
 track was very fresh, and I decided to leave tbe 
 others and follow this one. He was going south 
 on a walk, and I knew by his actions that he was 
 hunting a soft and cozy spot to lay down after his 
 morning's meal, therefore I watched his zigzag 
 trail pretty closely ; the snow was the best tracking 
 of the day, but I knew if ever I got sight of the 
 fellow I would have to go slow, and keep my eyes 
 open. At half a dozen different places he had 
 pawed away the snow and thrashed over the leaves 
 to find a suitable place to lay down, but for some 
 reason, he kept going on through old dead tree 
 tops, under small hemlocks and over brush and 
 logs; I following as still as a cat the last 80 rods, 
 
CEDAR CAilP— AXEIIEN. 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 41 
 
 never lifted my feet from the ground, but shoved 
 them through the snow, and literally felt my way 
 along with my toes — more than a dozen times I 
 almost held my breath when I stepped on a stick 
 for fear it would crack, and I would lift my foot 
 from it as suddenly as though it was an egg or a 
 hot iron I was treading on. Around, like a letter 
 S went my game, and at last I knew I was pretty 
 near him — felt sure of it, and I was ready. I 
 held the old 38-55 in my hands, cocked and ready 
 to shoot at the first movement and it came mighty 
 sudden, too. Feeling my way ahead thus care- 
 fully, suddenly a big ball of grayish-brown, orna- 
 mented with a fine pair of antlers, bounded into 
 space about lo rods to my left. I stopped as quick 
 as I could, and drew up my rifle all at the same 
 instant, the buck had made one jump and was 
 just bounding into the air about 10 feet high, it 
 seemed, when I caught a line sight, and pulled the 
 trigger. 
 
 "The sharp crack of the rifle lost itself in the 
 thick woods, and as I glanced along the line of 
 his retreat, I caught one glimpse of my game still 
 a-going. 
 
 "'Well, I'll be d d,' says I to myself, 'I 
 
 never touched him.' But just to see which way 
 he went, I concluded to follow a short distance. 
 I soon had his tracks, and followed it about 15 
 rods from the place where I fired at him; at first 
 I could not see a sign of the game being hit, but 
 on going 10 rods further, I saw a small drop of 
 
42 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 blood on the snow — but hardly believed it was made 
 by my bullet — still looking far ahead in the direc- 
 tion of the trail, I saw where he had slowed down 
 to a walk, and thought it was rather cool of him 
 to walk away from me in this style, a few steps 
 farther along, a glance at my feet so astonished 
 me that I stopped short in my tracks and simply 
 stared at the sight I beheld. There he lay, the 
 snow all crimsoned with blood, and not over 20 
 feet from me. 'Dead,' did you say? Well, I 
 should say so, as dead as Julius Caesar, and when 
 I approached and laid my hand on his rounded 
 sides, at the slightest pressure, the blood spurted 
 from a round bullet hole in his left side, turning 
 him over, found I had hit him just below the 
 paunch, on his right side; bullet had passed through 
 his lungs, and came out just back of fore shoulder 
 — drilled a hole right through him." 
 
 "It was a crack shot, George, and no mistake," 
 I replied, after eagerly listening to his story, "and 
 I don't see how you could follow him so far as you 
 did and not even crack a twig; it was the work of 
 a sure-enough-hunter, and as good a piece of skill 
 in still hunting and quick, unerring shooting as I 
 ever came across." To this little piece of really 
 deserved flattery, George simply smiled, wiped the 
 knife blade on his boot top, dried it on the palm 
 of his big hand, and handed it back to me with 
 the remark: 
 
 "Well, Al, old boy, how will a little fresh venison 
 taste after this day's work?" 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of mi Editor 43 
 
 We returned to camp, loaded with venison, and 
 began active preparations for supper. 
 
 The evening came on apace, and was ushered 
 in by a glorious full moon, which flooded the open 
 places with light almost as clear as day; it was 
 perfectly still, with quite crisp air. The scene 
 around was so alluring that I decided to go out 
 by moonlight for a couple of hours. Leaving 
 George to toast himself before the fire and enjoy 
 his pipe, I took my rifle and started up the north 
 road. 
 
 I would I could command fitting language to 
 describe the beautiful scene around- I have stood 
 under the soft and melting beams of silvery light 
 radiating from a beautiful full moon, set in the 
 clearest of far-famed Virginia skies — have felt the 
 inspiration which fills the soul of the lowly negro 
 with delight and brings to his lips a song, as rich 
 in melody as the mocking-bird's tremulous note, 
 and which trembles on his lips as dew-drops on 
 the grasses at his feet ; I have viewed with enchant- 
 ment, the opalescent beauty of a calm and placid 
 sea under the sheen of a semi-tropical moon, and 
 looked upon other scenes where Luna was goddess 
 of the night, but none could compare with this 
 beautiful winter night scene in the North Country. 
 No murmurings of human voices, no sound, save 
 the soft rustling of some frosted leaf, moved by 
 the breath of night. All earth seemed transformed 
 into a fairyland of snowy whiteness, over which 
 reigned the august stillness of death, millions of 
 
44 Hunting in the Laud of Hiawatha; 
 
 scintillating gems sparked on twig and bush and 
 leaf, and the immaculate crust of snow, which, 
 like a vast mantle of crystallized gems, covered the 
 earth, and seemed to reflect back the light from 
 above. 
 
 I felt enraptured at the scene, and scarce dared 
 tread upon a twig for fear of breaking the solemn 
 stillness of the hour. Here was Nature clothed in 
 her garb of purest white, bedecked with jewels a 
 thousand times more brilliant than precious gems. 
 The giant pines around were robed in garments 
 of white, their lofty tops surmounted with grace- 
 ful clinging formations from the snowy world. 
 Every star seemed to shine with added light, and 
 not a cloud in all the heavens. Again and again 
 I paused along the road, and tried to assure my- 
 self I was looking for game, but I could not shake 
 off the mystic spell that held me, and the more I 
 pondered on the theme, the more I became con- 
 vinced that it would be sacrilege, indeed, to break 
 the charmed spell with the cruel crack of my rifle, 
 even should a deer be seen, therefore after enjoy- 
 ing the beautiful moonlight forest scene, I began 
 to retrace my steps towards camp. 
 
 The following day we left for home. Thus end- 
 ed our Second Annual Hunt, and for us both one 
 of the most enjoyable times of our lives, and on 
 reaching home safely, we felt as though we had 
 been given a new lease of life, and exhibited such 
 appetites that our families were simply scared. 
 
THIRD ANNUAL HUNT 
 Chapter III 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
 There is a society where none intrudes. 
 
 IN CAMP. 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 Here we are in the heart of the grand old forest 
 again. The year that has passed since last we en- 
 joyed the delights that come to the enthusiastic 
 hunter and Nature lover indeed seems a short 
 one, but it is past, and new scenes unfold them- 
 selves to us each day. 
 
 We arrived in Eckerman on November 2, and 
 found that a very nice, new hotel had been erected 
 on the spot occupied by the old log one where we 
 stopped last year. So we put up for the night at 
 this new hotel, and found everything neat and 
 clean and very comfortable. 
 
 About 7 the following morning we got started, 
 having just a fair load, George and Cell going on 
 ahead afoot. The morning was frosty and clear 
 — a nice pleasant day following. We had decided 
 to go to the old camping place of the year before, 
 north and west about thirteen miles. When about 
 six miles out and just after we got through the 
 big swamp, a bolt in the tongue of the wagon drop- 
 ped out and before the teamster could stop his 
 horses, the front wheel on the left side of the wagon 
 
 45 
 
46 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 went into the ditch with the result that the right 
 front axle, a poor wooden affair, was broken off. 
 This was a most disagreeable dilemma and no way 
 could we see to fix it up. So the teamster started 
 back for another wagon, while George and Cell 
 went on ahead afoot to cut out the road if neces- 
 sary, where trees had fallen across the track. 
 
 The teamster returned about 2 -.^o in the after- 
 noon; we unloaded the goods and placed them on 
 the fresh wagon, which proved to be a dilapidated 
 affair, about as poor as the first one. We arrived 
 at the camping place, near Al's lake, where we 
 camped first the year before, at dark, having had 
 to stop several times to tie up the broken parts of 
 the wheezy old wagon and thereby lost lots of 
 time. 
 
 Night having overtaken us, we stopped and 
 made a temporary camp at the lake by the log- 
 ging camps, occupying one of the old log buildings 
 to sleep in that night. 
 
 George built a big fire alongside of an old pine 
 log and we got up a nice lunch from the remnants 
 of our lunches on the train and made some coffee, 
 and after smoking our pipes around the big blazing 
 logs for an hour or two, turned in and m^ade a bed 
 with our blankets in one of the old camps. 
 
 We awoke the next morning, feeling refreshed 
 despite the mishaps of the previous day, and then 
 we decided to remain where we were, while the 
 teamster hitched up his team and started for home. 
 
 Breakfast was cooked in the open air, and par- 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 47 
 
 taken of, after which we went to work and cleaned 
 out one of the smallest of the log camps that had 
 been used for an office, for our use, deciding that 
 would be much more comfortable than a tent. 
 
 We had grouse for dinner, as Cell had shot five 
 coming in the day before. There seems to be any 
 number of these fine game birds in the woods here 
 this year, as the boys said they saw many more 
 that they did not shoot. 
 
 While working near the camp this afternoon, I 
 saw a big, fine grouse about 30 feet from camp; 
 got Cell's gun and shot it. Two others flew out 
 near the spot at the report of the gun. 
 
 Went out to the stage road today (Saturday, 
 Nov. 4), and met two other hunters, a Mr. McCall 
 and companion of Mancelona, Mich. They are 
 camped about five miles southeast of us, and are 
 our nearest neighbors. One of them had just 
 found the rusty barrel of an old rifle, lying in the 
 leaves and dirt near a deer path in the woods. 
 I took it and examined it carefully, and told him 
 that in all probability the spot where he found it 
 marked the scene of some long past and unknown 
 tragedy — as it is too well known that a man never 
 leaves his gun in the woods while he is alive. The 
 old barrel was rusty and was an inch or two longer 
 than our repeating rifles, stocks and all. The bore 
 was at least 50 caUbre and it was an old timer, 
 sure. How it came there, how long it had been 
 there, who it belonged to, will no doubt forever 
 remain a deep mystery. 
 
48 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 5. — Hung out my thermometer 
 today. A little snow last night; but a pleasant 
 day. Saw two deer in the woods today while 
 taking a walk. George and Cell also report seeing 
 several deer. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 6. — Ice formed in basins last 
 night, and thermometer indicated 42 above zero 
 in the middle of the day. A little cold snap but 
 it did not last, as the weather continued warm 
 during the day. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 7. — I went out to postoffice to- 
 day. Our postoffice is a wooden box nailed on a 
 tree on the stage road, where the stage driver 
 leaves our mail. We have the following written 
 on the lid of the box: 
 A. D. Shaffmaster. 
 George Brown. 
 M. M. Clark. 
 Camp 2 miles west. 
 
 This is the proper thing to do up here, as all 
 who see and read it know where there is a hunter's 
 camp and who is in the camp. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 8. — Up before dawn today and 
 started for the woods. The day opened with fog 
 and mist, and was too warm to hunt. I saw a big 
 buck, but he was walking fast through the thick 
 brush, and I only got one glimpse of him, so could 
 not shoot. George shot at a big doe this morning, 
 but missed her. Cell went out to the postoffice 
 with letters for home. This evening George came 
 
GEORGE EROWN AND 250-LB, EUCK. 
 
AIcNEARUF'S HOME ON TAH-OUA-ME.-NON Rr\'ER. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 49 
 
 in and reported that he had killed a fine young 
 buck over south. This evening as we were pre- 
 paring our supper, a small, white weasel or ermine 
 (putorious erminea) made his appearance in camp, 
 darting across the floor like a miniature meteor. 
 He is a cute little fellow and so pretty. His eyes 
 are almost red, his fur as white as snow, except 
 the tip of his tail, which is just as black as jet. We 
 notice that the mice (deer mice) which have been 
 so plentiful since we came here are keeping hid 
 or else the weasel has caught some of them. The 
 first night or two Cell complained that they awoke 
 him during the night by getting into his hair, as 
 we lay with our heads towards the log wall. Since 
 then we have changed front, and lay with our 
 heads the other way, and Cell has not complained. 
 We have seen a dozen of these tiny little creatures 
 running along the logs or scampering over the 
 floor all at the same time. At first they were in- 
 clined to cut our clothing and chew holes in our 
 gun cases, but we commenced to feed them by 
 placing a basin on the floor, and adding all scraps 
 of bacon, crumbs, bones, etc., left from our meals 
 each day, and now we get along very nicely to- 
 gether. These deer mice are larger than the 
 domestic mice you know at home. They also are 
 more pretty, having a little strip of fawn-colored 
 skin from the throat down, extending to the tips 
 of the hind feet. Their ears are very long, and 
 when they run, they exhibit the characteristics 
 of the deer family by always going with their 
 
50 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 tails up in the air, which makes us all laugh every 
 time we see one darting along. Well, the day is 
 done. I shot two nice big grouse, George shot 
 a nice buck. Cell got nothing. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 9. — Another day gone, and 
 again we are smoking around the evening camp 
 fire. We all started out early this morning, each 
 one going in a different direction. George went 
 south, Cell went up the north road, and I went 
 northwest, into the big elbow. In attempting 
 to cross over from one road to the other, I made 
 an error and went north instead of going south 
 and was lost for three hours, in the big elbow 
 which is formed by the river and swamp. This 
 elbow is about nine miles long and six or seven 
 miles wide, and after crossing a road which runs 
 east and west, it is an unbroken forest, with not 
 a road or path except the deer trails in it. 
 
 George killed another deer today, a big doe, 
 and saw several more. Cell did not see any. 
 
 Friday, November 10. — The fire is crackling in 
 the camp stove tonight while sitting around its 
 glowing sides are the three hunters, all tired and 
 hungry as wolves. Cell came in early this after- 
 noon and has been cooking a big basin of beans, 
 these are about done, and George is stirring up 
 the batter for his famous, or as Cell sometimes 
 calls them infamous, flapjacks. But Cell has 
 not yet been in camp long enough to feel the keen 
 edge of an appetite which would turn a grindstone 
 or make mince meat out of a pine log, so we sort 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 5 1 
 
 of pity him and smile softly as he occasionally 
 makes some remark about certain alleged indi- 
 gestible dishes. I have set the coffee pot on the 
 stove, and already its savory and pungent odor, 
 as the little bubbles of steam escapes from the 
 lid, fills the cabin. 
 
 Suddenly George says: "Al, take your knife 
 and cut some steak." This reminds me that we 
 are to have our first venison steak for supper. 
 George had killed a small buck today, which really 
 was only a fawn, and we decided to eat him and 
 not try to ship him out, so Cell and George carried 
 him up from the woods about a mile distant, 
 swung on a spring pole, and now have him skinned 
 and nicely dressed, quartered and hung up on the 
 outside of the cabin. My hunting knife is soon 
 snatched from its sheath in my belt and placing 
 a quarter of the deer on a box, which I use for a 
 meat block, I proceed to cut off slice after slice 
 of the dark red and flavory venison, which is soon 
 transferred to the hot frying pan, where it is done 
 to a turn with butter and plenty of salt and pepper 
 to season. 
 
 The supper that we enjoyed that night was the 
 counterpart of many another one in the happy 
 days which followed. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 11. — It has been a most beauti- 
 ful day here today, and we all have had quite a 
 day of sport. This morning George went one way 
 and Cell and I started out for a short walk down 
 an old logging road, which was cut in here last 
 
52 Hunting tn the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 winter and runs west and north from the other 
 side of the lake. We did not expect to see much, 
 as we only intended to go a short distance along 
 the road, mostly looking for grouse and signs of 
 deer. Cell carried his hammerless shot gun and 
 I had my 30-30 rifle. For about a mile or so we 
 strolled along, seeing no grouse and occasionally 
 the footprint of deer in the soft earth along the 
 way. 
 
 In going around a little bend of the road which 
 borders a small lake on the left, Cell was a few 
 paces ahead of me, when he suddenly dropped 
 to the ground on his knees, and raised a Avarning 
 hand to me. I thought he had seen a bear 
 and began to instantly get ready for business, 
 also remembering that my gun was loaded with 
 hard or full metal cased bullets, which I had 
 expected to use on grouse. A small pine tree 
 afforded a perfect screen for Cell, as it lay across 
 the road a few paces in front of him, gestulating 
 and urging me to come up. I dropped down on 
 hands and knees and began crawling towards 
 the pine tree, having already caught sight of the 
 game — two large deer — a buck and doe, which 
 were feeding alongside the road some 25 or 30 
 rods distant. After reaching the coveted spot, 
 I peered out, but the game had moved towards 
 the north side of the road, and I could not see 
 plainly where to shoot, so I whispered to Cell 
 and handed him my rifle as he was in a position 
 where he could see the game and had watched all 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 53 
 
 their movements, and had already laid down his 
 shot gun. 
 
 He drew the rifle towards him, and leveled it 
 at the buck and fired. At the crack of the guti 
 we both partially rose to our feet just in time to 
 see the buck give two or three jumps and stop 
 along side of the road. The doe passed out of 
 sight. I knew by the way he jumped that the 
 buck was hit, and whispered so to Cell; after stand- 
 ing still a minute or two and watching the game, 
 with gun ready to fire, we walked towards the 
 spot very cautiously. Approaching within about 
 15 rods, Cell again raised the rifle and fired. Al- 
 most instantly the big antlers swayed and shook 
 and the buck fell to the ground. Cell was almost 
 wild with joyous excitement, and I sat down on 
 a log nearby while he started back to get George 
 if he could find him to help hang up the game. 
 I sat there in silence perhaps 10 minutes, when 
 I saw four deer run up across the hill about 50 
 rods west and were out of sight in a twinkling 
 almost, so did not try to shoot at them. Cell 
 returned in about a half hour, accompanied by 
 George, and we soon had the buck hung up. 
 
 This evening George came up and said he had 
 shot a doe about 80 rods north of where Cell got 
 the buck, so Cell went back with him to help hang 
 it up. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 12. — A very nice day, a little 
 cloudy. What little snow there fell on the loth 
 and nth has melted. The soil here is a sort of 
 
54 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 sandy loam, and the earth surface is warm, con- 
 sequently the snow melts almost as fast as it falls, 
 unless it snows very hard. We had venison steak, 
 coffee, flapjacks, fried onions, boiled potatoes, 
 honey and other delicacies for dinner. Tidied up 
 around the camp and Cell and I wrote letters 
 home. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 13. — Another warm day, all hunt, 
 and Cell had the luck to get another deer today, 
 a doe of fair size. He went down the north road 
 this morning near the place where we saw the 
 buck and doe the other day and just a little further 
 north from the place where he got the buck, and 
 while standing in the road, a doe walked out of 
 the brush on the opposite side of the road about 
 four rods away, and he opened up on her with 
 his 30-30 Winchester. The first shot sent her 
 and three other deer which he had not seen before, 
 off through the thick brush like flashes of light, 
 their white flags bobbing up in the air as they got 
 away from him ; the doe kept going and Cell blazed 
 away three times. Then he took the trail, which 
 was a very poor one, there being no snow, and 
 by following the small clots of blood, he, after 
 an almost fruitless search, found her lying in a 
 runway on the side of a ravine about 40 rods from 
 where she was first shot. She was hit by all three 
 balls, and is badly shot up, the shots all being body 
 and paunch shots. George helped him hang her 
 up. George and I saw no deer. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 14. — Still another warm day, 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 55 
 
 thermometer hanging on the southwest corner of 
 the cabin outside registered about 38 above zero. 
 Cell and I went out to the stage road to send to 
 Emerson for chewing tobacco for George. A 
 damp, foggy day with mist in the air. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 15. — Rain today and fog; a 
 poor day to hunt, as every branch and twig is 
 dripping wet and the great woods were as still as 
 death itself. Cut wood for the stove this forenoon 
 and stayed in camp the rest of the day. Towards 
 evening Cell went up the hill about 2 5 rods north- 
 west of cabin and sat down on a stump to watch 
 for deer, with no idea whatever that one would come 
 near him, but the unexpected oftentimes happens. 
 It did today, and he had been at his post only a 
 short time, when just at dusk, he saw a good sized 
 doe coming down over the hill from the west, and 
 when she had approached within about 12 rods 
 of him, he pulled up and fired at her. At the 
 crack of the rifle, she jumped, threw up her flag, 
 and ran partly around him in a semi-circle. Cell 
 came tearing down towards me as I was approach- 
 ing from an opposite direction, and told me about 
 the shot. I told him I thought he had missed 
 her, overshooting the mark in the poor light, as 
 it was nearly dark. We looked for signs of a hit, 
 but found none, so concluded it was a miss. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 16. — Up at 5 this morning. 
 I went to Brown's lake, and the old camps, a 
 distance of about three miles north and west, 
 but saw no deer. Again Cell has shown his "tender- 
 
56 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 foot " luck by killing a fine buck in the same place 
 only a few rods from the camp and where he shot 
 at the doe only last night. The buck was coming 
 across on the trail from a different direction this 
 evening, when Cell was standing by a tree, only 
 having been there a few minutes; the buck was 
 walking along slowly and did not see him, and 
 when the game came out into the path about six 
 rods away, Cell fired, the ball hitting the buck 
 in the neck, severing the windpipe as completely 
 as if it had been cut with a knife. The buck 
 made three or four jumps after being hit, and fell 
 dead. I helped Cell drag him to camp, each hav- 
 ing a grip on his antlers. After supper George 
 dressed him, and now he is hanging up near the 
 camp. Cell appears to have wonderful luck in 
 getting shots and deer, and though rarely ever 
 going away from the roads or far from camp, 
 he appears to have the deer run right onto him. 
 
 George saw three deer today, but got no shots; 
 I did not see any, but a fine marten came within 
 ten feet of me, while I was sitting down on a log 
 in the woods. I did not shoot him, as I had my 
 rifle loaded with soft-nosed bullets and I was 
 afraid there would not be anything left of him 
 except perhaps the hole, if I hit him, so I did not 
 shoot. 
 
 Friday, Nov. 17. — A damp day with mist and 
 fog; the thermometer ranges between 38 and 40. 
 We are getting anxious about our venison in the 
 carcass, as this damp, warm weather is likely to 
 
TTTF .:HAl-TII~UL TAII-OUA-IIE-XON. 
 
THE EDITOR AND HIS BIG BUCK OF 1900. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 57 
 
 spoil the meat unless a change in the weather 
 comes soon for the better. No deer today, but 
 it is my turn to laugh at George now. He came 
 in just at dark, panting like a hunted wolf, and 
 after a little bantering we were able to gather 
 from him his story. He thought he would go 
 across from one road to another in the big elbow 
 northwest of us where I got mixed up some days 
 ago, and, ha! ha! the old buffalo hunter, trapper, 
 and man of the woods, actually got lost himself, 
 and had a compass, too. He said he walked clear 
 round the road that runs north and west from here, 
 and when he failed to strike the other road, kept 
 going. The sky was dull and leaden, and shadows 
 began to creep into the great and silent woods. 
 He soon found himself at the edge of the swamp, 
 and paused. A long drawn out howl from some 
 gaunt and hungry wolf greeted his ear. This was 
 too much for him, and he "lit out," he says, and 
 somehow or other got home. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. iS. — Rain today, no hunting — 
 we all stayed in camp nearly all day. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 19 — A little rain this morning, 
 temperature 40 above. Cell and I went to the 
 Tah-qua-me-non river to-day, which is about nine 
 miles west of our camp. We started about 8 this 
 morning, each carrying his rifle, and our gallon oil 
 can, as we were nearly out of kerosene oil and knew 
 we could get some at Frank McNearuf's farm on 
 the river. We had a good, long walk, and a hard 
 one, too, before we arrived at Mr. McNearuf's 
 
58 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 place, which we reached a little before 12 o'clock. 
 The road runs straight west, or is supposed to go 
 straight, but it is up hill and down dale — through 
 the woods all the way, two miles of which is swamp. 
 We saw many fresh deer tracks across the road in 
 the soft earth, and when we were going through the 
 swamp we saw, in the mud in the middle of the road 
 the tracks of two big moose. They were going to- 
 wards the river, and followed along in the road for 
 perhaps half a mile, when they turned off into the 
 swamp. 
 
 Cell and I reported the seeing of the tracks in the 
 road at McNearuf's camp, and they told us there 
 that the two moose (cow and bull), had been seen 
 quite often during the summer and fall near where 
 we had seen the tracks. So that settled it in our 
 minds as to whether there are moose in Michigan or 
 not. McNearuf's is the only farm in this section 
 of country, and he is the only settler we know of 
 also. His farm embraces about 25 or 30 acres, I 
 should think, of cleared land bordering on the 
 Tah-qua-me-non river. After our arrival, we met 
 several hunters at McNearuf's place, who were 
 camped just across the river, and we were invited to 
 go across and call on them. We accepted the in- 
 vitation and walked from the house to the river 
 bank, about 30 rods. Here we found half a dozen 
 canoes and several boats, and it was at this time 
 that I first caught a good sight of this famous river. 
 I simply stood and looked and looked, while Cell, 
 in ecstaciesof delight, jumped into an Indian canoe, 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 59 
 
 in company with one of the hunters just mentioned, 
 and their neat craft soon was gliding hke a thing of 
 life, silently but swiftly across the dark, smooth, 
 glassy-like surface of the river. The river at this 
 point was about 25 or 30 rods wide, and the current 
 strong; the average depth being about 30 feet in 
 mid stream. The banks are gently sloping, with a 
 nice green sward on the cleared side and sandy 
 shore. 
 
 On the opposite shore, there is a dark fringe of 
 trees, mostly cedar, which stand very close to the 
 water's edge, and the air was so still, the surface so 
 smooth, that it was almost like gazing into a mirror 
 to look upon the placid stream before me. On and 
 on rushed the silent but fast flowing current, and 
 over all hung that mysterious silence known 
 only to a spot like unto this. I thought of the days 
 gone by — of the startling scenes which must have 
 taken place on the bosom of this river- and along its 
 banks. Many and many an Indian birch bark 
 canoe and pirogue had glided over its surface ; some 
 in peace or in the pursuit of game and some in the 
 terrible strife and warfare known only to the wily 
 savage of the wilderness. How the night fires must 
 have lighted up the surrounding inky darkness, for 
 I firmly believe that in these great forests it is, on a 
 dark night, the darkest place on earth, at least it is 
 to my knowledge and experience. 
 
 I soon found myself on the opposite shore also, 
 and then we were invited into the hunters' camp, 
 a log house about 14x20, constructed of cedar poles ; 
 
6o Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha, 
 
 there was one window and one door, no floor but 
 mother earth. They had two or three bunks fixed 
 up and a table and an old cast iron stove, and taken 
 all together it was a very fair camp. We found 
 that there were six hunters and they had killed 
 eight or nine deer and shipped all home on account 
 of the warm weather. 
 
 In a small enclosure along the river bank, made 
 of boards, they showed us a large number of good 
 big fish, black suckers, pickerel and muskalonge, 
 and told us to take out all we wanted. So we ac- 
 cepted three fish, a pickerel nearly three feet long 
 and two smaller fish, and soon took our departure 
 for the other shore. 
 
 Having finished our business. Cell and I gathered 
 up our loads — he having four loaves of bread tied 
 up in a bundle and strung on his back, while I car- 
 ried about 12 pounds of fish over my shoulder, be- 
 sides our rifles, and started for our camp, where we 
 arrived about four in the afternoon, tired but feel- 
 ing well repaid for our long walk. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 20 — Up at 5 this morning. I 
 started to go west, but found where two bucks had 
 fought a terrific battle last night or early in the 
 morning hours, only about 80 rods from our camp, 
 and in and along both sides of the east and west 
 road. The earth was plowed and cut up where 
 the two contestants plunged their sharp hoofs into 
 the ground ; the brush was trampled and torn down 
 and leaves scattered about over half an acre. I 
 found one spot on a small knoll, where one of the 
 
or, The Htmting Trips of an Editor 6i 
 
 bucks had been thrown to the ground by his rival, 
 and probably somewhat injured by the sharp ant- 
 lers of the other, as there were bunches of loose hair 
 scattered all around, an imprint of his body as he 
 lay on the ground could easily be seen. I tracked 
 the fighters quite a distance, until the trail grew 
 fainter and soon found where they had separated, 
 a buck and doe going south and the other buck 
 turning northeast. 
 
 The footprints of the doe, as she stood in the mid- 
 dle of the road and calmly watched the fight of the 
 rivals for her favored presence, I could see plainly. 
 At this season of the year, the bucks are courting 
 the favor of the does or mating, and when two bucks 
 meet, one of which may be accompanied by a doe, 
 there is an instant challenge to combat, and the 
 fight opens in earnest. The doe stands near by 
 and watches the battle, which sometimes ends in 
 the mortal wounding of one or both of the fighters ; 
 or they may get their horns interlocked together in 
 such a manner as to never be able to separate, and 
 then both starve to death. Such instances are re- 
 corded. In the event of a victory, the gallant hero 
 who wins the fight, is always accompanied by the 
 doe who stood near and for whom he fought, and 
 the two go off together while the vanquished fellow 
 sneaks away into the depths of the forest to nurse 
 his bruises and console himself as best he can until 
 he shall have better luck himself. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 21 — Rain today and fog; stayed 
 in camp this morning. In the afternoon George 
 
62 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 and I went out a little while. George shot at a big 
 buck this afternoon west of camp, but did not get 
 him. Don't know whether he was hit or not. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 22 — Cell went home today. 
 He took his departure while George and I were 
 north and west of camp, and we did not know he 
 had gone until our return this afternoon. He left 
 a note for us, saying he got a chance to go out, and 
 as he had been looking for some one to take himself 
 and game out for a few days past, it did not sur- 
 prise us. He took only one deer and saddles of an- 
 other, both bucks, while his third one, a doe, he had 
 toabandon in the woods, as the venison had spoiled. 
 This weather is too warm, 37 today and soft and 
 rainy. The wolves howling near camp awoke 
 George about 5 this morning. On examining the 
 ground, we found where a big wolf had come within 
 three rods of the camp, and left his big round foot- 
 print, as large as George's fist, in the soft earth in 
 the middle of the road. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 23 — Temperature 31 this morn- 
 ing. A little snow is falling, but melts as fast as it 
 comes down. George and I went out and salted 
 our venison, hoping this will help some in keeping 
 it. The weather is so warm and soft, we fear the 
 meat may not keep. I found a flower in bloom 
 yesterday in the road. 
 
 Friday, Nov. 24. — Still a little snow falling by 
 spells. Temperature, 38 above. George and I 
 brought in three deer today from the woods and 
 hung them up on a big pole at the camp. One 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 63 
 
 of the bucks we brought in was George's biggest 
 one and must weigh over 200 pounds. 
 
 This afternoon I went over south, and seeing a 
 shght movement through the thick brush about 
 18 rods away, watched it until I made out the 
 form of a deer. The brush was very thick, but I 
 knew it was a deer, as I could make out the neck 
 and fore legs. I had been sitting on an old tree 
 top, when the deer first came into sight. The deer 
 was standing still, and so dark was the day that 
 I could scarcely get a bead on the game, but took 
 a careful aim and fired. At the crack of the rifle, 
 I saw a deer jump and make several lunges away 
 from the spot where I had fired. With a new shell 
 in the barrel and gun ready to fire, I made my 
 way slowly towards the spot; on looking around 
 after reaching it, found a few drops of blood; this 
 I followed up, it forming an indistinct trail over 
 the leaves for 8 or 10 rods, when I found large 
 pools of blood, and knew the game was mortally 
 wounded. A few rods farther along, I found the 
 deer, a large doe, lying on the leaves, quite dead. 
 George and I went down to the place towards 
 evening and hung her up. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 25. — I went to the postoffice 
 today and sent by stage driver to Emerson for 
 tobacco and sugar, two of the luxuries of camp 
 life. George was out of chewing tobacco, and 
 could not hunt, he said, without it. Temperature 
 38 today, sky cloudy. The wolves howled again 
 last night near the camp. 
 
64 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 26. — We went to White Fish Bay 
 todaj'. It is about six or seven miles east of our 
 camp. The scene on the bay is beautiful, indeed. 
 The white sandy shore, with its fringe of forest 
 paralleling it for miles, and the broad expanse of 
 water extending into space until sky and water 
 seem to meet in one grand sweep of vision, is a 
 novel and beautiful sight for one to behold who has 
 been for weeks confined in the heart of the great 
 woods. This is the first daylight, it seems to me, 
 I have seen since I came into these woods. 
 
 Following along the sandy shore, we soon came 
 in sight of a camp — a lumber camp. I had my 
 kodak and took several pictures of the bay and 
 shore, and when I turned it on the camp, and told 
 a man I was going to take a picture of the camp, 
 he jumped around like a boy, and cried to me to 
 hold on until he got all the boys to stand on the 
 outside. So I waited and in a few moments the 
 men came pouring out, like bees from a hive, and 
 I lined them all up on the outside of the camp. 
 Then I took several pictures of the crowd. They 
 came up then and begged me to send them some 
 pictures, asking my price for same, and saying 
 that they seldom or ever have a chance to get a 
 picture taken in the woods. Their earnestness and 
 good natures made me smile, and I told them I was 
 not taking the pictures for money, but to secure 
 a private collection, but would send them some 
 if I could, and providing the pictures were good. 
 See illustrations — Cedar Camp. 
 
STATION AGENT BUWSKTTE, DAUtlHTKH AND FAITH I'UL WATCH DOG 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 65 
 
 Monday, Nov. 27 — My luck again today, and I 
 have another nice doe. I started southwest this 
 morning, and saw a number of good fresh signs of 
 game. About 10 this forenoon I crossed the old 
 southwest road and started to go west, but stopped 
 a few minutes by a large hemlock tree to watch a 
 runway. I had not been there long before Hooked 
 south down the road and saw a deer walking across 
 the road, headed west. Quick as a flash I drew up 
 the 30-30 and getting a line on the fore shoulder, 
 fired. There was a streak of grayish brown west 
 into the woods, and all was still. I did not know 
 what to think. The distance was, perhaps, 20 rods, 
 and the light rather poor, but had I missed a deer 
 standing broadside towards me and walking across 
 the road, at even that distance? The thought was 
 enough to make a fellow feel chagrined, indeed. But 
 I started for the place and soon discovered the trail 
 across the road; saw where the deer was when I 
 shot, as I found a few loose hairs on the opposite 
 side of the deer's tracks, and knew then the 
 ball hit her somewhere. Thus encouraged, I took 
 the faint trail, following it on the leaves under the 
 low branches of small pines and hemlocks, over old 
 dead tree tops and logs, for a quarter of a mile, 
 when I found some blood, and a few rods beyond 
 there lay the deer, not yet dead, but kicking a 
 little. 
 
 A shot in the head put her out of her misery, and 
 T hurried back to camp to get George to help me 
 hang her up. About noon he came in, and we went 
 
66 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 down and cleaned her out and hung her up. The 
 wolves had an awful powwow last night, and kept 
 George awake until nearly 12 o'clock with their aw- 
 ful noise. There must have been a dozen of them, 
 and they were howling in four different directions 
 perhaps a mile or less from camp. George says he 
 can hear a wolf howl from two to four miles on a 
 still night. We expect they found the carcass of 
 Cell's deer and other parts of game which we had 
 left in the woods, and were howling to let all the 
 other wolves know of their good luck. George saw 
 two deer today, but got nothing. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 28 — I went up the north road to- 
 day to see if the wolves had touched the carcass of 
 the deer Cell left lying in the woods, and also the 
 other parts of venison scattered around, but the sly 
 fellows, though they howled enough to scare all the 
 live deer in the woods out of their usual haunts, 
 have not yet touched the meat thrown around. 
 After we are gone they will get together a good- 
 sized pack and devour everything in sight, but as 
 long as the hunters are in their vicinity they will not 
 touch meat or dead carcasses, as they prefer live 
 meat, pulling down wounded and small deer every 
 night. We have seen their tracks on runways 
 where they were chasing small deer a number of 
 times. A little rain today; temperature 29 above. 
 George shot at and hit a big buck, but as it was 
 nearly dark, he had to give up the trail and come 
 home. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 29 — I went out to postoffice 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 67 
 
 this morning. Still raining, and everything drip- 
 ping wet. Tonight it looks like snow, but as we 
 expect to start for home tomorrow, we don't care 
 a fig whether it snows now this season or not. Such 
 a warm season and no snow we never experienced 
 before. George came in this evening and reported 
 seeing five deer today over in the southwest corner, 
 and shot at one, but thinks he missed. This is the 
 last night in the Journal camp of 1899, and we made 
 merry. Cooked all the choice things we could find, 
 cleaned up the onions, honey and other dainties. 
 Now you will smile, of course; onions, as dainties, 
 eh! Well, j^ou would think so, too, if you lived the 
 life of a hunter in these woods for a period of three 
 or four weeks, as we have. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 30 — George is fretting because 
 he thinks I have made a mistake in the day and 
 date as to when the teamster was coming after us, 
 but I tell him I am certain this is the day and the 
 right date. The fact is it is easy to lose track of 
 the date and day in the woods where no calendar is 
 at hand and every day is almost the counterpart of 
 every other day, as each comes and goes. How- 
 ever, here comes George, a smile on his face, that 
 means the teamster is coming, as he has been out 
 to the road to look and listen for him. Adieu, 
 grand old forest, until another year. 
 
FOURTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 To A Waterfowl. 
 
 Whither, midst falling dew, 
 
 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day. 
 Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 
 
 Thy solitary wayi" i 
 
 All day thy wings have fanned, 
 
 At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
 
 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land 
 Though the dark night is near. 
 
 — Bryant. 
 
 ECKERMAN, Oct. 30, 19OO. 
 
 Arrived today at ii a. m. Found our cook stove 
 and groceries here in good condition. Stopped at 
 the hotel over night. Weather warm, and a little 
 rain. 
 
 Oct. 31. — Started this morning for camp, at 
 8 a. m. Loaded goods on wagon, and had a big 
 load; all walked into camp. I was first one in. 
 Found everything looking natural. Load arrived 
 at 12 noon. Went to work and fixed up the roof 
 where it needed it, by laying on tar paper. Set 
 up our stove and made a table to eat off. Prepared 
 and ate dinner, consisting of half a dozen grouse 
 fried in butter, and were excellent. The boys were 
 hungry after their long tramp and did ample justice 
 to the meal. After dinner, cut some wood, and 
 made beds of freshly cut hemlock and spruce 
 boughs. The weather is warm, temperature 58 
 above and some mist in the air. 
 
 69 
 
70 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Thursday, Nov. i. — Up at 6:15 this morning. 
 Found it rainy, with fresh northwesterly winds, 
 breakfasted and then washed up the dishes. About 
 10 a. m. I went west down the log road half a mile 
 but it began to rain, and I came back. Buck 
 and Bennett also went out a little while, but 
 came in on account of the rain. About i p. m. 
 Buck and Bennett took the mail box out to stage 
 road and nailed it up on a tree. The box is a 
 regular U. S. iron box, with our names painted 
 on it as follows: 
 
 C. C. Bennett, 
 
 P. A. Buck, 
 
 M. M. Clark, 
 
 A. D. Shaffmaster. 
 It continued to rain by spells all day, and was 
 so wet and nasty we could not go out to look 
 around, so hung around the camp. Tonight at 
 7 130 it was a little cooler, the temperature being 
 42 above, a fall of 16 degrees in about 24 hours. 
 Flies and bugs are still in evidence here, and the 
 grass and wild clover is as fresh and green as it is 
 during June in Southern Michigan. 
 
 Friday, Nov. 2. — Temperature 36 this morning 
 when we arose. After a little mist, followed by 
 some rain, it cleared up, and the sun shone brightly 
 for the first time since we arrived in this county. 
 The boys fixed up the bunks today, and Buck 
 went out to the postoffice and brought us in sport- 
 ing magazines, papers and letters, which we all 
 enjoyed reading and looking over this evening. 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 71 
 
 I took a good tramp southwest, and was out from 
 9 to 4:30. Saw a few signs, but the deer seem 
 to be very still and are not moving around much 
 yet. There is lots of feed for them, as the old log 
 roads are well grown up to grass and wild clover and 
 there are considerable beech nuts in the woods this 
 year. Buck shot a porcupine today, he calls it 
 his "mountain lion." The grouse seem to have 
 kept in hiding since the rain set in ; I have only 
 seen two today, and did not get either of them. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 3. — Cut some wood this morn- 
 ing, and then the boys went into the woods to look 
 up runways and deer sign. Temperature this 
 morning was 29 deg., the lowest yet, and there 
 was a good frost last night. Buck went out to the 
 postoffice today and brought back mail. This 
 evening, while we were eating supper, we were all 
 suddenly startled by the crash of something fall- 
 ing on the roof of our camp. On stepping out 
 doors we found that a small hemlock tree about 
 six inches through had fallen across the north end 
 of our roof , knocking over our stove pipe, and break- 
 ing one or two roof boards. There was a high wind 
 prevailing at the time, and fearing other trees near 
 by might topple over on us in the night the boys 
 took the axe and cut two that looked a little sus- 
 picious. Our big bed, which is built Indian fash- 
 ion, clear across one end of the camp, is all right, 
 and we all sleep in it with plenty of room and com- 
 fort indeed, and though every space is occupied, 
 we do not feel crowded. Our cabin now presents 
 
72 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 a genuine sporting appearance, with rifles, axes 
 and belts and hunting clothing hung up in all man- 
 ner of places. 
 
 We have everything as snug and comfortable as 
 anyone could wish for. Our new cook stove is all 
 right, and we can cook or bake anything we wish, 
 and have hot water in the reservoir, too. These 
 things are luxuries in these woods, I can say from 
 past experience. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 4. — A nice clear morning this was, 
 with a slight frost last night. Temperature this 
 morning was 31. I spent the day in writing letters 
 and going out to postoffice, also visited the Mance- 
 lona hunters' camp, four miles southeast. This 
 camp was built and is occupied by J. N. McCall, 
 and the Chapman brothers, all well-known sports- 
 men of Mancelona, Mich. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 5 — A hard frost last night, and 
 temperature 29 this morning at 7 130. About 9 a. 
 m. it began to snow, and kept snowing by spells un- 
 til noon, when it began to rain and snow alternately 
 the rest of the day. I went out this morning south- 
 east to look up runways, and got pretty wet; re- 
 turned at noon and changed my wet garments for 
 dry ones. I saw two grouse, and got one with my 
 rifle. Buck was out and returned at noon, and said 
 he saw a deer. In the afternoon Bennett was out 
 and saw two flags. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 6. — The ground was almost white 
 with snow this morning when we arose, and it 
 
OUR U. S. JIAIL BOX ON THIC STAGE ROAD. 
 
THE DRS. CUTWATER'S CAMP. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 73 
 
 looked as though we would have some tracking 
 snow, but the temperature began to rise in the mid- 
 dle of the forenoon, and the snow soon melted. 
 In the early morning I saw the tracks of two big 
 wolves southwest toward the swamp. The wolves 
 are just beginning to run, I think, and will soon be- 
 gin to howl in the night. 
 
 This day was one of great interest and excite- 
 ment to the outside world, on account of the gen- 
 eral election, but to us here, it was the same as any 
 other day. We expect to hear the results of the 
 election in a few days. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 7. — Temperature 30 this morn- 
 ing. It snowed a little today, but melted as fast 
 as it fell, and made everything nasty and too wet 
 to hunt. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 8. — Buck went to postofEce to- 
 day and brought all of us letters and several daily 
 papers, which we enjoyed reading around the table 
 tonight. This afternoon we cut some wood, and I 
 carried it all into camp, so tonight we have a good 
 supply on hand. At 8 p. m. it is snowing hard, 
 about 2 inches already having fallen. Buck ap- 
 pears to be the lucky hunter, as he saw the first 
 deer tonight just at dusk. He had been out on an 
 old road southwest of camp watching for deer, and 
 was coming in. When about 30 rods from camp, 
 he saw a deer standing on the side of the old log 
 road which branches off and runs to the little lake. 
 It was getting dusk, but light enough to shoot. 
 He fired, the deer jumped to the other side of the 
 
74 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 road, and stopped and looked at him. In his ex- 
 excitement he stood there and pumped out two 
 or three cartridges on the ground, supposing he 
 was shooting at the game, in his absent-minded- 
 ness, I suppose. After a few such exciting mo- 
 ments, he got aroused and fired at the deer, but she 
 stuck her flag up and ran like the wind. 
 
 Friday, Nov. 9. — Up this morning at 5 :^o, and as 
 
 I peeked out of the window a white vista of fleecy 
 snow met my gaze; I went out doors and meas- 
 ured the snow, which was at 6 a. m. 15 inches deep. 
 It continued to snow all the morning, and at 
 
 I I o'clock the beautiful covered the earth to a depth 
 of exactly 20 inches. After breakfast I went to 
 the lake for water ploughing my way through snow 
 above my knees. The scene around after the great 
 storm was beautiful — like a fairyland — the land of 
 snow. The trees were laden with it, and presented 
 a grand spectacle. I went out and walked around, 
 and took several views of the snowy scene which, 
 when developed by the photographer, will help 
 our home people to realize what a snowstorm is in 
 this region. 
 
 Two or three flocks of wild geese came flying 
 over our camp this forenoon, and the boys all 
 rushed out with their guns and made things lively 
 for a few moments, but never touched a feather 
 as we could see. The birds were well up and a 
 good ways off, and it was snowing hard at the time, 
 so that one was almost blinded by the falling snow 
 when looking into the air. The geese were driven by 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 75 
 
 the big storm and no doubt looking for open wa- 
 ter. I went out to our mail box today, took me 
 two hours and i 5 minutes to make the round trip 
 of five miles, through snow about two feet deep. It 
 was a very hard and disagreeable task, and I was 
 not only very tired on my return, but wet through 
 with the melting snow and sweat from extra ex- 
 ertion. It has stopped snowing, and tonight at 
 8 it is freezing. The boys sat around camp most 
 of the day, reading daily and weekly papers a 
 week old, and magazines. It has been a long day 
 and pretty tedious. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 10. — This morning dawned cold 
 and clear — 24 above at 7 a. m. The boys all start- 
 ed out quite early for deer. The walking was very 
 tiresome and slow, as the snow was above our knees 
 in most places. Buck went north and Clark and 
 Bennett south, and I went southwest. I saw three 
 deer and killed two bucks, one a spike-horn and one 
 a three-prong. I hung up the spike-horn buck 
 alone, and finding I was pretty tired, went towards 
 camp, met Bennett, who returned with me and 
 helped me hang up the three-prong. They were 
 both killed about 15 minutes apart, and both were 
 shot through the neck. Both fell at the crack of 
 my 30-30, and never got up after they went down. 
 It is my best score in one day so far in deer hunting, 
 and consequently I feel pretty well satisfied with 
 my day's work. Distance of shooting 60 and 80 
 yards. I saw a number of fresh tracks and a big 
 doe coming home tonight, but did not shoot at her 
 
76 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 as I wanted a big buck. I could have killed the doe 
 easily. We are all tired tonight, and will retire 
 early to get a good start tomorrow morning. Clark 
 did not see any deer today, but Bennett got a shot 
 at a spike-horn buck in the thick brush this after- 
 noon, but scored a miss. He also saw two other 
 flags, but could not get a shot at the game. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 11. — The weather remains about 
 normal — cloudy all the time, and temperature 
 from 24 to 34. Hung around camp today and 
 cleaned our guns. This evening we had oyster 
 stew and baked beans, with hot biscuits and honey. 
 Tomorrow the boys all expect to be out early mak- 
 ing the most of the tracking snow, which is about 
 right; it has packed down and thawed enough so 
 that one can walk about fairly well, yet is deep 
 enough in some places to make it hard traveling. 
 Looks like snow tonight. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 12. — All out this morning early. 
 I went to the southwest, took a look at my two 
 bucks and found them hanging all right and keep- 
 ing nice as the weather is cool enough and it freezes 
 every night. After looking at the bucks I took 
 a big detour farther south and west a long distance 
 from camp. Coming back through the big woods, 
 I saw what I made out to be a deer in the thick 
 brush. Taking careful aim at a spot just back 
 of the left fore leg, I pulled the trigger. At the 
 crack of the 30-30, down went the deer. Walking 
 carefully up to my game, I discovered to my de- 
 light it was a fine large ten-point buck with beau- 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 77 
 
 tiful spreading antlers, and a bold handsome face 
 and full, rounded neck. He was, indeed, a grand 
 prize, and I could not help feeling a thrill of satis- 
 fied pride in realizing that I had killed the largest 
 and noblest game in this country and in a place far 
 remote from even a log road or hunters' trail. Not 
 knowing where I was at the time, I drew forth my 
 compass and took a direction which I knew would 
 take me out to an old log road which I came down 
 on in the morning. Walking for 40 minutes, I 
 reached the road and then was about 2% miles 
 from camp. Tonight the boys all came in and 
 reported not killing a deer today, but saw some 
 and lots of tracks. 
 
 Buck shot two more porcupines today, getting 
 them out of a big hemlock, and says they looked 
 so large up there he did not know but what they 
 might be bears until one struck the ground, after 
 putting a ball through it. At noon Buck announc- 
 ed to the boys in camp, he had seen two deer, shot 
 twice at them, but missed. After lunch, they all 
 started again, and tonight we find Buck had seen 
 four deer today, but did not get any of them. 
 
 Buck had an adventure today. He went north 
 near Clark's lake, and saw a deer, fired at it and 
 wounded it; the deer ran, though, and he tracked 
 it by the blood. He traveled around and around, 
 and got across the East and West road, and picked 
 himself up over south on the angling road. He 
 did not know where he was, and got pretty scared. 
 Taking his compass in his hand, he walked until 
 
78 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 he came to another log road, and in it he saw a 
 large black stump which he recognized as having 
 seen several days before, and then he knew where 
 he was, and easily reached camp. He says the 
 little compass saved him. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 13. — Buck and Bennett accom 
 panied me to where I killed the big buck yesterday 
 and helped me to drag him out to the log road. It 
 was a job which we found was good exercise. Buck 
 and myself each grasped an antler and started. 
 The snow was 12 to 14 inches deep, and we slid 
 him along over brush, old tree tops, logs and through 
 holes where we sunk waist deep in the snow. We 
 found our wind sadly broken and had to 
 stop to rest and breathe often. After going 
 quite a distance. Buck discovered that he had lost 
 his hunting knife which had slipped out of its 
 sheath in his belt and had fallen somewhere in the 
 snow. We went back and looked for it, but did not 
 find it, so I promised him a new one in its stead 
 when we reached home. The last half mile Ben- 
 nett, who had gone out ahead of us with the guns, 
 came back and assisted us. I hitched a small 
 rope I carried in my pocket around the buck '6 
 horns and placing the rope over my shoulder, went 
 ahead, holding up the animal's head and pulling 
 at the same time, while my two companions, 
 on each side, dragged away with the antlers. After 
 over two hours' very hard work we had him out 
 to the log road and hung up. Then all went hunt- 
 ing. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor yg 
 
 Clark reports tonight that he got a shot at a nice 
 big doe running today, but missed her. He is 
 beginning to feel encouraged, as he thinks his old 
 good luck must be returning. The wolves, seem 
 to keep away, and I have seen but two tracks this 
 fall where there were dozens last year. I am told 
 by Sam McMullen, the mail route owner, who 
 travels the roads through these woods every day, 
 that the wolves are over on the other side of the 
 Tah-qua-me-non river, in the big swamp and will 
 not get over on this side until the river freezes 
 over, as they will not swim a big stream like the 
 Tah-qua-me-non . 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 14. — All got an early start this 
 morning. I was the first one out, and struck a 
 fresh track a little distance from the camp and 
 followed it nearly five hours, but did not get sight 
 of the game. Buck did not see anything today 
 nor Clark. Bennett saw two deer this forenoon, 
 but only got a glimpse of them and did not shoot ; 
 this afternoon he went out to the mail box and on 
 the way saw a fine young buck about 20 rods away 
 standing in the road. He fired at him, but missed, 
 and away bounded the buck, flag up and heels 
 cutting the air. After Bennett returned from the 
 mail box he targeted his rifle and found it shot 
 too low, and that, he says, accounts for two misses 
 he has made. He now has the sights arranged so he 
 thinks he can stop the next one that he sees. Today 
 we received papers from home giving us the first di- 
 rect information of the result of the recent general 
 
So Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 election. Buck, after trying to hit deer with sights 
 set on regular notch, and fired several times, has 
 elevated the rear sight to second notch and says he 
 has been shooting too low, as in targeting his gun 
 the other day he found the ball fell several inches 
 on a distance of lo rods. I told him he was more 
 likely to overshoot than undershoot when firing 
 at deer in the woods where the light is most always 
 poor, and the aim must be taken very quickly. 
 
 Thursday, Nov. 15. — Having sent word to the 
 teamster, he came today and we went down the 
 old log road, cut out the fallen trees and got my 
 deer. Before he came, however, I went down and 
 cut off the saddles of the spike buck and carried 
 the venison nearly to camp, when I met the team- 
 ster and Bennett. So the boys are well supplied 
 with nice, tender venison steak, and shouldn't go 
 hungry. I took some kodak pictures, packed up 
 my things, and after a hurried meal, we started for 
 the railroad station. Buck also made up his mind 
 to go out. It began to snow soon after we started, 
 and snowed very hard all the time we were on the 
 way out. 
 
 We reached the hotel at the station at 7 in the 
 evening, having driven about 14 miles since 3:30. 
 We were a little damp and cold from the storm and 
 long ride, but a good warm supper and a pipe around 
 the big stove in the hotel soon put us in a happy 
 frame of mind. Clark and Bennett expected to 
 stay about a week yet in the camp. 
 
 Sam McMullen, the teamster, and who also drives 
 
AL AND HIS BIG BUCK OF 1901. 
 
OUR CAMP 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 8i 
 
 the stage from Eckerman to White Fish Point, and 
 has probably hauled out more deer carcasses than 
 any other man in the country, estimates my big 
 buck will weigh, dressed, 200 pounds. He also says 
 it is one of the largest and handsomest looking 
 bucks he has ever hauled to the station. 
 
 After arriving home, this buck was dressed and 
 weighed, and tipped the scales at 206 pounds. I 
 have the head finely mounted, together with the 
 other two bucks I shot this fall, and they form a 
 part of my collection. 
 
 Clark and Bennett arrived home at Bronson a 
 week later, having secured one nice four-point buck. 
 They reported the snow two feet on the level, and 
 consequently hunting was practically impossible. 
 Thus ended our Fourth Annual Hunt. 
 
FIFTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
 Chapter V. 
 
 This is the forest primeval. The murmiiring pines and hemlocks. 
 Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight 
 Stand like druids of eld 
 
 — Longfellow in Evangeline. 
 
 "Hello, Sam." 
 
 " Hello, Al, how are you sir? " 
 
 The following conversation took place on the 
 platform of the little station at Eckerman on the 
 28th day of October, 1901, as two men garbed as 
 hunters and carrying two guns each and other para- 
 phernalia of the woods, stepped from the Duluth, 
 South Shore & Atlantic train, which stood pufHng 
 and panting on the rails, while a number of strag- 
 gling passengers boarded it for its destination east. 
 
 After releasing his hold on my right hand, which 
 had been as a grip of iron, big, bronzed and smiling 
 Sam McMuUen, my old reliable teamster, turned 
 with an half inquiring glance towards my compan- 
 ion. When divining his thoughts I said: "Mr. 
 McMullen, this is Mr. Clark Green, a prosperous 
 farmer-sportsman of my own county, who has 
 come north to get a little taste of real sport." As 
 the hands of the two men met and exchanged 
 grips, I could see that each was mutually pleased, 
 and a new name had been added to Sam's long list 
 of visiting sportsmen. After arranging the de- 
 tails of our trip into the woods with our teamster, I 
 
 83 
 
84 H tinting in the Land of Hiawatha: 
 
 secured a pencil sketch of the location of the camp 
 of Dr. J. E. Cutwater, a resident of my own town, 
 who was camped six miles south. The following 
 day we paid a visit to Dr. Cutwater's camp, find- 
 ing it very easily through Mr. McMullen's direction 
 and the Doctor's marks or blazes on the trees. The 
 Doctor's camp was located about two miles from 
 Hulbert lake, sometimes called "The Glimmer- 
 glass," on account of the extraordinary transpar- 
 ency and tranquillity of its surface, and about two 
 miles from "Deerfoot Lodge," owned by the Hon. 
 Chase S. Osborn, and Judge Joseph H. Steere, of 
 Sault Ste. Marie, Mich., and Mr. Roys J. Cram, of 
 Detroit, Mich. The camp was admirably located 
 in a little opening on a gentle rise of ground, yet 
 sufficiently screened by nearby towering pines and 
 hemlocks, to give it an aspect of sylvan seclusion 
 and the charm of forest solitude. 
 
 As we approach with the silent tread of the In- 
 dian, we note the presence of a woman and little 
 girl on the outside of the tent. So occupied are 
 they with their duties they do not see or hear us until 
 we stand before them only a few feet away, with 
 extended friendly hand and a pleasurable smile on 
 our faces. Hastily looking up from her task of 
 preparing dinner Mrs. Cutwater recognizes us, 
 and gives us a very warm handshake and a most 
 hearty welcome. We were soon comfortably 
 seated on a bench (not upholstered) on the outside 
 of the tent, and exchanging views and comments 
 about home, friends and camp. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 85 
 
 Emma, the daughter, looks rosy and healthy, 
 and brings us a good, nice, cool drink of water. Mr. 
 Shedd, grandpa, is there, and just as natural as 
 though he was in his own door yard in Bronson. 
 I note that the camp site is a good one in a clear 
 spot, free from falling trees and high enough for a 
 dry camp floor. The tent is large and well banked 
 up with split slabs backed with rich soil, thus mak- 
 ing the tent air-tight and warm, and snug for cold 
 weather. 
 
 Mrs. Cutwater soon had a crackling fire in the 
 camp stove, and the delicious, savory smell of 
 roasting partridge fills the soft air, and we are in- 
 vited to sit up and have some dinner. Well, we 
 could not refuse that, and such a dinner as it was. 
 Roast grouse with rich dressing and nice bread and 
 butter, coffee and milk, and everything to delight 
 the heart of the hunter and appease his hunger, 
 which in these parts is always with us. 
 
 Before the dinner was finished the doctor him- 
 self put in his appearance with his old, reliable 
 45-90 rifle on his shoulder, his long visored cap, 
 felt footwear on his feet, and lugging a bunch of 
 steel traps which he had gone out to bring in. 
 
 This was the last we saw of the Cutwater party 
 until we all had returned home after the fall's hunt. 
 The Doctor killed three fine deer and his wife. 
 Dr. Eva J. Cutwater, succeeded in killing her first 
 deer, a nice big buck, besides helping to kill her full 
 share of some 70 grouse and other small game. 
 They report a splendid time during their ten weeks 
 
86 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 in camp, and are planning another hunt for next 
 season in The North Country. The Outwaters 
 have camped and hunted in Arkansas, Indiana, 
 and Michigan, and are both enthusiasts for camp 
 life, and are their own taxidermists, having at 
 their home a large collection of fine mounted 
 specimens which they have secured and mounted 
 while on their different trips. 
 
 Oct. 31. — Loaded up our outfit and started for 
 our camping grounds this morning about 7 o'clock. 
 The place Mr. McMullen had picked out for us is 
 thirteen miles north on Silver Creek, therefore our 
 camp will be known as Silver Creek Camp. 
 
 Clark shot a grouse on the road coming in this 
 morning, and another in the brush tops of some 
 fallen birch trees near our tent this afternoon. 
 
 We get our water supply from Silver Creek, a 
 beautiful but small, clear stream flowing over a pure, 
 white bed of sand, which trickles and murmurs 
 day and night, winter and summer, and is only 
 about forty feet back from our tent. It is the finest 
 and purest water I ever enjoyed in camp in Michi- 
 gan, and only equalled by the ice cold streams from 
 which I have drank in the Rocky Mountains. It 
 seems as though I am always thirsty here, and drink 
 and drink of this aqua pura from Nature's spring 
 far back in the hills. It makes one's teeth chatter 
 to drink it, even on a warm day, and is so clear and 
 sweet it seems like nectar. Along the banks of the 
 stream overhanging each tiny brink are green ferns 
 and velvety moss of emerald hue, and the aromatic 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 87 
 
 spruce and hemlock branches nod above its laugh- 
 ing waters and add their fragrance to the distilled 
 liquid of Nature's fountain. 
 
 Silver Creek Camp, Nov. i. — Well this has been a 
 busy day for us both. We worked around camp 
 and made many improvements. Clark went out 
 this morning and cut a small wagon load of fresh 
 spruce and hemlock boughs which I made up into a 
 bed, then we laid on the heavy canvass to keep the 
 dampness away, and followed this with three or 
 four heavy quilts and warm woolen blankets, then 
 placed our pillows and our bed was complete, as 
 soft and rich a resting place as any one could desire. 
 
 Nov. 3. — Went to the home of Mr. Weaver 
 today, three-quarters of a mile north, and he show- 
 ed us the way up to the old beaver dam at the head 
 of the creek. On the way to the dam Mr. Weaver's 
 dogs (he has three) scared up a small deer in the 
 swamps, and also a grouse which Clark finally 
 brought down with his shot gun out of a tree where 
 the bird almost escaped our vision. 
 
 Arriving at the beaver dam I secured some 
 kodak pictures of the dam which is some ten rods 
 wide and four feet high. I also took views of the 
 beaver houses and the pond. We saw a maple 
 tree about twelve inches through, which had been 
 cut down and fallen into the pond by the beavers. 
 Clark and I both brought away relics of the place 
 in shape of sticks which had been cut off by the 
 beavers, the marks of the animals' teeth being 
 plainly seen on the hard wood grains. 
 
88 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Nov. 5. — It began to rain this afternoon, and 
 is still raining this evening at 8 o'clock. The 
 wind is blowing hard and fast increasing into a 
 gale. The old canvas walls and roof of our tent 
 heaves with every fresh gust of wind like the 
 waves on Lake Superior, it seems to us, and while 
 I sit here by the table writing Clark puffs his pipe 
 and solemnly shakes his head, and ominously 
 glances upward toward the apex of the tent as 
 though he fain would gaze through the dark and 
 hazy covering above him and pierce the inky 
 gloom of the sky around, for there is terror in that 
 mournful howl of the sweeping gale, with its rush 
 of pelting rain drops as they beat upon the canvas 
 roof. There are trees standing near our tent, 
 in fact all around us, and we hear their lofty tops 
 swaying and tossing in the air, and the howl of the 
 blast through the forest. It is a terrible night, and 
 we feel how utterly helpless is man in times of 
 nature's wrath, when she tosses her great seas 
 into mountains of crest and foam, and the thunder 
 of the breakers on the shore makes the earth 
 tremble. How frail and small we seem unto 
 ourselves, how insecure is life and all living and 
 animate things, except in the watchful keeping of 
 Him who rules the universe. 
 
 Nov. 6. — The rain storm of last night turned 
 into snow toward morning, the gale subsided 
 also, and this morning the ground was white 
 with snow. We went out and cut down several 
 
*-»%-^, 
 
 ^-^ ^-J'^ 
 
 AL HAS A FRESH KILL. 
 
CLARK GREEN CRINGING IN A DEER. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 89 
 
 suspicious looking trees which stood near and 
 leaned towards our tent. 
 
 Nov. 7. — It rained again today and is raining 
 tonight. This afternoon I took a stroll west a 
 couple of miles and saw two large deer. This 
 evening we read the Journal and other newspapers 
 from home. Our mail is left by the stage driver 
 right at our door almost, as we have put up a 
 box on a tree, and arranged with Mr. McMuUen, 
 carrier of the U. S. mail on the stage road, to 
 leave our mail while we are in camp. Tomorrow 
 is the first day of the open season for deer hunting, 
 and we shall retire early in order to get an early 
 start. 
 
 Nov. 8. — We were up and started this morning 
 about daylight. I went southwest and then 
 south over a group of irregular shaped hills which 
 we call in hunter's parlance, "hogsbacks." These 
 hogsbacks, or ridges, form a part of the best 
 localities for deer, and wherever there is a hogsback 
 there is the never failing draw or deep cut parallel- 
 ing the ridge. Over these high ridges and down 
 through these deep draws the wild deer love to 
 roam. This is their play-ground. Open streams, 
 fed by springs far up in the wooded hills, flow in 
 winding fashion down through some of the very 
 deep draws. Some of these draws are almost as 
 dark and deep as a full fledged canyon in the 
 mountains, and when the top and sides of the 
 hogsback are thickly covered with a heavy growth 
 of hemlock, with their dark green and heavy 
 
go Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 foliage shutting out the Hght and forming deep 
 and gloomy looking hollows, with plenty of 
 beech, birch and small brush for an ideal close 
 cover, you had better go pretty careful, as there 
 is almost certain to be deer somewhere in the 
 vicinity. 
 
 During the day I have caught sight of four 
 deer, all running and all at big distances. I fired 
 shots at two of them but could find no evidence of a 
 hit, as the game got out of sight so quickly I had 
 hardly time to think what had been done before 
 they were up and gone. The deer also appear to 
 be very wild this opening of the season, and seem 
 hard to approach. 
 
 This evening as we were preparing supper and 
 the tent glowing with warmth and comfort, we 
 exchanged views on the day's hunt. Clark 
 reported seeing one deer which was running and 
 he got no shot. 
 
 Nov. 9. — Both of us have been out all day, and 
 guess we both have had a tramp, at least I know 
 that I took the biggest tramp of my life today, 
 under the circumstances. This morning I had gone 
 about two miles west, intending to strike much 
 the same ground as yesterday, as I felt sure 
 there were deer in that locality, and if I could 
 only manage to get in their locality without the 
 game taking alarm, probably could get a telling 
 shot. About 10:00 in the forenoon, as I had seen 
 no deer yet, and feeling like taking a little explor- 
 ing trip, I decided to walk across the strip of 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor gi 
 
 woods I was hunting in to our camp grounds of 
 last year on the East and West road. Now the 
 distance, I had been told, was about three or 
 four miles straight south, so I decided that by- 
 noon I could be at our former old camp and 
 then resting up a little, hunt back over the strip, 
 and get into camp towards evening, and the fol- 
 lowing account of the adventure, which was pub- 
 lished in The National Sportsman for May, 1903, 
 is herewith reproduced as fitly describing my 
 day's jaunt. 
 
 I paused in my hurried walk, and mopping the 
 sweat from my perspiring brow, turned in my 
 tracks to take a swift glance at my surroundings, 
 the ground that lay back of me as well as that be- 
 fore me. The sight sent a chill to my very heart. 
 It was an old log road leading I knew not where, 
 through a great swamp, with nothing to be seen 
 but a swamp and cold leaden sky, while dreariness, 
 dark, gloomy and foreboding, seemed everywhere. 
 On every side were the tall cedar, spruce and hem- 
 lock trees, while pools of water and oozy slime filled 
 the old road; dead trees, fallen branches and an 
 occasional pine stump lined the way, not a very in- 
 viting prospect indeed. My mind was running 
 quickly and seemed to travel a million miles a sec- 
 ond, while I began to meditate in audible tones. 
 Some of the words I fear would not look good in 
 print, so I will not repeat the whole dialogue which 
 I was carrying on with myself, and some unknown 
 
q2 
 
 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 cause which I sought to blame for my ill luck. The 
 colloquy ran as follows : 
 
 "Well, you are a good one (meaning myself) to 
 come out here this morning and get lost in this little 
 garden patch of woods." This strip was 12 by 15 
 miles, and it was nearly night. "Here you have 
 hunted over this doggoned peninsula and two- 
 thirds of the United States and never failed to get 
 into camp before, and confound your clumsy being, 
 if I don't actually believe you will have to roost 
 here somewhere in this beastly swamp with wolves, 
 bears and lynxes prowling around you this night 
 and not even a place to build a fire. Al, you ought 
 to hire a good kicking machine just as soon as you 
 (if you ever do) reach civilization again, which 
 now seems rather doubtful. Where in 'Hail 
 Columbia' does this infernal road lead to, anyway? 
 I know I have followed this stupid compass straight 
 south since morning, and how did I cross that road 
 which runs west ? And how in the Kingdom Come 
 can any live man travel straight south for half a 
 day and not cross two roads running due west which 
 are supposed to be four miles from his starting 
 point ?" And so the argument went on ; meantime 
 I noted the gathering clouds in the western sky 
 which betokens an early night and one of the deep- 
 est darknesses in this latitude. All these thoughts 
 ran through my mind quicker than I can tell them, 
 besides many others unexpressed. I knew that 
 in some manner I had missed my calculations, 
 and was mixed in my bearings ; I knew also that I 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 93 
 
 had little time for reflection, and that unless I 
 wanted to stay in that horrible swamp all night 
 and perhaps wander around for days after, I must 
 do something to put myself on the right road out, 
 and do it quickly. In vain did T scan the roadside 
 for some familiar object, a tree, a stump, or a log 
 which I could recognize as having seen before, but, 
 although I had hunted in the Big Elbow country 
 during four years past and tramped all over the 
 ground, I failed to recognize anything I had ever 
 seen before. 
 
 While I stood thus for a moment contemplating 
 these problems, I heard the howl of a big, gaunt 
 wolf coming from out of the swamp on the west. 
 I glanced at the old reliable 30-30 held in my 
 hands, felt for the extra cartridges I always car- 
 ried, and knew I had 30 besides those in the rifle, 
 and I had fired but one shot and that at a running 
 doe, early in the day, but scored a miss. That 
 blood-curdling howl coming from the depths of 
 wilderness and unpenetrable gloom sent the cold 
 chills chasing up my spine, and while I felt secure 
 enough during the daylight, I knew when night 
 came on I should, in this swamp, be in a bad posi- 
 tion; therefore I hurried along, splashing through 
 water and slime and brushing the twigs from my 
 eyes as I pushed along the edge of the road, hoping 
 that I should soon find my way out to some road 
 that I knew. 
 
 . In the morning I had started to walk across a 
 strip of woods four miles wide and hit an east and 
 west road on which 1 had camped for three pre- 
 
94 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 vious seasons. There was a road which branched 
 off the old east and west road two miles west, and I 
 had figured to cross this branch first as it ran about 
 west, also, but turned north after three miles. At 
 12:30 I crossed a road running west and supposed 
 it was the branch road, and that I would come to 
 the main road in about thirty minutes, but having 
 walked steadily for three hours since and not found 
 it, I knew I had crossed the main road beyond 
 where the branch road came into it, and was there- 
 fore far south of the road and too far to try to re- 
 trace my way. But I must get out. 
 
 At last I came to another log road running east, 
 and remembering the stage road should be east of 
 me, I started on this road, almost fearful it would 
 after all lead me farther into the swamp, but I 
 pushed on, hoping for the best. After 30 minutes' 
 hard walking, what was my joy to see before me in 
 the distance the tops of two canvas tents. Oh! 
 how good that sight seemed to me, and I hurried 
 on. Approaching the tents I soon discovered all 
 were empty of human beings, as the hunters had 
 evidently eaten a hurried meal and gone into the 
 woods. The tents were pitched on the edge of the 
 hard-wood and swamp, and the road led into the 
 hard-wood east, and I started, knowing that if I de- 
 sired I could return to this camp and stay all night. 
 However, as the hard-wood offered a good place to 
 build a fire, make a bed and rest, I did not much 
 care, but I could not repress a shudder when I 
 thought of myself lost in that dismal swamp. It 
 was now past four o'clock and twilight was falling. 
 
or, The tiunting Trips of an Editor 95 
 
 The road I was traveling was hard and smooth, and 
 I made fast time, and 30 minutes brought me to 
 another road running north and south, which I dis- 
 covered to my great joy was the old stage road 
 which ran directly past our camp. I knew exactly 
 where I was as soon as I stepped onto the stage road, 
 and it was just eight miles south of our camp. 
 Drawing the lunch from my hunting coat pocket, 
 I devoured it eagerly as I pushed along, tired, but 
 glad I was lucky enough to reach the good old road 
 before dark. 
 
 At a little past six I stepped into the tent. What 
 a glorious supper we had that night ! The frying- 
 pan was heaped with fresh, juicy venison steak, 
 the rich coffee boiled to a perfect tone, and what ap- 
 petites we brought to invade that meal! After 
 supper, we piled the camp stove full of wood and, 
 filing our pipes, I related to Pardner the adven- 
 tures of the day, and he in turn told me of his. The 
 memory of that hour is with me yet, and will always 
 be a vivid recollection in my mind. As I peeped 
 from the tent and beheld the starry firmament above 
 I felt almost like reciting those beautiful lines of 
 Shelley's: 
 
 " How beautiful this night, the balmiest sigh 
 
 Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear 
 
 Were discord to the speaking quietude 
 
 That wraps this marvelous scene. 
 
 Heaven's ebon vault 
 
 Studded with stars unutterably bright 
 
 Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls. 
 
 Seems like a canopy which love has spread 
 
 To curtain her sleeping world," 
 
96 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Nov. 10. — Today, Sunday, we stayed in camp 
 nearly all day, but in the afternoon took a walk 
 west a mile or two for exercise, but saw nothing 
 worth mentioning. 
 
 Nov. II. — Clark went west today about a mile 
 and a half, and after spending about three hours in 
 the woods, and not seeing anything he started 
 home by way of the log road, and saw two deer 
 running north across the road ahead of him, about 
 twenty rods. They were about six rods apart and 
 going like a cyclone, but he pumped two shots out 
 of his 40-82 cannon at them, just to augment their 
 speed a little. 
 
 I went east this morning out towards the bay, 
 but although signs were quite plentiful, saw no 
 deer. About 3 this afternoon it began to rain and 
 soon came down in torrents, accompanied by wind, 
 thunder and lightning. I had to run for more than 
 a mile after I reached a road, but got almost 
 drenched then before reaching camp. This is the 
 first time I have ever known a genuine thunder- 
 storm to occur in this northern country in Novem- 
 ber. The storm which followed tonight was terri- 
 ble, and rocked the tent and made the great trees 
 bend and groan over and around us until we were 
 so nervous we could not sleep until after mid^ 
 night. 
 
 Nov. 12. — This morning the ground was covered 
 with'a fresh fall of snow, which came last night after 
 the rain, and it is cooler. Going in south and Clark 
 straight west, I struck some ridges southwest of the 
 

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THE BEAA'ER POND. 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor gj 
 
 camp, and after tramping a couple of hours I had 
 the good luck to jump two big deer, and shot at the 
 buck as he went out of his bed on the jump, but did 
 not hit him. 
 
 I was coming up over a sharp ridge, or hogsback, 
 and paused just at the edge of the hill to look the 
 ground over carefully before going farther. A 
 large buck and doe were lying in plain sight of me 
 about ten rods to the right, but so cautiously had 
 I approached them that they did not hear nor see 
 me until I stepped out in plain view on top of the 
 ridge. I had just turned my head to take a sweep 
 of the little valley to the left when up went the two 
 deer together, the buck rising from his bed and 
 leaping into space in a sort of uncoiling way, it 
 seemed to me, so I had only time to get his move- 
 ment and pull the trigger; but he was away in a 
 second, fast disappearing amid the trees far to the 
 west, while his mate, the doe, I did not see at all 
 after her first jump, but both went in the same gen- 
 eral direction. Going on farther west I saw an- 
 other deer, but this one was running also, so I did 
 not try a shot, as it was too far and uncertain. 
 
 Clark had a regular picnic, he says, having seen 
 six today. He shot at two standing, but did not 
 kill either. He says he had a peck of fun but got 
 no deer. I told him he was having fine luck in see- 
 ing game, and he would score some of these days. 
 
 Nov. 13. — I returned to camp at 11 today, and 
 in a few minutes afterward Clark came in and said 
 he had killed a nice young buck about three miles 
 
gS Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 west. We finished cutting some wood which I had 
 begun, took a hurried lunch and started for the 
 scene of the kilUng, to hang up Clark's buck. We 
 reached the place after an hour's swift walking, 
 and I soon cut the deer open and dressed it out, 
 and we hung it up good and high, away from the 
 bears and wolves. 
 
 It was so near night after we finished our work 
 of getting the buck in shape to leave it in the woods 
 that we started for camp and did not get in until 
 dark, and so tired, too, we could scarcely walk. 
 
 Nov. 14. — This morning Clark started west, and 
 after going about two miles saw a nice doe running, 
 but she was too far away before he could shoot, so 
 he let her go unmolested. I took a trip east out 
 towards the bay, as my former trip in that direc- 
 tion was cut short by the rain, but saw nothing but 
 fresh tracks. 
 
 Nov. 15 — This morning, when we stepped out of 
 the tent, we found about 8 or 10 inches of snow on 
 the ground, most of which had fallen in the past 24 
 hours, especially during the night. I got out at 
 5:15 and built a fire in the stove, then started for a 
 runway a half mile south, to watch for an hour or 
 so. I watched faithfully until nearly 7 o'clock, but 
 saw no deer. Came back to the tent , got my break- 
 fast, and started west. Before I had proceeded on 
 my way a mile I struck the track of a big buck, and 
 immediately followed it. The trail was a fresh 
 one; could not have been over half an hour old, 
 and I did my best to get sight of the old fellow, as I 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 99 
 
 knew by the tracks and other signs he was a big one, 
 and well worth getting. 
 
 After three hours of the hardest work I ever 
 tried in my life, and not catching sight of the game 
 I concluded to draw off and let him go, so I started 
 south, struck the road west again in about an hour, 
 coming out a mile west of where I started in north 
 on the trail in the morning. 
 
 I struck in south, angling to the west, and after 
 going about a mile up jumped two very large deer 
 about 60 rods off to the southwest. They ran like 
 the wind just as I sighted them, and of course 
 shooting was out of the question, but I consoled 
 myself with the thought that I was again in the 
 vicinity of game, and it was .worth something to see 
 it, even if I could not shoot. 
 
 After the deer had passed out of sight, I started 
 in the direction they went, going very slowly and 
 cautiously. I had reached the top of one of those 
 sharp ridges and was standing still, looking down a 
 V-shaped draw to the west, when I caught sight of 
 two deer walking slowly along the bottom some 
 fifty rods away. The wind was in my favor, and I 
 stood far above them, and they were headed north, 
 while I faced west. Presently they stopped in a 
 little copse of brush which was so thick I could only 
 make out one head and nose, which protruded from 
 just behind a small tree some six or eight inches 
 through. I drew a bead on that sharp pointed 
 mark, but said to myself, too far away, and the 
 mark too small, but before I could shoot one of the 
 
loo Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 deer began walking away to the north, and as it 
 came to a stop in a partially open place I pulled my 
 rifle on him and fired. At the crack of the rifle he 
 lunged forward, or jumped. I don't know which, 
 and away he went like a cyclone. 
 
 I marked the spot as well as I could with my eye, 
 and after throwing another cartridge into the bar' 
 rel, started to find the trail and investigate as to 
 whether my bullet struck him or not. The distance 
 was about 35 rods, and a downward slanting shot, 
 so I feared in the darkness of the woods, under such 
 circumstances, I had overshot my mark. After 
 some time I found the trail, and there was no evi- 
 dence of a hit so far as the game was concerned, 
 but I did find where my bullet splintered a small 
 tree which stood some 60 feet from where the deer 
 stood when I shot, and happened to be directly in 
 line with the game, although at the distance I was 
 shooting I did not see the tree at all. The bullet 
 struck squarely in the center of the sapling, passed 
 through, and left the wood in splinters. Whether 
 the ball glanced or I shot too high I don't know, 
 but I took the deer's track and followed it about a 
 mile, and no blood signs appeared; but how he 
 did jump ! I have seen some tall running by deer 
 before, but this exhibition took the plum. At one 
 place he leaped over a tree-top four feet high, in 
 the middle of a jump of about thirty feet, and a lit- 
 tle further along he plunged down a deep draw, 
 and his track down the steep sides looked like the 
 path of a small avalanche. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor loi 
 
 When he reached the bottoin there was a small 
 pond of water with a little ice, and snow covering 
 ft. Into this he landed squarely in the middle from 
 his last jump coming down the other side, and the 
 water was muddy for lo feet around on every side, 
 while water flew out in all directions, and could be 
 seen on the snow. This little bath seemed to be 
 really just what he needed, for he unlimbered him- 
 self right then and there in a way that would put to 
 shame a Rocky Mountain sheep, and up the steep 
 hill he went at terrific jumps. I could scarcely 
 climb the place, it was so steep, and caught hold of 
 bushes to keep from sliding backward into the 
 water. 
 
 At last I reached the top of the ridge, and Great 
 Scott, what an exhibition that buck must have 
 made as he cut through the atmosphere after 
 reaching level ground above the ridge ! The tracks 
 were so far apart I could scarcely believe that one 
 jump would cover such a distance. Pretty soon I 
 came to a place where he had been joined by another 
 deer, and they both lit out for tall timber together, 
 running side by side. As it was now getting dark, 
 I started for camp, which I reached after dark, 
 tired and happy, and with a good appetite. 
 
 This evening, after a hearty supper and a deli- 
 cious pipe, we had a good laugh over the acrobatic 
 sprinting of my lost deer, 
 
 Nov. i6 — I got up this morning at 5 o'clock,- 
 cooked my breakfast and started west again, t-.rn- 
 ing in south and going over about the same ground 
 
I02 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 I did yesterday, where I saw the four deer. There 
 were no fresh signs to be seen. The deer which 
 were in that part of tlie woods yesterday were evi- 
 dently not there today, as I hunted the ground 
 over very carefully and found no tracks freshet 
 than those made last evening or yesterday after- 
 noon. Still I concluded that game must be some- 
 where in the woods, so I started farther west than 
 I had ever been before. 
 
 I crossed an old road and struck in due west, vow- 
 ing that I would go on clear to the river, nine miles, 
 but that I would have a deer before night. My 
 blood was up and I meant business. The way the 
 game had been playing hide-and-seek with me dur- 
 ing the past few days was all very good as a joke, 
 but it was no joke to go without meat in the camp, 
 so I detemined to bag some venison or know the 
 reason why. 
 
 After crossing the old road I continued on west, 
 coming to another draw. I descended to a level 
 piece of bottom covering a few acres, with trees 
 scattering. Crossing over this I approached the 
 opposite bank which was very steep, and began to 
 climb to the top. Just before reaching the top I 
 paused to look over the ground ahead. Nothing 
 appearing, I walked on slowly. Pretty soon I saw 
 where a deer had jumped from its bed and ran west. 
 This was a fresh track too, and I felt encouraged. 
 About 40 rods farther along I saw where three deer 
 had been lying down among some old birch tops, 
 and had evidently heard or seen me coming and 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 103 
 
 had run. Then I made up my mind to go slower and 
 be more cautious, as the game was certainly in that 
 locality, and I meant to get the drop on one before 
 long. 
 
 Finally I stopped near a large beech tree and 
 watched closely for any signs of game. Ten min- 
 utes passed. I was getting cold and restless, and 
 wanted to move on, but something impelled me to 
 wait just a minute more. So I stood perfectly still 
 another five minutes, and just as I was about to 
 take a step forward I caught sight of a moving ob- 
 ject a little to my left which was coming out from 
 among the trees. A second glance and I saw it was 
 a big buck, a royal old fellow with antlers like a 
 rocking chair. He was coming a little toward me, 
 but going across my line of vision to the south. His 
 head was swaying up and down gently and from 
 side to side as he walked along rapidly. The dis- 
 tance was perhaps 25 rods, and it took me about 
 three or four seconds to decide what to do, but I 
 did it quickly. I decided to shoot on the spot, as I 
 knew if he got the least bit of my wind, or saw a 
 movement of my body, he would be gone in a 
 twinkling, so I drew the old 30-30 down fine on his 
 shoulder blade, held low and pressed the trigger. 
 
 Did you ever stand behind a trusty gun and see 
 the game fall as the gun cracked ? Then you know 
 my feelings that next moment, as I noted the big, 
 noble buck drop to the ground at the crack of the 
 rifle. But though he is down I never say he is 
 mine until I know it, and can place my hand on 
 
I04 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 his inanimate body, so in a twinkling I had worked 
 the lever, thrown out the empty shell and had an- 
 other one in the barrel and gun held in position for 
 instant use. He began to lunge forward, and once 
 or twice attempted to get up on his knees, but 
 would fall back to the ground only to try again. 
 I never can bear to see an animal suffer, and so I 
 approached slowly to within about fifty yards, 
 aimed a shot at his neck just back of the ear, and 
 he fell at the crack of the gun never to rise again. 
 
 Well, here was my game, and royal game, too, a 
 ten-point buck that would weigh probably 250 
 pounds. But I was alone, and some miles from 
 camp, so I decided to try and hang him up. The 
 job was bigger than I anticipated, and after work- 
 ing and tugging for two hours I gave it up. The 
 buck had been killed about 11 130, and so at i :3o I 
 was still in doubt what to do. At last I whipped 
 out my hunting knife, slit him open and cleaned 
 him out, and then drew the carcass on top of a fallen 
 tree, allowing it to bleed nicely and concluded to 
 leave him there and go back to camp and get Clark 
 to help me handle him. I blazed a trail back to 
 the old road, and then started for camp, where I 
 arrived just at dusk. 
 
 Clark was in and had the fire going. He said he 
 had been east and had seen a big buck running, but 
 could not get a shot at him. In the afternoon he 
 came into camp and then went to Weaver's for 
 supplies, and brought back bread, cookies, fried 
 cakes and a pail of nice, fresh milk. These are 
 

 1 
 
 
 !^^ 
 
 Jg/g^ 
 
 yym 
 
 niiR LOAD STARTS FOR THE RAILWAY STATION. 
 
ON TAH-OUAMI'- NON BAY. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 105 
 
 truly luxuries in camp life, and we are very glad we 
 have so good a place to camp, and that Mr. Wea- 
 ver and his estimable wife are so good to us, to sup- 
 ply our wants in this line. What a repast we en- 
 joyed this evening! Nothing can be compared to 
 the feast we sat down to, not even a banquet. I 
 think we quit eating from exhaustion. Certain it 
 is, one never feels that he has enough in this cli- 
 mate. 
 
 Just before retiring Clark stepped outside the 
 tent and heard the shrill cry of a lynx back of our 
 tent, in the direction of the swamp. 
 
 Nov. 1 7 . — There is good tracking snow now, and 
 sleighs are being used on the stage road. We see 
 plenty of deer tracks every day, but no wolf or bear 
 tracks. The grouse which were so plentiful the fore 
 part of the season seem very scarce, as I have not 
 seen one in two weeks. 
 
 This morning after breakfast we started to the 
 scene of the killing of the big buck yesterday by 
 myself, and after an hour's hard walking reached 
 the place and proceeded to finish the job whch I 
 was unable to do alone yesterday. First we secured 
 a couple of kodak exposures of the old monarch as 
 he lay on the snow in the heart of the forest. Noth- 
 ing had been near or touched the carcass, but just 
 as we were taking a picture the howling of wolves 
 far to the west could be heard. 
 
 To hang up a 250-pound deer in the woods is 
 easy if you know how and have a good axe or 
 hatchet, and a mighty hard and difficult job if you 
 
io6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 don't know how. But as I had hung up a few be- 
 fore and helped to swing up a larger number, we 
 went to work and did the job in good shape in fif- 
 teen minutes. First we selected a young tree, tall 
 and straight, with forked branches near the top, 
 which Clark shinned up something after the style 
 he would use in case a bear were after him. His 
 weight soon bent the tree to the ground where I 
 stood. I grabbed the top branches of the tree and 
 held it down while he cut off the limbs, then Clark 
 sat on the top of the tree, holding it down with his 
 weight, while I dragged the buck up to the crotch 
 we had cut the top from, and inserted the antlers 
 into the V- prongs of the tree, then tied them fast 
 with a bit of rope, so it would not slip. Then we 
 left the tree to swing up, the buck's body holding 
 the top down. In the meantime 'we had cut two 
 poles about eight feet long, each having a crotch at 
 the end. Clark took one pole and I took the 
 other. He stood on the left side of the tree on 
 which hung the buck, and I on the right. 
 
 The crotches were inserted or placed against 
 the tree just back of the buck's head, and when 
 firmly planted each one seized his pole in both 
 hands, bent our bodies and lifted the deadweight, 
 at the same time exclaiming together, "Up he 
 goes." At each upward pull we slid our poles 
 along so they caught in the ground and held the 
 body where we lifted it. Three or four lifts result- 
 ed in placing the carcass high enough so that the 
 hind legs swung six inches clear of the ground, and 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 107 
 
 we voted it high enough. Once firmly hung up 
 in this style a deer will keep nicely for weeks in 
 the woods, and the wolves will not touch it. The 
 blood also drains out nicely, and the head being 
 out of reach a bear will rarely touch it 
 
 After finishing the job of hanging up my buck, 
 I consulted my watch and found it was i o'clock. 
 We had a lunch in our pockets which we ate, after 
 which Clark started back toward the spot where 
 I had killed the buck, saying he would go on farther 
 west, and then towards night start for home. I 
 took my gun and started in west, going perhaps a 
 mile, following along a little stream and up over 
 some sharp ridges. 
 
 It was quite still in the woods, but as it had been 
 thawing the snow was soft and one could get 
 along quite still. I saw the largest number of 
 deer tracks I had seen in one day, but mostly 
 tracks a day or two old. 
 
 At half past two I turned north, intending to 
 hunt straight out to the road which I calculated 
 was a mile or so to the north and ran east and 
 west. After going north about 80 rods I all at 
 once saw a deer jump up the side of a ridge, stop 
 on top and stand perfectly still, ears thrown 
 forward, and evidently looking and listening for 
 the noise and suspected danger it had felt, as it 
 probably heard me coming but had not seen me 
 yet. Of course at the first movement of the deer 
 I stopped, looked at the object sharply, and made 
 out what I supposed was a good sized doe. 
 
io8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 It was then getting quite dark in the woods, 
 the sun being hidden behind the clouds, and I 
 had just come up out of a deep draw where it 
 was almost like night, it was so dark with the 
 thick hemlock tops loaded with snow. Aha! 
 I thought, that's a nice little doe, just what we 
 need for camp meat, so I raised my rifle, drew 
 down fine on the shoulder and pulled the trigger. 
 What a wonderful and fearful thing is the modern 
 high power smokeless rifle! Why, that deer 
 seemed to fall before the gun cracked. It went 
 down all in a heap, and I could not see anything 
 of it except its feet, which seemed to be dangling 
 in the air. It was a long shot, so far that I had 
 feared before I fired that even if I hit the deer it 
 might only be wounded and get away. The 
 distance was nearly 200 yards, and at last I came 
 up to the spot. The snow was crimsoned with 
 blood, and there lay the game shot through the 
 neck about 8 inches below the nose. 
 
 Always a merciful hunter, I drew my hunting 
 knife from my belt and cut the jugular vein in 
 its throat, and turned it over on its side so it 
 would bleed out good. Wiping my knife on some 
 leaves and snow I began to wonder how I was to 
 get my game out to the road. I had some rope 
 left in my pocket, so I tied a piece around the 
 deer's head, took the other in my hand, first 
 passing the rope over my shoulders, grasped my 
 rifle in the other and started. There was a very 
 deep draw right in front of me. I took my com- 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 109 
 
 pass as a guide and made straight north, as I knew 
 by so doing I could reach the road. Down that 
 draw we plunged, that is I did, the deer sliding over 
 the snow like a toboggan. I got about half way 
 down when the blamed thing bumped against 
 my heels knocking me ofE my balance and away 
 we went headlong down into the snow, deer, gun 
 and man together. After sliding 30 feet and 
 rolling and tumbling I managed to stop myself, 
 untwisted the rope, brushed the snow out of my 
 eyes and took an inventory of myself and load. 
 After a second or two spent thus I discovered we 
 were all there yet, but a little soiled from handling 
 as it were, but still in the ring. So getting things 
 in shape I again started for the bottom of the draw 
 which I reached without further mishap. 
 
 At a quarter to six, I reached the tent, just 
 about exhausted, and wet with sweat. My long, 
 hard pull had told fearfully on me and I was 
 ready to quit. Clark had supper all ready and 
 was out to the road looking for me. 
 
 We decided to skin the deer at once, as it was 
 still warm, and could be done so much easier 
 than after the carcass had become stiff and frozen. 
 So we took our lanterns, grabbed our hunting knives 
 and fell to work. In 15 minutes the hide lay 
 in the tent, the carcass was quartered and hung 
 up on spikes driven into a near-by tree, and we 
 washed up for supper. Hungry, well, you don't 
 have to guess again, for we had an appetite some- 
 thing akin to a half-famished wolf. 
 
no Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 After a good, hearty meal, and pipes were 
 lighted, and the fragrant blue smoke rolling up 
 around us in graceful little curls and clouds, 
 Clark told me about how he had seen a nice young 
 buck when he was on the way home in afternoon; 
 the deer ran across the road about 20 rods ahead 
 of him, stopped a few rods this side of the swamp 
 and looked at him. He raised his rifle to shoot, 
 but before he could press the trigger, the buck 
 gave a sudden bound into the air, and was away 
 in a flash over the hills. I tell him he must be 
 quick and sure of his aim to get them, as they 
 don't give you much time to shoot. But he is 
 doing pretty well, and we both feel pretty well 
 satisfied with our luck so far. At 9 o'clock we 
 turned in, rolling the warm woolen blankets well 
 around us, and dropped off into pleasant dreams. 
 
 Nov. 1 8. — Clark went out this morning and 
 traveled some three miles west. He reports 
 seeing a very large buck about 30 rods off; the 
 old fellow was walking along pretty fast, and the 
 brush was so thick around he could not get a good 
 shot at him and waited for a better view. But 
 pretty soon the buck gave a terriffic snort, and 
 away he went, his big white flag high in the air, 
 as he bounded over a hill, and was gone, snorting as 
 he ran. Clark says he could hear the thump, 
 thump, of his powerful hoofs as he pounded the 
 frozen earth at each mighty bound, and the still 
 air fairly reverberated with his defiant snorts. 
 
 Could some of those who have that "tired 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor m 
 
 feeling," and can't get up an appetite, have been 
 here tonight to sit down with us to supper, I 
 imagine they would have forgotten their ills and 
 abandoned their dyspeptic thoughts in the con- 
 templation and realization of a feast for king or 
 peasant. Here is our spread, which I believe would 
 tempt most any hunter to become suddenly 
 hungry : 
 
 Venison Steak 
 
 Cold Boiled Heart Fried Bacon 
 
 Fried Onions 
 
 Potatoes with Jackets on 
 
 Fresh White Bread Buns 
 
 Dairy Butter 
 Hot Coffee — Rich and Black 
 
 Fresh Milk and Cream 
 
 Sugar Clover Honey 
 
 Raspberry Sauce 
 
 Cucumber Pickles Cold Baked Beans 
 
 Spring water from Silver Creek 
 
 Crackers Fried Cakes 
 
 After enjoying the above menu for our supper, 
 
 we sit for an hour or two before our cozy fire, 
 
 puffing at our pipes and spinning over again some 
 
 yarns half untold. I step to the outside of the 
 
 tent, and gaze into the sky. There is a beautiful 
 
 crescent or half moon, which is surrounded by 
 
 fleeting clouds, which float over airily, leaving 
 
 occasional periods of darkness succeeded by 
 
 flashes of bright moonlight which floods the forest 
 
 around, glistening with its coat of snow and frost. 
 
112 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 All is still as death, and I withdraw to the tent 
 where warmth and good cheer abound. 
 
 Nov. 20. — Went out today and dragged Clark's 
 deer out to the road near mine, so we can load 
 both in at same time and place tomorrow morning. 
 As I could not get Mr. McMullen to haul us out 
 before Saturday or Sunday, he having so many 
 other parties to get out of the woods, I secured 
 the services of Mr. Weaver, who says he will see 
 us out tomorrow. So tonight we enjoyed another 
 big feast, and after many pipes and yarns we 
 turned in for the last night's sleep in the camp of 
 1901 
 
A. D. SIIAFFilASTER AND HIS GREAT WOLF. 
 
OUR CAMr ON STLVKR CRREK, loo-. 
 
SIXTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 Who can paint 
 Like Nature? Can imagination boast. 
 Amid its gay creation, hues like hers? 
 
 — Thomson in the Seasons. 
 
 Eckerman, Nov. 4. — Arrived here at noon 
 today after a hard, tedious trip, made so by close 
 quarters in the cars, as the train was crowded and 
 we were cramped up in an uncomfortable position 
 all night, consequently had no sleep. 
 
 On arriving, found my box and bear trap, which 
 were shipped by freight, had arrived all right. 
 There is the largest crowd of hunters this year 
 I ever saw since coming to this section to hunt. 
 Some 38 hunters came in on our train today, and 
 more arriving each train. The capacity of the 
 hotel here is taxed to the utmo.st to take care of 
 them. However, thanks to the goodness of Mr. 
 Martin, the landlord, we were given the best 
 room in the hotel, and our other wants were 
 equally well supplied. 
 
 Nov. 6. — Here we are again in camp; arri-ved 
 at I o'clock this afternoon. The roads were some- 
 thing awful after the rain of yesterday, and Mr. 
 McMullen had such a big load we had to walk 
 nearly all the way in. Clark Green, who is with 
 me again this year, walked all the distance and 
 I rode four miles and walked nine. The old camp 
 
 113 
 
114 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 site looked natural as ever, and the little brook, 
 or Silver Creek, as it is named, was babbling along 
 as brightly and sparkling as ever. We drank 
 from the ice cold stream again and oh, how good 
 it seemed. 
 
 The bear trap came all right, and every time 
 Green looks at its massive jaws and big iron ring 
 and heavy chain, he bursts out laughing, and 
 says it looks big enough to hold an elephant. 
 But it requires quite a trap to hold a bear, and 
 that is what we want. In a few days, or soon as 
 possible, will set the trap, hoping to get a "bar." 
 
 Silver Creek Camp, Nov. 7. — The weather has 
 been fine today, and we hustled to get our camp 
 in shape for convenience and comfort. It took 
 us all day to complete the job, but tonight we 
 can survey our day's labor with satisfaction. 
 We have everything as cozy and snug as one 
 could wish for in the woods. This year we 
 have a log camp, which we thoroughly fumi- 
 gated and cleaned out and fixed up. We had 
 to build a door and put it on with a lock and iron 
 hinges which I had in my box for such a purpose ; 
 also repaired the roof, using a roll of tar paper, and 
 built shelves in the room, and built us a com- 
 fortable bed. Our bedstead we nailed up of 
 boards, and placed poles lengthwise of the frame. 
 Then we placed freshly cut spruce and hemlock 
 boughs over the poles, then added a big supply 
 of clean baled hay and fine tops of spruce and 
 hemlock. On top of this we spread a clean, 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 115 
 
 white, new canvas and nailed one end of same 
 high on the wall over the head of our bed, so the 
 effect is one of neatness and cleanliness. On the 
 canvas we spread our woolen blankets and several 
 quilts, then our pillows, and the result is, I can 
 tell you, a bed of great comfort and rest. 
 
 Nov. 8. — We started this morning at daylight. 
 Green taking the north side of the west road and 
 I the south side, both of us going west as the wind 
 was blowing from the west. The woods were 
 what is known as still ; that is, not much wind 
 and no noise to speak of such as rustling dry 
 leaves, swaying branches, etc. The recent rain 
 made the leaves damp, and one could walk very 
 still; but if we could go still the deer could also, 
 and their sharp ears and alert eyes were always in 
 readiness to see or hear any approaching danger, 
 it seemed. I felt good and wore my moose hide 
 moccasins, which are said to be the stillest hunting 
 shoe made, and I can tell you I went up through 
 those woods with the tread of a cat — :not a twig did 
 I crack, but though I walked two or three miles, 
 up to II o'clock I saw no deer, partridge or other 
 game. 
 
 Resuming my tramp I did not see anything 
 until about i in the afternoon, when I caught sight 
 of the body of a deer standing some 8 rods away 
 and so I could not see its head as there was a 
 tree in front of it; I noted that the portion I 
 wanted to shoot at was visible — that is the fore 
 
ii6 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 shoulder — and drawing down fine I pressed the 
 trigger. 
 
 As the 30-30 cracked, the game tumbled in a 
 heap, and up jumped another deer some 10 rods 
 to my right. This was a doe and she was already 
 in the air and going fast, but I cut loose again 
 and she kept going, as the shot was not expected 
 to hit her. My game proved to be a fine little 
 buck. I went to work then and hung him up 
 and after seeing that he was nicely cleaned out 
 and bled, I blazed a trail to the north road, and 
 reached camp at 3:30. 
 
 I met Green on the way and he was going out 
 again after having been back to camp since morn- 
 ing. He reported seeing two deer, but both were 
 running so fast he could not get a shot. He came 
 in again about 4:30, and said he had seen another 
 small deer, also on the run and fired at him just to 
 help him keep up speed. 
 
 Silver Creek Camp, Nov. 9. — Raining again 
 tonight and the weather continues warm. We 
 worked around the camp nearly all day, but took 
 a walk in north along the edge of the swamp to 
 look for bear signs, as we heard yesterday that 
 bear had been seen in there and a man told Green 
 he had shot at one twice last Thursday, but did 
 not get it. We expected to set our bear trap if 
 we found signs to warrant it. Before we got to 
 the place we saw three deer, a doe and two young 
 deer, and Green shot the doe. So we had to 
 hang up the one he killed and blaze a trail to the 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 117 
 
 nearest road. This took us about an hour, and 
 then we returned to camp, not having found the 
 place we started for. We will try again in a day 
 or two to find the place, which is in the edge of the 
 swamp northwest of our camp two or three miles. 
 
 The effect of camp life on our systems is magical. 
 Now as for myself, I can hardly believe it, but 
 I feel like a boy. I can eat as rauch as any two 
 ordinary men around home, and sleep like a log 
 at night and in the morning I arise and feel rested, 
 although at night I am often veiy tired from 
 hard work, tramping in the woods and doing work 
 around our camp. There is lots of real hard 
 work to be done in a camp, that is, if you want a 
 comfortable camp, and live neat and clean, which 
 we do. We keep everything as neat and clean 
 as at home, especially our persons and our table. 
 Dishes are washed after each meal and a neat, 
 white table cloth spread over the table. 
 
 For a carpet, we use freshly cut and gathered 
 spruce and hemlock boughs, and scatter on the 
 floor, which lends a softness to the tread and 
 distills in the camp the spicy aroma of the woods. 
 
 Nov. 10. — We did but little hunting today, but 
 put in the time looking around. This forenoon 
 we brought in the little buck which I shot on the 
 8th, and I skinned one half and cut off, leaving 
 the saddles to send home. After finishing dressing 
 the deer, we hung up the pieces on spikes driven 
 into nearby trees to keep until such time as we 
 wanted to use it. This evening we had a pretty 
 
ii8 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 good supper as the following menu will show; 
 
 SUPPER 
 Venison Steak Fried Bacon 
 
 Buckwheat Cakes 
 Canned Plums Crabapple Jelly 
 
 Clover Honey 
 White Bread Dairy Butter 
 
 Fried Cakes Cookies 
 
 Coffee Condensed Milk Spring Water • 
 
 The weather was bright today, but cooler, 
 temperature 28 above this morning, and a little 
 frost last night. We are looking for a snow 
 storm now most any time. 
 
 Nov. II. — A hard rain and wind storm is raging 
 with unabated fury tonight — the rain beats down 
 on our tar paper roof like the noise of roaring 
 musketry, while the wind sweeps through the 
 forest swaying the tree tops and branches like 
 reeds ; how the moaning sounds roll along in billows 
 of flying spray, as the heavy gusts strike the 
 woods. But our cabin is snug and cozy, a fire 
 snaps and crackles in the stove, while the savory 
 smell of roasting venison floats up around us. 
 
 Today I tramped south and west four or five 
 miles, returning at i :3o this afternoon, as I wanted 
 to send out on the stage the saddles of the little 
 deer I cut up yesterday. I sent the venison out 
 all right, and hope it will reach home in good 
 condition. While I saw eight deer today, I did 
 not get a shot at but one of them, and that was 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 119 
 
 fired at a running doe; all the others I saw got up 
 and ran before I could get close enough to shoot. 
 Green saw but one deer today, and fired at that 
 one, which was on the run, and as he says, in a 
 hurry. 
 
 Nov. 12. — Not much accomplished today, as 
 it was a poor one for hunting, everything was 
 soaking wet from the storm of last night. Green 
 saw one deer, a big buck, which was running, and 
 too far away to shoot at with any chances of 
 hitting, so he let him go. I was out only a part 
 of the day, but did not see a deer. I found some 
 signs of bear in west of us about two and one-half 
 miles. 
 
 Nov. 13. — A little snow last night followed the 
 rain, but not enough for tracking. Received 
 my first letter today and some papers from home. 
 Green did not see any deer today. I went in south 
 and west and had a queer experience. After 
 getting in the woods a mile and a half or so, I 
 thought I saw a large deer standing still, or a log 
 which much resembled one; so I watched it as 
 carefully as I could for a minute and decided it 
 might be a deer, so pulled up and fired, as I of 
 course expected if it was a deer that the shot fired 
 at it would decide that for me, but it did not, as the 
 object remained perfectly still, and though I 
 looked at it as sharp as I possibly could for fully 
 five minutes after firing at it, I could not see a 
 single movement, so concluded it must be a log, 
 I then started to walk over and see where my bullet 
 
I20 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 struck, when, to my astonishment, the supposed 
 log turned into an immense buck, which had been 
 coolly watching me all the while, and never moved a 
 muscle when I fired at him. He started to walk 
 away, and I shot at him again as he moved away 
 among the trees, and a doe which lay near him 
 jumped up and ran away. He was out of sight so 
 quick I could not tell whether I hit him or not. 
 
 This is the first and only instance I ever heard 
 of where a deer stood still after being shot at and 
 then coolly walk away after the second shot was 
 fired at it. It was one of the biggest bucks I ever 
 saw, and I regretted more than I can tell that I 
 did not get him. 
 
 Nov. 14. — This has been a bad day for our busi- 
 ness. I went about three miles west this forenoon 
 and it began to rain hard, so had to return to 
 camp and got a good soaking before I could get in. 
 Changed all my clothing and put on dry clothes and 
 did not go out again. 
 
 Nov. 15. — It rained again last night all night 
 and snowed a little this morning, melting as fast 
 as it came; and made it nasty getting through 
 the woods. Green went east and north and saw 
 two deer, both on the jump, and he did not shoot 
 at them. I started south and traveled west. 
 About 9 this morning I saw a buck running towards 
 me in the thick woods, and as he came to a stop, 
 fired at him at about 20 rods; the light was 
 so poor in the woods and I shot so quickly, I 
 guess I missed him, and he jumped into the air 
 
\\"I1ER1£ THE BEAR WAS CAU(JIiT— (jREEN'S DEE 
 
-jS>;- ^-'A^aa^ :.:-s^4^3ai: :♦:■ 
 
 A. n. SHAFFMASTER AND HIE BL'VCK BEAR 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 121 
 
 and started to run around me to the south, and 
 I fired three more shots at him as he ran. At 
 the ^third shot I saw him lunge to one side as 
 though hit, but he kept running. There was no 
 snow and I could not track him so I had to let 
 him go. I think, though, he was wounded, but 
 could not tell. 
 
 There are lots of wounded deer this fall on 
 account of no snow to track them. We try not 
 to shoot at one unless we think we want it and can 
 kill it. 
 
 Nov. 17. — We started west this morning with 
 high hopes of success, but alas for hunters' luck, 
 we did not see a deer in that direction. It seemed 
 as though every deer in the woods had hid away 
 somewhere and no amount of still hunting would 
 disclose his whereabouts. 
 
 After returning from his tramp west, Green 
 went out near our camp along the edge of the 
 swamp along towards evening and saw two deer, 
 but did not get a shot at either one, as they jumped 
 and got out of sight too quickly for him to shoot. 
 
 Nov. 18. — For a change, the sun actually shone 
 a while today, and it seemed so good to see the 
 welcome sunlight again. The weather continues 
 very warm, and we sweat like butchers walking 
 and working today. This has been quite a day 
 of adventure for us and myself especially. I 
 started southwest this morning, still-hunting for 
 deer, and just for luck followed the blazed trail 
 past the spot where I had my little buck hung up. 
 
122 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Arriving at the spot, I noted that some animal 
 had been there and eaten nearly all the entrails I 
 had thrown out when I shot the deer some nine 
 days ago. There being no snow, my most care- 
 ful examination of the spot failed to disclose the 
 slightest clue as to what kind of an animal had 
 been nosing around there. But I made up my 
 mind that it must have been a bear. Yes, it must 
 surely be a bear, I argued to myself, and looking 
 carefully around me, I left the spot and struck 
 out straight southwest, into what I knew to be 
 the most secluded and wildest part of the woods, 
 far from any road. 
 
 The sun was shining brightly, while a fresh 
 southwest wind whispered softly through the trees 
 and swayed the restless branches to and fro, caus- 
 ing just the slightest rustle among the leaves. It 
 was just such a morning as would delight the 
 heart of a sportsman, and fill his soul with silent 
 joy. I drew a breath of inward satisfaction as 
 I sharply scanned the scene around me, and felt 
 the fresh breeze in my face. I had come up 
 through the woods pretty careful, not cracking 
 a twig, but after passing the spot where the animal 
 had worked on the offal of my deer, I proceeded 
 slower and with even more caution. In the par- 
 lance of the woods, I went through the woods "just 
 like a cat," stopping every few steps to watch. I 
 had not gone far from the spot where I killed the 
 little buck, when as I was standing and watching 
 I caught a glimpse of some animal coming towards 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 123 
 
 me from out the thick woods ahead. At first 
 sight it appeared quite small, but as it approached 
 coming in a very cautious and slinking manner, 
 crouching almost to the ground, I saw that it was 
 much larger than it appeared on first sight. Dur- 
 ing the few seconds it had been approaching me, 
 I got ready for important business, and stood per- 
 fectly motionless, rifle cocked and finger on the 
 trigger. On it came straight towards me until it 
 had approached within five or six rods, when sud- 
 denly it stopped, in a half crouching position, its 
 body all concealed from my view, except its head ; 
 it seemed to be intently listening, and sniffing the 
 air to detect the approach of any danger. All 
 of this passed almost as quick as thought, and I 
 had to act quickly. The very moment the animal 
 stopped, I had it covered, and in a second more I 
 had drawn a fine bead on the center of its forehead, 
 and simultaneously with the pressing of the trigger 
 the sharp crack of the old 30-30 awoke the still- 
 ness of the forest, and the animal dropped in its 
 tracks. Quick as thought I pulled the lever, and 
 threw in another cartridge, and watching it closely, 
 began slowly and carefully to approach the game. 
 Imagine my surprise on getting near to it to see 
 it was a very large and ferocious looking timber 
 wolf, of which so much has been said and written. 
 Well, I just laughed softly and began to feel pretty 
 good at my luck. How it was I came to get the 
 drop on this old straggler which no doubt had 
 pulled down many a deer and had made the dark 
 
124 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 deep forest resound with its blood-curdling howls 
 on many a wintry night, is hard to tell. I made 
 back to camp and after we got a lunch, Green and 
 I went and brought her in. It was the first wolf 
 Green ever saw and the second one I had ever seen 
 close to me in the woods. We had a terrible hard 
 job to get it to camp, trying first to drag it and then 
 tied it on poles and carried it. At last we got in 
 just at dark, and so tired we could scarcely step. 
 This evening the four hunters across the road came 
 over to look at the wolf, as they had never seen one. 
 They all shook my hand and said: "Well, good 
 for you old man, you're all right." We hung it up 
 on the side of the log cabin, and I will measure it 
 in the morning. 
 
 Nov. 19. — I measured the wolf this morning and 
 the result is as follows : From tip of nose to tip of 
 tail, 6 feet; length of fore paw, 22 inches; head 
 from ears to nose, 13 inches; body, height from 
 ground, 30 inches; around chest, 32 inches; length 
 of tail, 20 inches; estimated weight, at least 100 
 pounds. 
 
 Hunters who have seen it pronounce it one of 
 the largest ever killed in the county. There is a 
 state bounty of $15 on a full grown wolf and $5 
 bounty in Chippewa county. 
 
 As though this was not enough for one day, 
 Green discovered that a bear had torn down the 
 deer he had hanging up in the woods and had 
 eaten about half of the hind quarters. This had 
 been done since last Saturday when the deer was 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 125 
 
 all right. So we got down my bear trap and set it 
 under the deer, hoping to catch the thief. We 
 also set four wolf traps where the animals had eaten 
 the entrails of my deer. 
 
 Nov. 20. — "It never rains but it pours," is an 
 old saying, and this would seem to apply to us in 
 hunting. 
 
 I led the way along the blazed trail to where we 
 set the bear trap by Green's deer yesterday. We 
 approached the spot rather carefully and after ten 
 minutes' walk was able to make out under the dim 
 light of the surrounding trees, the form of the deer, 
 still hanging, apparently just as we left it. On 
 nearing the spot, however, I paused, and said: 
 "See? the clog is gone." 
 
 "Sure enough," replied my companion in a sur- 
 prised manner, while we stepped near to the spot 
 where the trap had been set. Meanwhile my eyes 
 had been roving round, and I quickly exclaimed : 
 ' ' There is the trail going right towards the swamp. 
 Now, let's after him." 
 
 The marks of the big clog, which was attached 
 to the trap, made a plain trail as it dragged through 
 the leaves, and the route taken by the bear was 
 easily followed by the eye. We walked along rapid- 
 ly, keeping a sharp lookout for any new signs of the 
 captive. After proceeding in this manner some 
 200 yards, we paused to listen. 
 
 "I can hear the chain rattle," Green spoke in a 
 low voice, "It's down there in the direction of the 
 
126 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 swamp," he continued, while I began to peer in 
 that direction. 
 
 "Aha, I can see him," I said, at the same time 
 pointing to a coal black object seemingly motion- 
 less, among a clump of tree trunks a few yards 
 ahead. We approached the game softly. Green 
 smiling and gripping his gun. When within about 
 30 feet of the bear, which had gone as far as it 
 could, the clog having been dragged between two 
 trees, thus stopping his progress, we paused, and 
 Green said: "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes," I re- 
 plied, "shoot him just back of the foreleg." 
 
 As Green raised his old 40-82 to his shoulder, 
 the bear rolled his little snapping black eyes to- 
 wards us, omitted a little subdued growl, and show- 
 ed us his good set of teeth. 
 
 Bang, went the old 40-82, and instantly that 
 bear gave a leap into the air, coming down on his 
 back, and began to roll over and over on the ground 
 at the same time giving out a sort of whine or 
 squeal. Green still stood there, smiling at the 
 antics of the bear, and a smoking gun in his hands. 
 
 "Pump another cartridge into your gun, quick," 
 I said, "that bear has squealed, and if there is any 
 more bears in this vicinity, which I more than half 
 suspect, we are liable to have doings on our hands 
 immediately." Green's lever clicked, as another 
 cartridge slipped into the barrel. 
 
 Suddenly Green's eyes sought mine with an 
 astonished look in their depths, and he whispered, 
 "Hist!" I asked him in a subdued tone what it 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 127 
 
 was, and he said, "Seems just so to me that I 
 heard something out there in the swamp cracking 
 a twig or stick. There it goes again, right in there 
 behind those thick cedars." 
 
 " Give him another shot to stop his squeaHng," I 
 whispered, "then we will attend to the other cases." 
 
 Again Green's old cannon roared through the 
 silent woods, and our bear gave a convulsive shud- 
 der, and lay still. 
 
 "I hear sticks cracking again," said Green, his 
 jaw dropping about an inch, while his eyes had a 
 wild look in them as he peered into the swamp 
 ahead of us. 
 
 "Well, it's the old parent bears, I guess, and they 
 may attack us," I whispered. "You watch your 
 side and I'll watch mine, and the first glimpse you 
 catch of a black head coming out, give it to him, 
 and I will do the same." We waited a few minutes 
 but nothing showed up. After resetting the bear 
 trap again, we departed. 
 
 It was then about 10:30 and we dragged the 
 bear out near the road, a distance of perhaps three- 
 quarters of a mile and left it behind a log. We 
 wanted to do a little hunting and expected to come 
 and get the bear towards evening. 
 
 Green went in on the blazed trail where I shot 
 the wolf the day before, to look at the traps we 
 set up there and then hunt farther in. I struck 
 into the woods opposite where we left the bear and 
 went west about a mile, when all of a sudden up 
 jumped two deer and ran off like the wind. I was 
 
128 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 almost even with them before they saw me, and 
 so when the first one jumped, up went the old 30-30, 
 and a shot went after it ; I could not tell where that 
 deer went after I shot, and then the second one 
 jumped and started off about like a sky rocket. 
 Up came the old rifle again and crack ! she rang out, 
 and to my astonishment down went the deer, roll- 
 ing head over heels in its headlong flght. I walked 
 up to it and saw it was a small doe, but fat and nice. 
 
 I cut a couple of poles and after cutting her open 
 and cleaning her out hung her up so high I think 
 no bear could reach anything except her feet and 
 then he would have to stand on his haunches to 
 do it. 
 
 Deer are not safe this fall left in the woods, there 
 are so many bear and we know of three deer being 
 torn down by them and the carcasses being partly 
 or wholly devoured. 
 
 Towards evening we went and brought in the 
 bear, which we were able to do with the assistance 
 of two of the hunters across the road who kindly 
 volunteered to help us. We tied Mr. Bear onto 
 two long poles, and then placing the poles on our 
 shoulders, two men on a side, the procession started, 
 and we reached camp about dark, where we hung 
 up the carcass on the side of the log camp. 
 
 Nov. 21. — We went to look at the bear trap 
 again this morning, but it was not disturbed, every- 
 thing being just as we left it yesterda}'. Green 
 went hunting afterwards, while I returned to camp. 
 I worked around camp the rest of the day fixing 
 
GROUP XO. :, A. D. S. IX CEXTER. 
 
THE LOAD READY FOR THE STATION. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 1^9 
 
 up things, also more thoroughly cleaned out the 
 bear and washed out the blood with cold spring 
 water. 
 
 Green returned about i o'clock, having seen 
 nothing, and we took several views of the bear and 
 wolf. 
 
 The weather is a record breaker for this section ; 
 44 above today, and we sweat like butchers walk- 
 ing and carrying nothing. A straw hat and one 
 shirt is plenty to keep one comfortable here. 
 
 A number of hunters have seen our bear and 
 estimate his weight at 175 to 200. He is very fat 
 and as black as a coal. When we himg him up 
 today he seemed a good deal larger than yesterday, 
 and was about as large as an ordinary man. The 
 wolf is the largest of the two animals, that is, 
 longer. I have measured both, and find this so. 
 
 Nov. 22. — Looked at the bear trap again this 
 morning, but nothing was disturbed near it, so we 
 took it up and carried it some 80 rods farther into 
 the swamp and reset it, as bear signs were quite 
 plenty there. Afterwards we brought in Green's 
 deer and cleaned off what was good of the carcass 
 and Clark sent it out by a camp team to be shipped 
 home by express. 
 
 Nov. 23. — When we went to look at the bear trap 
 this morning, what was our surprise to find a fine 
 dark marten in it. I was afraid his fur had been 
 damaged by the big trap and its ugly pointed jaws, 
 but on removing the marten found it all right and 
 
130 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 not a blemish on the fur. It seems the marten 
 sprang onto the pan of the trap to get the piece 
 of venison I placed there to tempt a bear, or else he 
 could not have sprung the big trap. We reset the 
 trap sprinkling the bait with fish oil first and then 
 dragging it around up to the trap through the 
 woods. Bears can smell fish oil a long distance 
 it is also a good lure for marten and fisher. 
 
 After returning from the trap we fixed up our 
 game on the outside of our camp and I took some 
 kodak views of the same to show our friends at 
 home. Then I went to work and skinned the wolf. 
 I found it a hard job as I don't pretend to know 
 much about such work, but finished my job after 
 an hour's hard work. I then salted the head and 
 hide to preserve them for the taxidermist. 
 
 Towards evening I took my rifle and went about 
 a mile and a half southwest of camp and up jumped 
 two deer, but they got out so quick and ran so fast 
 I just fanned them a little with one shot. Green 
 was out also, but did not see any deer. 
 
 We expect to go out to the station tomor- 
 row the 24th, so we are getting our things ready 
 tonight. 
 
 We broke camp on the 24th, and on the following 
 day I went to Sault Ste. Marie, where I had no 
 difficulty in securing the bounty of $20 on my 
 wolf, and at the same time saved the head for 
 mounting. This I left with a taxidermist in Grand 
 Rapids on my way home, and received it nicely 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 131 
 
 mounted a month later. The head now, with the 
 bear, and eight fine bucks' heads adorn the walls 
 of my office den, and as I look up at the life-like 
 heads, former denizens of the woods, I have a great 
 longing for just one more breath of the glorious 
 air of the grand old forest away on the Lake Supe- 
 rior shore. 
 
SEVENTH ANNUAL HUNT. 
 Chapter VH. 
 
 The hills, 
 Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
 The venerable woods; rivers that move 
 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 
 — Bryant, in Thanatopsis. 
 
 Silver Creek Camp, Nov. 6, '03. 
 After nearly a week's hard work and all the 
 troublesome incidents attending the arrival into 
 camp, we are here and located. We had an awful 
 time this year getting our goods which we shipped 
 by freight and also our baggage checked, all of 
 which we had to wait for several days after our 
 arrival. Then we had to wait for a team to haul 
 us into camp, and at last on Wednesday afternoon, 
 we managed to get started. We had a big load 
 and did not leave the station until afternoon, and 
 consequently did not arrive at camp xuitil dark. 
 The teamster did not get there until about eight 
 o'clock, and in the meantime — Sager, Clark, Rus- 
 sell and myself — who came on ahead on foot had 
 anything but a cheerful time waiting for the arrival 
 of the team. We reached our camping place on 
 Silver Creek just at dark. After waiting for the 
 team in vain for an hour, we went into an old log 
 camp and the boys started a fire inside. The smoke 
 nearly put our eyes out, but it was better than 
 standing outside in the cold and darkness. Coming 
 
 133 
 
134 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 in Joe Sager shot a grouse and I missed one. Joe 
 also saw a small deer. 
 
 About eight o'clock the load arrived, and as the 
 moon had by that time sifted through the clouds 
 we could see to unload our goods without a lantern. 
 The teamster fed his team and returned to the 
 station, while we, after unloading our goods, put 
 up the big tent (Sager 's), and made a temporary 
 bed, also set up the stove and had a cup of hot 
 coffee. It was a pretty tired lot of men who turned 
 in at II o'clock to sleep on a pile of poles covered 
 with tents and quilts, but we were so tired we did 
 not mind the ridges on the poles nor the absence 
 of a spring mattress. 
 
 Our party consists of eight members this year 
 all residents of Southern Michigan, and enthusiastic 
 sportsmen. With the following brief introductory 
 we shall continue our narrative: First, there is 
 C. C. Bennett, one of the pioneers of our county, 
 and an old-time sportsman, genial and overflowing 
 with boyish enthusiasm, even if he is in his 73rd 
 year; then there is P. A. Buck, the jolly butcher 
 and grocer, who dearly loves a good story, and 
 M. M. Clark, the well-known hardware man, the 
 son of a sportsman, and himself a devoted enthu- 
 siast of the rod and gun, and who has accompanied 
 the author on several successful hunting trips; 
 then there is Thomas Russell, a prosperous farmer 
 and an old timer, who has been on many a deer 
 hunt, and loves the sport yet ; Joseph Sager, another 
 prosperous farmer, and also the son of a pioneer. 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 135 
 
 and grandson of Big John, the Indian hater, who 
 belongs to the younger generation of sportsmen; 
 J. T. Pickhaver, the brawny blacksmith, an experi- 
 enced deer hunter, and his partner from Coldwater, 
 Mich., D. A. Buck, at present the efficient sheriff 
 of Branch county, who is a successful and enthu- 
 siastic sportsman; lastly, the author, whose love 
 for the woods and its wild creatures has led him to 
 penetrate some of the wildest portions of the 
 country in quest of recreation and sport. 
 
 Our bed is a dandy, and reaches across the en- 
 tire east end of the tent — 14 feet. We made the 
 bed long enough to accommodate six men. After 
 building the frame work, we put on small green 
 springy poles, then covered all with a foot or more 
 of hemlock, spruce and cedar boughs, all cut green, 
 and so fresh and aromatic that the odor of the 
 balsams will help to lull the tired body to sweet 
 sleep and healthful rest. On top of the boughs we 
 placed blankets and quilts until we have as soft 
 and inviting a bed as any hunter could wish for. 
 All of us brought each a pillow and so we are fixed 
 nicely for sleeping quarters, one of the most essen- 
 tial and important factors in camping. 
 
 We also put up our mail box on the stage road — 
 the stage passes within sight of our camp. We 
 can get and send mail every day if we choose, quite 
 a luxury when you consider we are thirteen miles 
 from the station and postoffice. 
 
 The weather, which was very warm during the 
 first few days here, is now growing colder. It 
 
136 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 spits snow today, and as I write this tonight I 
 can hear the northeastern wind beating the 
 branches of the forest trees until they give out 
 weird sounds — sounds of the night, those eerie 
 rustUngs of bush and leaf and twig. The lofty 
 hemlocks sway with restless motion and the forest 
 seemes awaiting the swirling snow and the early 
 presence of winter, but we are so cosy and so warm, 
 and the tent is aglow with light and fragrant smoke, 
 lazily curling from four pipes, while the boys in- 
 dulge in a quiet game and ye editor writes and 
 writes. 
 
 Nov. 7. — Art Buck and J. T. Pickhaver, of 
 Coldwater, and P. A. Buck, of Bronson, arrived 
 in camp this evening. They had a hard time of 
 it to get here, having hired two rigs to bring them 
 in, one teamster dropped them six miles from 
 camp, and so they hired a camp team that hap- 
 pened along to bring them the rest of the way. 
 We were just eating supper, but hustled around 
 and got up a new feast for the hungry new arrivals. 
 
 Nov. 8. — This being the first day of the open 
 season for killing deer, most of us took to the 
 woods early. Art Buck was the lucky man, and 
 got a nice eight-point buck. He, with Pickhaver, 
 Joe Sager, Clark, Bennett, P. A. Buck and Tom 
 Russell, all went east towards the bay. Art sep- 
 arated from the others and took an old logging 
 road running towards the bay. This he followed 
 two or three miles, and when in sight of the bay, 
 up sprang a big buck and started off on a jump. 
 
ON TOP OF LOOKOUT RIDGE. 
 
SAGER AND THE EDITOR BRIN'GING IN AL'S DEER. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 137 
 
 Art got busy with his old 40-82 Winchester, and 
 began pumping lead at the old fellow as he bounded 
 along, his big body seeming a comparatively small 
 mark as he dashed out and in among the brush, 
 and under the dark shadows of towering hem- 
 locks, but the aim was true, and the buck fell down 
 to stay after the third shot. Art rushed up to his 
 fallen game and drew his keen-bladed hunting 
 knife from his belt and cut the buck's throat so 
 he would bleed. Then he realized for the first 
 time that although he was Sheriff of Branch county, 
 he was alone and miles from camp, and that he 
 had a hard job on his hands, so he let out a yell 
 for help, which he declares could have been heard 
 four miles, and should have disturbed the slumbers 
 of the ancient ancestors of the Hurons and Chip- 
 pewas, whose bones quietly rest in their Indian 
 burying- grounds, a stone's throw from where the 
 monarch of the forest lay. Only the mocking 
 echoes of his own voice came back to him through 
 the forest air. The trees trembled and whispered 
 strange sounds in his ears, and far out on beautiful 
 White Fish Bay the blue waters of Lake Superior 
 tossed and glistened in the rays of a bright sun. 
 Finding that no one of his fellow hunters answered 
 his call, he went to work in true hunter's style and 
 hung up his buck, and then returned to camp, 
 where he received the hearty congratulations of 
 the boys. 
 
 The rest of the boys got nothing, but sighted one 
 or two on the run. The editor saw a deer which 
 
138 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 he could have killed, but as it was hardly light 
 yet in the early morning, and he could only see a 
 part of the game, he did not shoot, choosing to 
 rather loose a deer than to take a chance of shoot- 
 ing at a man, so the deer jumped and ran. 
 
 Nov. 9. — This has been a lucky day for two 
 of our party — Joe Sager and J. T. Pickhaver, each 
 having killed a buck. Mr. Pickhaver got his on 
 a runway, where he went before daylight and 
 watched as a cat would for a mouse. At just seven 
 o'clock along came a buck and J. T. let him down 
 in good style. Joe Sager shot his deer on the run, 
 hitting him two or three times at 25 rods on the 
 jump — pretty good shooting, eh! The editor got 
 a shot at a big buck just at dark as he was return- 
 ing from the day's tramp, but could not see or tell 
 whether his shots took effect or not, as it was too 
 dark. 
 
 Nov. 10. — Rain today; that is, this morning. 
 It has been so very warm and dry that a little 
 moisture will be welcomed. The editor scored 
 and killed a nice fat doe early in the morning, also 
 shot at another deer running. In the afternoon 
 Art Buck got Bennett's shotgun and went into 
 the edge of the swamp looking for partridge. He 
 did not see any, but saw four nice deer — two of 
 them big bucks. He blazed away at one of them 
 with two loads of buckshot, but the old fellow never 
 stopped to see Art's chagrined look nor to hear 
 the little compliment he spoke to himself about a 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 139 
 
 man nosing around for partridge with an old shot- 
 gun when he should have had a rifle. 
 
 Joe Sager, Clark and the writer, went into the 
 swamp near where we got the bear last fall and set 
 a bear trap this morning. Afterwards we brought 
 in Al's deer and hung it up at the camp. 
 
 Nov. II. — We are dining on venison right along 
 now, and Sager's deer is looking rather small, but 
 we have plenty more to cut. Raining again today. 
 This noon, after a cold lunch, composed of lim- 
 berger cheese and hickory-nut cake, we went out 
 and brought in Art Buck's deer and hung it up at 
 our camp. We have fixed up a big pole and are 
 bringing in our deer as fast as they are killed, and 
 hang them on the pole where we can look after 
 them. The boys went to the bear trap, but noth- 
 ing doing there. 
 
 Nov. 12. — The rain last night turned to snow, 
 and this morning the ground was nearly covered 
 with a light fall of the beautiful. All went into 
 the woods. It was frosty and noisy hunting this 
 morning, but softened up about noon. Joe Sager 
 got four shots at a running doe early in the morn- 
 ing, but did not hit her. The editor draws the 
 lucky card again today, as he killed another nice 
 deer southwest, also located some new choice 
 grounds for deer. 
 
 Nov. 13. — Sager, Clark and the editor went 
 southwest this morning, partly to hunt and to 
 also bring in the deer which the editor killed in that 
 section yesterday. We started early in the morn- 
 
I40 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 ing — in fact, the moon and stars were our light 
 through the woods for the first mile or so, as it was 
 before daylight when the three hunters struck 
 into the road leading west towards the river. 
 With a 5 o'clock breakfast and only a small bite 
 of cold meat, bread or ginger snaps and an apple, 
 perhaps, a fellow is quite liable to get up an appetite 
 by the time the day's hunt is done and he returns 
 to camp at dusk, tired, hungry as a polar bear, but 
 contented and happy. The long tramp during 
 the day through the woods in the keen, biting 
 air of the North Country in November, is a sure 
 cure for that failing appetite and listlessness or 
 tired feeling which oftentimes chains us down 
 in the city. 
 
 The chickadee and red squirrel are about the 
 only company we find in these woods. Our little 
 feathered friends are very busy flitting and hopping 
 about from tree to bush and bush to tree, while 
 the little bushy tail scans us from his lookout on 
 some near-by tree or log, scolding and scampering 
 up and down in such incongruous style that we 
 sometimes lose our self-control and burst out into 
 a fit of laughter at the ludicrous antics of these 
 little natives of the game-land who know not man 
 nor fear. 
 
 After going some three miles west along the 
 road, we separated, the editor making a detour to 
 the west and south and Sager and Clark going 
 in on the editor's blazed trail to where he had 
 killed and hung up the deer. When some distance 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 141 
 
 in on the trail he saw where Sager and Clark had 
 evidently shot at some deer, as there was a fresh 
 bullet mark on a birch tree near the trail and 
 fresh deer tracks across the path. In a short time, 
 as he was resting himself on a log, Art Buck 
 strolled along, having drifted off that way. The 
 two soon started along the trail, and were presently 
 joined by Sager and Clark who had shot at two 
 deer running down a hill near the trail, and which 
 they had been tracking to see if a hit had been 
 made, but reported a miss, as the game was going 
 too fast. As the party of four walked along, Art 
 suddenly stopped and said, "Boys, I heard a deer 
 jump." We began looking for it, and in a moment 
 a big buck stepped into sight, but only so a part of 
 his body was visible through the brush and trees. 
 The editor was ahead in the path, and seeing the 
 fore-shoulders and fore-legs of the deer as it stepped 
 behind a bunch of trees, he drew a hasty bead on 
 the shoulder and fired; Art's gun also cracked a 
 moment later. The deer jumped at the crack of 
 the rifles and ran like the wind. We went to the 
 spot where the buck stood and found some hair 
 where the bullet cut it off, but no blood. Then 
 we tracked him a half mile or so, but found no 
 evidence of a wound. The editor felt a little cut 
 up, as he could not understand why his 30-30 did 
 not stop the game in its usual prompt style. 
 
 We then went in on the trail and brought out 
 the editor's deer. This we took to camp and hung 
 it up. Bennett and Buck afterwards went out and 
 
142 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 skinned it, and we had some choice venison steak 
 fried with onions for supper. 
 
 Nov. 14. — Art got a fine big buck this morning 
 on a runway west of camp. The buck came along 
 a Httle before 7 o'clock and walked up to within 
 60 feet of him, never saw or smelled him, and Art 
 dropped him with one shot in the neck. After 
 hanging up the deer he went in southwest and 
 jumped four more deer, one of which was a big 
 doe and he fired at her at about 30 rods and cut 
 some hair from her — shot too low or else the bul- 
 let fell on the long range. A 30-30 would have got 
 her all right on the dead level. Cell Clark and Joe 
 Sager got a shot at two running, but made no hit. 
 P. A. Buck also saw three deer, but no chance to 
 shoot. 
 
 A hunter in the camp across the road from us 
 got lost in the northwest corner today and did not 
 get in until 2 o'clock in the morning. He flounder- 
 ed around nearly all night in the swamp, in dark- 
 ness, rain and snow, and finally, after the moon 
 came up and the storm had passed, he got out onto 
 the right road and reached camp. We saw him 
 this morning and his hair was standing up straight 
 yet. It will be at least a week before he can wear 
 his hat without a string to hold it on. He had no 
 hatchet or matches. A man who will go into these 
 woods without matches, hatchet or a compass, is 
 simply courting trouble and is sure to find it some 
 day. 
 
 Nov. 15. — There was about three inches of snow 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 143 
 
 on the ground this morning, and a party of us decided 
 to take a trip to the river, as the day was Sunday, 
 and we did not care to hunt that day. So Pick- 
 haver, Sager and George Brown, who is camped 
 just across the road, and the editor, ah started on 
 the west road for the river, leaving camp about 
 8 o'clock this morning. The snow was not deep 
 enough to impede progress, and the walking was 
 therefore very good. 
 
 Our path led up over a series of very high hem- 
 lock ridges, in a northwesterly direction. These 
 ridges were the highest that we had ever seen in 
 Michigan, and it was a good task to climb up to 
 the top, as it was so steep. The ridges looked bald, 
 from the fact that the hemlock had been all cut off, 
 leaving only the bald top and its bare face, which 
 towered far above the surrounding forest trees. 
 In fact, it seemed like standing on top of some of 
 those high foothills in the Rockies, as the tops of 
 the highest hemlocks could be seen far below us. 
 Having reached the top, we stopped long enough 
 to rest a minute to catch our breath and also to 
 allow the editor to take a snap shot at the sur- 
 rounding scene with his kodak, then we resumed 
 the journey. The trail led down along the bottom 
 of the draw, after leaving the ridges, which we 
 followed perhaps half a mile. We found after 
 going a ways in the bottom of the draw, that a 
 nice trout stream was trickling along beside us 
 and only a few feet away. This trout stream was a 
 beauty, indeed, and was picturesque, too. Its 
 
144 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 waters tumbled and rolled along in and out among 
 the bends and curves of the deep draw, always seem- 
 ing to say, "Hurry, Hurry." 
 
 In the course of the two and a half miles to the 
 river, we saw a good many nice trout, Joe Sager 
 also shot a big plump grouse and knocked the 
 feathers out of another one. We reached the river 
 about II o'clock, and then spent about an hour in 
 resting ourselves, also fishing in the river and eat- 
 ing our lunches. 
 
 The readers of the Journal are familiar with 
 the editor's description of the famous Taquamenon 
 river, by reading the story of his former hunts, 
 but he is such an optimist and idealist that he can- 
 not look upon such a scene as this without inwardly 
 and outwardly giving expression to a few thoughts 
 of admiration and deep love for the silent beauty 
 and mysterious charm of the place which chained 
 him to the spot. Indeed, so great is his admira- 
 tion for the sylvan scene such as he enjoyed to- 
 day, that he cannot help but express a wish that 
 every sportsman friend who is a lover of Nature, 
 (and what true sportsman is not), might stand 
 where he did today and with sparkling eye and 
 ever expectant breath, enjoy the same scene of 
 wild and silent beauty. The dark waters of the 
 river reflect with startling clearness the images of 
 the deep cedar forest on the adjacent shore. The 
 winding stream reveals the charm of forest out- 
 line and wooded bank as the eye slowly follows 
 its sinuous course. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 145 
 
 After reaching camp, the editor learned that Tom 
 Russell had got a shot at a deer running at about 
 30 rods, but probably did not hit. 
 
 A fine maltese cat has been making his home 
 in our tent lately. The boys take turns in petting 
 him and feeding him choice bits of meat. He 
 seems to have been used to luxury, as he always 
 gets the softest spot in which to lie down and the 
 warmest and coziest corner. 
 
 Nov. 16. — As there are considerable signs of pine 
 marten this fall, the editor took eleven marten 
 traps out this morning intending to put them all 
 out between the camp and the river. He did not 
 get a very early start, however, and after setting 
 six traps he found on consulting his watch, that 
 it was past noon and also that the weather was fast 
 changing, as it was by this time snowing fast. So 
 he returned to camp. While setting one of his 
 traps, he saw a nice deer coming towards him on 
 the run, but his rifle being about 20 feet away rest- 
 ing against a beech tree, he did not attempt to 
 shoot, but watched the "flag" dancing through 
 space between the thick trees as the deer disap- 
 peared in the direction it was coming, it evidently 
 having seen or heard him rattling the chains on 
 the traps as he was setting one. 
 
 The editor reached camp about 2 o'clock in the 
 afternoon, and it was then snowing hard. After 
 eating a lunch he learned that Art Buck had gone 
 to Emerson, four miles north, to get a pair of 
 woodsmen's shoes like the editor's, and P. A. Buck 
 
146 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 and J. T. Pickhaver, had accepted an invitation 
 from a Mr. Scott, a lumberman, who had a lumber 
 camp on the other side of the river, and had ac- 
 companied him home in his wagon to hunt in the 
 vicinity of his camp for a day or two. 
 
 This evening, just before dusk, Art Buck return- 
 ed from Emerson with his coveted shoes, and cover- 
 ed with snow, which made his clothing as wet as 
 a rain storm, as the snow melted almost as fast as 
 it fell. About 4 inches of snow has now fallen 
 since morning, and as we retire for the night it is 
 still snowing very hard. 
 
 Nov. 17. — The editor took a walk in west today 
 and the snow being about eight inches deep or 
 more it was hard walking. 
 
 When some two miles from home, and just as 
 the editor had stepped into the road, he caught 
 sight of what appeared to him to be a good sized doe 
 coming down the road right towards him on the 
 jump; a second glance revealed the fact that the 
 deer was a good big fawn and that it was limping, 
 evidently having been wounded. As it came on 
 towards him he made up his mind it would be only 
 an act of mercy to kill the animal now that it was 
 wounded and would surely fall a prey to the wolves 
 in case it did not fall down when exhausted and 
 die. So he drew a bead on the animal's neck as 
 it came bounding towards him, and at the crack 
 of the rifle the game fell. 
 
 He had gone about half a mile down the road 
 when several hunters could be seen in the woods 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 147 
 
 near the road tracking some animal. The editor 
 shouted to them and waived his hand, recognizing 
 the men as Art Buck, Tom Russell, and Joe Sager. 
 He motioned for them to come to him, and they 
 responded by starting for the road. When Art 
 Buck caught sight of the editor's game which he 
 was dragging, he looked puzzled, and the editor 
 divining the truth, asked him if he had been follow- 
 ing a wounded fawn. Art's face took on an en- 
 lightened expression, as he replied: "Well, I should 
 say I had, and I guess we have chased it 20 miles." 
 "Well, here is your game I guess," replied the 
 editor, and then he told them how he had got the 
 animal. 
 
 Nov. 18. — The weather was clear, bright and 
 frosty this morning — just the kind of a morning 
 to start a big buck, he of the " rocking chair head," 
 and the editor was the one to do it, but as he did 
 not get the game, thereby hangs a tale. He was 
 out to take up some of his marten traps which had 
 become snowed under, and in a very thick part 
 of the woods, when suddenly a brownish gray ob- 
 ject sprang into view, moving rapidly at right angles 
 to him through a tangled labyrinth of brush, trees 
 and fallen timber. In an instant the old reliable 
 30-30 sprang to his shoulder and the shot rang out 
 clear and sharp, while the buck, well, he kept right 
 on going and seemed in a hurry. The editor took 
 his track, and after going some distance, found a 
 few drops of blood; thus encouraged he kept on 
 after the game, tracking him through an almost 
 
148 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 impenetrable portion of a cedar swamp, and then 
 out onto the hardwood land on the high hemlock 
 ridges to the south, but never got another sight of 
 the game. It was a very fine large buck, and he 
 regretted very much that his first shot did not 
 stop him as in many times of the past. Towards 
 evening the editor returned to camp, tired and wet 
 with falling snow, hungry as a wolf, but a hunter 
 still. 
 
 Arrived at the camp, the editor learned that Joe 
 Sager had got a shot at a small deer towards even- 
 ing on the edge of the swamp north of the camp. 
 The deer was, like all others Joe declares he ever 
 sees, going like the wind, and of course a flying 
 shot only seemed to accelerate its speed. Tom 
 Russell also reported a running shot, but don't 
 think he made a hit. 
 
 Nov. 19. — Snowing this morning; snowed three 
 inches last night. There is about 18 to 20 inches of 
 snow now on the level, and walking is most difficult 
 in the woods where no trail has been broken. Even 
 the deer seem to realize this, as we notice that they 
 will now follow in any track made where they wish 
 to go. If you break a trail through the snow in 
 the morning, you need not be surprised to see where 
 one or more deer have followed along in your 
 tracks during the day either going or coming. The 
 sleighing is excellent, but it is hard hunting. 
 
 The boys in the camp south of us report that 
 they found the deer one of their number killed and 
 hung up on Nov. 17. This is the deer Tom Russell 
 
or, The Htinting Trips of an Editor 149 
 
 helped to kill, and afterwards loaned the fellow, 
 whose deer it was, a compass and a hatchet, as he 
 had none. The fellow, a young man, who has 
 never hunted before, went home leaving his deer 
 hanging in the woods, and forgot or neglected to 
 blaze a trail out to the road. The next day he, in 
 company with several companions, tried to find 
 the game he had hung up the afternoon previous 
 but though they searched all day, they could not 
 locate the deer. Nor did they succeed in finding 
 it until today, and have spent more or less of the 
 time since in looking for it. Moral: Never go 
 into the woods without a hatchet and a compass, 
 and never kill a deer and leave it in the woods 
 without blazing a good plain trail high enough on 
 the trees to preclude the possibility of it snowing 
 under, so you can at any time return to the spot 
 and bring out your game. 
 
 P. A. Buck and J. T. Pickhaver returned from 
 a two days' hunt in Scott's lumber camp on the 
 north side of the river today. They had good 
 luck, too, as Buck reports having killed three deer, 
 a big buck and two young deer, and Pickhaver got 
 one. They report a splendid time and plenty of 
 good sport. Not many hunters over there they 
 say, and plenty of deer. This must be true, as 
 they saw some seven or eight deer this morning 
 while walking from Scott's camp up the river to 
 the bridge, a distance of about eight miles. Pick- 
 haver knocked hair out of one and followed a trail 
 of blood, which led off into the swamp. He did not 
 
IS© Himting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 dare follow far, as he knew it would be impossible 
 to get the animal out to the road even if he found 
 it dead, as he expected, so they tramped on. They 
 had such royal treatment from Mr. Scott, the owner 
 of the camp, that they cannot speak too highly of 
 him. 
 
 Nov. 19. — As the snow is so deep we cannot 
 hunt to any advantage, the boys decided to go 
 home. So we began to arrange things for the 
 home trip. At the same time we had our regrets 
 at going out before the season was over, there 
 being 1 1 days yet to hunt deer. 
 
 Dr. F. S. Sovereen and party, of Evart, who 
 are camped just across from us on the west side 
 of the road are having good luck recently, and we 
 heard one of the boys say today that their party 
 killed three large bucks yesterday. They are 
 now hunting north and west ; that is, they go north 
 down the stage road about a mile or so and 
 then go in west towards the river. This part of 
 the country is rather low, most of it being in the 
 big swamp, but there are high places, hemlock 
 ridges and balsam flats, with an occasional island 
 or high, rolling piece of hardwood, all excellent 
 ground for deer hunting. 
 
 In this, the concluding chapter of our Seventh 
 Annual Hunt, it is worthy of mention that it was 
 the general opinion expressed by the members 
 of our party that we had all enjoyed a nice time in 
 the woods and had been very successful in getting 
 game, our party of eight having killed 12 deer, 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 151 
 
 and a good amount of small game. No accident 
 or sickness marred the event, and therefore we all 
 voted the hunt to be a happy one, and to be re- 
 called with pleasure in future years. 
 
 The editor wishes to express his high appreciation 
 for favors shown to him by the Duluth, South 
 Shore & Atlantic Ry., through its obliging and 
 courteous General Passenger Agent, Mr. Geo. 
 W. Hibbard, of Marquette, who not only takes a 
 personal interest in the welfare of the visiting 
 sportsman to any part of the country reached by 
 The D. S. S. & A Ry., but does all he can through 
 his official capacity to make the trip one of com- 
 fort and pleasure. The passenger service of the 
 D. S. S. & A. Ry. is superior to many other systems 
 of Ry. , and one can but express a pleasant surprise 
 when gliding along comfortably and pleasantly 
 in its luxurious and richly appointed passenger 
 coaches. The passenger service between Marquette 
 and Sault Ste. Marie is of the best to be found 
 in the land, the trains are all electric lighted and 
 the coaches are of modern build and equipment, 
 having chair cars, sleeper and dining cars on these 
 trains. Our party also found the rates for travel- 
 ing more reasonable than some other roads and 
 the trainmen courteous and obliging in every 
 way possible. 
 
 Another fact, this railroad reaches more fine 
 hunting and fishing grounds than any other railway 
 system of the middle west. In fact, there is 
 scarcely a mile of ground along this entire system 
 
152 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 that big game, such as bear, deer, wolf, lynx, etc., 
 cannot be found, and the smaller game is most 
 abundant. There are scores of beautiful lakes 
 and sparkling rivers along the line, in the vicinity 
 of which would make ideal camping spots. 
 
 The trout fishing in this locality is also unex- 
 celled. There are hundreds of good trout streams, 
 which, I do not believe, were ever fished. Most 
 of these, of course, are back from the railroad, but 
 still can be reached if one has a desire for the rare 
 sport of fishing where no other man has ever fished 
 
SAGER AND PTCKHAVER ON TTIE TAII-QUA-ME-NON 
 RIVER. 
 
IN THE LAND OF HIAWATHA— THE 
 BEAUTIFUL TAH-QUA-ME-NON. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 Id the solitary forest. 
 
 By the rushing Taquamenaw, * * * 
 
 Longfellow, in Hiawatha's Sailing. 
 
 Hiawatha, who has not read this beautiful Indian 
 legend-poem?' Sung in song and story, drama- 
 tized, eulogized, and printed in nearly every lan- 
 guage in the civilized world. Very few people, 
 however, are at all familiar with the scene of the 
 poem. In fact, if you should ask ten people 
 where it was that Hiawatha builded his phantom 
 canoe, nine out of the number would say: "Oh, 
 somewhere out west. " After careful study of the 
 subject and research, and with the assistance of 
 that well-known sportsman, editor-author, traveler, 
 the Hon. Chase S. Osborn, of Sault Ste. Marie, 
 Mich., I have come to the conclusion that the river 
 so alluded to in Longfellow's celebrated Hiawatha, 
 is none other than the beautiful Tah-qua-me-non, 
 in the vicinity of which I have hunted during the 
 past seven years, and recorded in the foregoing 
 pages. This river always had a certain mystic 
 charm for me, even before I discovered its true 
 place in the classic scene ground of Longfellow's 
 masterpiece in Indian lore. And now I cannot 
 look upon its swift rushing waters and darkly 
 fringed forests' shores, without a feeling of tran- 
 
 153 
 
154 Htmting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 scendent happiness, tinged with a sense of awe and 
 supreme nature love for this famous river, which 
 today is not a whit less wild and solitary than it 
 was in the days of "Hiawatha." The following 
 quotation is from Longfellow's "Hiawatha's Sail- 
 ing:" 
 
 In the solitary forest, 
 
 By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
 
 It was by the side of the Tah-qua-me-non that 
 Hiawatha builded his phantom canoe. 
 
 Built a swift Chemaun for sailing 
 That shall float upon the river 
 Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
 Like a yellow water-lily. 
 
 Paddles none he had or needed, 
 
 For his thoughts as paddles served him. 
 
 Dived as if he were a beaver. 
 Stood up to his waist in water, 
 To his arm pits in the river. 
 Swam and shouted in the river. 
 Tugged at sunken logs and branches, 
 With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, 
 With his feet the ooze and tangle. 
 
 Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
 
 Sailed through all its bends and windings. 
 
 Sailed through all its deeps and shallows. 
 
 In and out among its islands, 
 Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar. 
 Dragged the dead trees from its channel, 
 Made its passage safe and certain. 
 Made a pathway for the people. 
 From its springs among the mountains, 
 To tne waters of Pauwating, 
 To the bay of Taquamenaw. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 155 
 
 In Longfellow's poem, "Hiawatha's Sailing," the 
 river is spelled " Taquamenaw, " which, according 
 to Indian dictionaries, has been derived from the 
 original "0-tah-ko-bin-naun, " which, being given 
 in English means, " He ties them, " and in reference 
 to this subject Mr. Osborn says: 
 
 "As applied to the Tahquamenon, it might mean 
 a river without a current, or a river with a current 
 tied. The translation also is a prisoner's strings 
 or thongs for tying prisoners. This might refer 
 to the Tahquamenon as being a river tied or 
 hidden in the forest, or a river bound by the frost, 
 as the Tahquamenon is frost bound nearly half 
 the year. " 
 
 In " Hiawatha's Sailing," the word "Pauwating" 
 occurs, which is given in the vocabulary as meaning 
 "Saut Sainte Marie," the original of " Sault 
 Sainte" or " Ste. Marie," more commonly and 
 vulgarly called "Boo. " Likewise, the word "Big- 
 Shining-Sea-Water, or Big-Sea-Water, which 
 means Lake Superior. 
 
 In further reference to this subject, Mr. Osborn 
 says: 
 
 "This river is undoubtedly the one mentioned 
 in Longfellow's Hiawatha, where it is spelled 
 "Taquamenaw." Indian names are spelled by 
 sound. A syllable, with gesture, may mean an 
 entire sentence, and several syllables, involve a 
 paragraph. Instead of communicating by sen- 
 tences and paragraphs, the Indian language is 
 almost always a series of hyphenated words, the 
 
156 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 meaning of which is extended by the addition of a 
 hyphen and a syllable whenever further meaning 
 is required. 
 
 There are Indian Orthoepists, and among them 
 Father Baraga, who contend that Tahquamenon 
 means a "pathway for the people, " and I refer you 
 to the line from Longfellow, "Made a pathway for 
 the people. " In interviewing the learned members 
 of two O-jib-way tribes, true descendants of the 
 0-jib-ways of Hiawatha's days, one says that 
 "naw" or "non" when affixed to a word means 
 "bay." This is Quis-qua-qum's theory, who 
 further says that "Tahqua" means "short." He 
 did not understand where the "me" comes in, but 
 was of the opinion it had been vulgarily added by 
 the whites. He is certain that " Tah-qua-non " 
 should be the word, which means "short bay." 
 The chief literati of Buz-bik-wo-chik differs a little 
 from Quis-qua-qum by contending that "Tah-qua- 
 me-non" means " sheltered bay " or " point. " 
 
 It will be remembered that both the river and 
 bay bear the same title, Tah-qua-me-non, there- 
 fore, with the facts as here presented, it seems 
 certain beyond all dispute, that this river, hidden 
 away in the remoteness and fastness of the North 
 Country of Michigan, is entitled to the distinction 
 that the literary people and Nature students and 
 sportsmen of the world will not be long in tran- 
 scribing to it in its relationship to "Hiawatha." 
 
 That the scene of Hiawatha's birth and youth 
 was laid in and about the region of Lake Superior, 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 157 
 
 in the vicinity of the Tah-qua-me-non river, is 
 further attested by a close reading of chapter three, 
 " Hiawatha's Childhood. " Quoting from the poem 
 we find it was: 
 
 By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
 
 By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
 
 Stood the wigwam of Nokomis. 
 
 Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
 
 Dark behind it rose the forest. 
 
 Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees. 
 
 Rose the fire and cones upon them; 
 
 Bright before it beat the water, 
 
 Beat the clear and sunny water, 
 
 Beat the Shining Big-Sea- Water. 
 
 There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
 
 Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
 
 Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
 
 Bedded soft in moss and rushes, ' 
 
 Safely bound with reindeer sinews; 
 
 Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
 
 "Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!" 
 
 Gitche Gumee, or Big-Sea- Water, is Lake Super- 
 ior, and its southern shore, or that portion lying 
 between the Pictured Rocks and Sault Ste. Marie, 
 is famous as the camping grounds of the Ojibway 
 tribe of Indians from time immemorial. This 
 region is rich in legends and traditions, and relic 
 hunters have for years desecrated the Indian 
 mounds and burial places, unearthing beads, 
 arrows, and many other relics of the dead warriors. 
 Only last fall, 1903, I found the skull and other 
 bones of an Indian, where they had been recently 
 unearthed on the high bluffs overlooking Tah- 
 
158 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 qua-me-non Bay. While having nothing further 
 to corroborate my belief than the general location 
 of the scene, I am convinced that it was by the 
 ford of the Tah-qua-me-non river, also that little 
 Hiawatha killed the red deer. When lagoo, the 
 great boaster, story teller and traveler, had made 
 a bow for Hiawatha, he said to Hiawatha: 
 
 "Go, my son, into the forest, 
 
 Where the red deer herd together. 
 
 Kill for us a famous roebuck, 
 
 Kill for us rv deer T/ith antlers!" 
 
 All alone walked Hiawatha 
 
 Proudly, with his bow and arrows: 
 
 And the birds sang round him, o'er him, 
 
 "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" 
 
 To the ford across the river. 
 And as one in slumber walked he. 
 Hidden in the alder bushes, 
 There he waited till the deer came. 
 
 And his heart within him fluttered, 
 Trembled like the leaves above him. 
 Like the birch-leaf palpitated. 
 As the deer came down the pathway. 
 Then upon one knee uprising, 
 Hiawatha aimed an arrow: 
 Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
 Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled. 
 But the wary roebuck started. 
 Stamped with all his hoofs together. 
 Listened with one foot uplifted. 
 Leaped as if to meet the arrow; 
 Ah! the singing, fatal arrow. 
 Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him! 
 Dead he lay there in the forest. 
 By the ford across the river. 
 
or. The Hunting Trips of an Editor 159 
 
 There is no doubt in my mind but what Long- 
 fellow had the Tah-qua-me-non river in his mind 
 when he drew this beautiful pen picture of the 
 mystic Hiawatha and the killing of the roebuck. 
 The location of the wigwam of Nokomis, I believe, 
 was in and about the shore of Tah-qua-me-non 
 Bay. The river by this name empties into this 
 bay and the bay is a part of Lake Superior. The 
 location of the wigwam of Nokomis I should place 
 on the south side of the Tah-qua-me-non river, or 
 about on the spot where at present stands the 
 little settlement of Emerson. At this place is a 
 very beautiful beach of pure white sand, and the 
 scene commands a grand open view of the Tah- 
 qua-me-non Bay. The river flows about three- 
 quarters of a mile north of Emerson, and debouches 
 into the bay. At its mouth it is about 50 yards 
 wide, and there is a bridge across it allowing 
 teams to pass on the stage route to and from White 
 Fish Point. It is very probable to believe that 
 the site of the present bridge marks a natural 
 crossing place on the river, and could easily have 
 been the ford where Hiawatha killed the red deer, 
 as it would be about the distance he would have 
 to have journeyed into the forest to have seen a 
 deer. Even to this day, were the bridge and road 
 not there, one might expect to see a majestic 
 roebuck in the act of attempting to cross at this 
 place, and only a short distance up the river one 
 can find plenty of deer signs, and crossing places 
 for the game. 
 
i6o Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 The poet's description of the scene near the 
 wigwam of Nokomis fits exactly the place I have 
 alluded to. Allowing for the change in the scene 
 from what it was before the giant pine trees were 
 cut away, the pen picture would be almost ideal, 
 as the spot I have indicated nestles at the very 
 edge of the forest, with "the clear and sunny 
 water" right before it. 
 
 When Hiawatha had "out of childhood into 
 manhood" grown, he said: 
 
 "I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
 See how fares it with my father, 
 At the doorways of the West-Wind, 
 At the portals of the Sun-set." 
 
 Thus it will be noted Hiawatha started West, 
 "towards the doorways of the West- Wind, " and 
 "the portals of the Sun-set." And following him 
 along in his journey in the poem, we find^ 
 
 So he journeyed westward, westward, 
 Left the fleetest deer behind him 
 Left the antelope and bison; 
 Crossed the rushing Esconaba, 
 Crossed the mighty Mississippi, 
 Passed the mountains of the prairie. 
 Passed the land of Crow and Foxes, 
 Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, 
 Came unto the Rocky Mountains, 
 To the Kingdom of the West- Wind. 
 
 It will be noted here that the poet evidently 
 used the phonetic form of spelling, as is illustrated 
 in the words " Taquamenaw, " and again "Esco- 
 naba." Nearly all the old maps and charts give 
 the spelhng of Tah-qua-me-non as did Longfellow, 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor i6i 
 
 the word evidently having been spelled from 
 sound. Likewise the same with Escanaba which 
 he spelled with an "o" instead of an "a," as it is 
 spelled at the present time. 
 
 After Hiawatha's mystic pilgrimage to the land 
 of the Sunset, he again turned his face eastward, 
 visiting the Falls of Minnehaha, naming it "Laugh- 
 ing Water," and its fame has gone forth over the 
 entire civilized world. I have stood by the side 
 of these beautiful falls, and, like unto thousands 
 of other pilgrims to the beauty spot, worshiped 
 at its shrine, and hallowing in memory the name 
 of the poet whose beautiful verse had made it 
 famous. Not wishing to detract one iota from 
 the name and fame of the falls of Minnehaha, 1 
 am contending that a share of the fame which the 
 illustrious Longfellow has cast about this scene 
 on the Mississippi river, shall, by right be divided 
 with Michigan's claims upon the most beautiful 
 part of the life scenes and poetic description of 
 the same in Hiawatha's life, embracing as it does 
 the birth, youth, manhood, and eventful deeds 
 of his mystic life, including, perhaps, the most 
 classic and touching part of the poem-legend, the 
 building and floating of the phantom canoe. As 
 has been shown, the Tah-qua-me-non river on 
 which this phantom canoe was builded and floated 
 is all within Michigan, as also is the "rushing 
 Esconaba," also "Pauwating," Sault Saint Marie, 
 presumably the river is here referred to; "Gitche 
 Gumee," "Big-Sea-Water," or Lake Superior, 
 that is, that portion of the shore of Lake Superior 
 
1 62 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 which is possible to have been meant according to 
 the description of the scenes. 
 
 In chapter XVII, "The Hunting of Pau-Puk- 
 Keewis," furtlier proof is found of the scene in 
 Hiawatha's life after his marriage to Minnehaha, 
 as we find him pursuing the allegorical Pau-Puk- 
 Keewis, the Storm Fool, and he journeyed 
 
 "On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
 Westward by the Big-Sea-Water, 
 Came unto the rocky headlands. 
 To the pictured rocks of sandstone." 
 
 And again in Chapter XVIII, "The Death of 
 Kwasind, " the Strong Man, we find — 
 
 The Puk-Wudjies knew the secret. 
 Knew the only way to kill him. 
 So they gathered cones together, 
 Gathered seed-cones of the pine tree, 
 Gathered blue cones of the fir tree, 
 In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
 Brought them to the river's margin. 
 Heaped them in great piles together, 
 Where the red rocks from the margin 
 Jutting overhang the river. 
 
 Down the river came the strong Man, 
 In his birch canoe came Kwasind, 
 Floating slowly down the current 
 Of the sluggish Taquamenaw. 
 
 So he floated down the river. 
 Like a blind man seated upright, 
 Floated down the Taquamenaw, 
 Underneath the trembling birch trees, 
 
 Underneath the wooded headlands. 
 Underneath the war encampment 
 Of the Puk-Wudjies. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 163 
 
 In Chapter XXII, "Hiawatha's Departure," the 
 scene depicting his last days on earth, describes 
 him as follows: 
 
 By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
 By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
 At the door of his wigwam. 
 In the pleasant summer morning, 
 Hiawatha stood and waited. 
 
 From his place rose Hiawatha, 
 Bade farewell to old Nokomis. 
 
 "I am going, O Nokomis, 
 
 On a long and distant journey, 
 
 To the portals of the sxuiset. 
 
 To the regions of the home-wind." 
 
 On the clear and luminous water 
 Launched his birch-canoe for sailing, 
 From the pebbles of the margin 
 Shoved it forth into the water; 
 Whispered to it, "Westward! Westward! West- 
 ward ! ' ' 
 
 Westward, westward Hiawatha 
 Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
 Sailed into the purple vapors. 
 Sailed into the dusk of evening. 
 And they said, "Farewell forever 
 Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" 
 
 Thus departed Hiawatha, 
 Hiawatha the Beloved, 
 In the glory of the siuiset, 
 In the purple mists of evening, 
 To the regions of the home-wind. 
 Of the Northwest-wind Keewaydin, 
 To the islands of the Blessed, 
 To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
 To the land of the Hereafter! 
 
164 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 LEGEND OF THE TAHQUAMENON. 
 
 Among the many beautiful legends which are 
 known by the Indian story tellers in connection 
 with the Tah-qua-me-non river, the following is 
 related by John 0-gish-ta, of the Garden River 
 Band, and son of the chief of that band and by 
 Ash-qua-gwon. 
 
 A great many years ago, the Menominees and 
 the Ojibways were at war. Among the captives 
 taken by the Menominees was a beautiful Ojibway 
 maiden who was taken into the band, and became 
 affiliated with them, and was looked upon as a 
 member of the tribe of the Menominees. Later 
 the Menominees decided to again send a war party 
 against the Ojibways, many of whom at that time 
 were located on Lake Superior near Tahquaraenon 
 Bay. The Menominees left the Green Bay country 
 to cross what is now the upper peninsula of Michi- 
 gan to Lake Superior, taking with them the Ojib- 
 way maiden who was familiar with the northern 
 country, to guide them, feeling sure that she was 
 too friendly and loyal to betray them to her own 
 people, the Ojibways. Finally, after many days 
 of travel, they were on the last stage of their 
 journey, on the way down the Tahquamenon 
 river. In this river there are a series of falls, the 
 highest of which is about 50 to 60 feet, and are 
 the farthest up the river. Above these Big Falls 
 is a long stretch of smooth water. The Meno- 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 165 
 
 minees did not know of the location of the falls, 
 but the Ojibway maiden knew the country well, 
 and when they began to approach the falls, and 
 even before her keen ear could catch the first 
 murmur of the falling waters, she raised a wild, 
 sweet chant, in which her fellow voyagers joined. 
 The chant swelled louder as the canoes flew on- 
 ward, and absorbed in the song, the savages did 
 not hear the increasing roar of the falls until they 
 were caught in the swift current, too late to stop 
 or change their course, and the entire party was 
 carried over the mighty brink, to find death in the 
 cool and surging waters below. In this manner 
 did the beautiful Ojibway maiden save her own 
 people and avenge her wrongs. 
 
HINTS ON THE ART OF STILL HUNTING. 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 But soft! methinks I scent the morning air. * * * 
 
 — Shakespeare, in Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 5. 
 
 These hints are not intended to be a law unto 
 themselves, nor do I wish to be understood as 
 offering advice to the old and experienced hunter, 
 far from it, but these brief notes are offered to 
 those of my fellow sportsmen who have not had 
 the advantage of associating with old and experi- 
 enced big game hunters and are not familiar with 
 the best printed authority on the subject. Thou- 
 sands of men go into the woods each year "after 
 their first deer," some get their game and some 
 do not. Now, why do some fail? 
 
 Not every man who goes into the woods in these 
 days can kill his deer, there are various good 
 reasons for this. The game is getting scarcer and 
 more wary each year, and, therefore, it takes more 
 skill to secure the game. Dogs are not allowed in 
 most places. To my mind still hunting is the 
 fairest method and the highest type of Nimrod 
 skill to take large game, and especially deer. 
 The successful still hunter must be able to go 
 through the woods still — by this I mean just what 
 I say — you must be able to walk in any direction, 
 over fallen tree tops, among logs and brush and 
 up hill and down, and not crack a twig — that is, 
 
 167 
 
1 68 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 very often. A deer will jump and run at the sound 
 of a twig cracking, and will be out of sight long 
 before the hunter reaches the spot where the deer 
 was when he heard the sound; his long ears and 
 perfect hearing and acute sense of smell and 
 natural alertness, will enable him to successfully 
 elude and dodge you unless you understand the 
 art of approaching the vicinity of the game before 
 the game is aware of your proximity. Wear some- 
 thing soft and comfortable on your feet; likewise 
 soft clothing — -corduroy or woolen clothing, avoid 
 all harsh surface stuff, which will "crack" when 
 going through the brush. Do not try to dress 
 in the color of a deer or bear, unless you wish to 
 commit suicide, as such foolhardiness tempts care- 
 less men to kill each other, mistaking a moving 
 object for a deer or bear every hunting season. 
 I have found a scarlet colored or red woolen sweater 
 one of the best safeguards and most serviceable 
 and comfortable garments for deer hunting. No 
 man who is not totally unfit to be at large with a 
 gun, would shoot at a man wearing a red sweater. 
 Then always remember to look before you 
 shoot, and be sure it is living game before you 
 pull the fatal trigger. Better to lose a hundred 
 deer than to kill or wound one fellow man. Go 
 slow; don't be in a hurry. Look closely at every 
 object around you. Stop often, at least every 20 
 paces. When you stop, always try to be near a 
 tree or bush, to partly screen your body. A few 
 moments to 5 or 10 minutes is usually long enough, 
 
THE LOAD READY FOR THE STATION. 
 
DEERFOOT LOnGE. OWNED BY PION. CHASE S. OSBOKN, 
 JUDGE JOSEPH I-I. STEERE AND ROYS J. CRAM. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 169 
 
 but this part must be acquired ; I make it a practice 
 to be guided more by instinct, and the rule to wait 
 in certain places and under certain circumstances 
 long enough to allow any game which might be 
 traveling towards me to come into my line of vision. 
 If you are moving slowly towards the game and 
 the game is working towards you, it won't take 
 long until you gradually come together, or close 
 enough to secure a telling shot. Watch your back 
 track as well as the ground before you, and every 
 time you step, remember that step brings you just 
 that much nearer your possible game; at every 
 step the scene gradually changes, and at some 
 step, it will surely bring you in sight of the game — 
 always try to imagine the next step you take will 
 do this, and if you go still and against the wind, 
 you will get a shot. Never travel on the wind. 
 If you do not know which way the wind is, try 
 this : when starting in the morning, place a handful 
 of green spruce or hemlock branches on the camp 
 fire, then step outside and note which way the 
 smoke drifts steadily. This will give you the 
 right direction to take, which always should be 
 against the wind. If in the woods, light a match 
 and note which way the smoke blows. I some- 
 times hunt on a cross wind, that is to say, if the 
 wind is in the west, I hunt west, and then turn 
 and hunt either south or north, as the fancy suits 
 me; and if in the east, vice versa. Nearly all large 
 game animals travel on the wind, which is one of 
 their greatest safeguards. 
 
170 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 Have a good hatchet and hunting knife in a 
 belt, and always carry a good reliable compass, 
 also a watch. A watch will tell you the time of 
 day, and I always compute distance traveled in 
 a pathless woods or on unknown roads by my 
 watch ; a man will ordinarily walk a mile in fifteen 
 minutes on an open road, carrying his gun, and 
 in the woods, he will travel (if not still hunting), 
 a mile in 20 minutes; thus it is easy to tell how 
 far you will go in a day if you note the time. 
 The compass may save your life. Get entirely 
 familiar with it, and learn to hold it while walking, 
 so you can tell exactly the direction you are going. 
 Also line your objects, pick out a tree or limb 
 and practice traveling towards it without the 
 aid of a compass, and in a little while you will be 
 surprised to see how easy you can travel long 
 distances even when there is no sun without 
 using your compass. Never start on a hunt 
 unless you have at least 20 rounds of ammunition 
 as a reserve; not that you will shoot that many 
 shots in a day, but you may lose your way, or 
 some accident happen when you will need to 
 fire signals of distress; arrange with your com- 
 panions in camp about these things, as to be fore- 
 warned is to be fore-armed. 
 
 Early in the morning and towards evening are 
 the best times to find deer. Deer feed in the fore 
 part of the night and early part of the morning, 
 and about 10 o'clock lie down if not disturbed. 
 
 They will not get up until the middle of the after- 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 171 
 
 noon if not scared. Then they begin to feed 
 around, traveling along slowly, and cropping a 
 morsel here and there. This is a good time to be 
 around looking for them. When you have killed 
 your game, if alone and far from camp, see that it 
 bleeds well, and hang it up if you can. The 
 method I use in hanging up deer is this: I drag 
 my deer near to a small tree about three inches 
 in diameter, shin up it until my weight bends it 
 so it will swing to the ground; then I grab the 
 branches with one hand and take my hatchet and 
 cut off the limbs on the tree, leaving a little at the 
 top, and a crotch, if one. Then I take a piece of 
 small rope I always carry in my pocket, fasten it 
 to the tree and then tie the deer's head to it 
 securely. The weight of the deer will then hold 
 the sapling down. Then I cut out two poles, 
 each 8 to 10 feet in length, with a crotch or fork 
 at the ends placing one on either side of the carcass 
 of the deer. Then grab one pole, and insert 
 the crotch in the sapling just back of the deer's 
 head and lift or push the body up; then go to the 
 other side and do the same, alternately pushing 
 and raising it until the hind feet clear the ground 
 about a foot. Then it is ready to clean out. 
 Then take my hunting knife and cut the skin 
 from the point where the bones join together, 
 or the brisket, down to the tail, holding back 
 the intestines with my left hand until the cut 
 is clear and open, when I release my hold suddenly, 
 allowing the entrails to fall out in a heap at my 
 
172 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 feet. Then reaching up into the interior, I grasp 
 the heart and liver, and pull them out, afterwards 
 either pulling off or cutting the wind pipe as 
 far up in the throat as I can reach. If this is 
 done properly, very little or no blood will adhere 
 to the inside of the carcass, and what there is 
 will drain out perfectly. The head will hang up, 
 and thus the hair will shed water or melting snow. 
 Now you must mark the spot so you can come 
 and get it. I take my gun in one hand, first 
 getting the direction by compass to some know 
 road or outlet, then holding my hatchet in the 
 other hand, walk off, gashing a tree about four 
 feet from the ground every few rods, always 
 from both sides and so marked that a man can 
 follow the blazes in almost a straight line from 
 either direction. Once out upon a known road, 
 the rest is easy. 
 
 If you should get lost, don't lose your head, 
 but take things cool. You should always have 
 a good supply of matches, and keep them dry. 
 If you are so far from home or camp that you 
 think gun shots will not be heard, save your 
 ammunition, you may need it, but it is usually 
 best to at first fire a signal of distress — 3 quick 
 shots. Then after waiting a reasonable time 
 and hearing no shots in reply, prepare to make 
 the best of it. Build a good fire, and build a 
 temporary shelter for the night. This can easily 
 be done with the brush and leaves always at 
 hand, even if you have no hatchet. Then sit 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 173 
 
 down and rest your weary body, light your pipe, 
 and thus ease your mind. Keep your fire going 
 during the night, and when dayhght comes, you 
 will be able to make your way out if help does 
 not come to you. 
 
 Perhaps a word about the care of the gun in 
 camp will not be amiss here. I will give an 
 illustration of our daily routine, that is, that 
 part affecting the care of the gun. After the 
 cravings of the inner man have been fully satisfied, 
 the day's hunt having come to an end, a few 
 minutes work with dish cloth and wiping towel, 
 soap and hot water; placed our table in as neat 
 and tidy condition as it would have been at home. 
 The dishes all washed, dried and put in their 
 places, we next turned our attention to the faith- 
 ful guns which had been our companions during 
 the day. First the cartridges are removed from 
 the gun chamber, and an oiled cotton flannel rag 
 run down the smooth barrel many times until not 
 a particle of burnt powder can be seen on the 
 white cloth; then gun oil is poured on another 
 clean, soft rag, and the barrel wiped with it so 
 that no rust will get into the deep, fine cut rifle 
 grooves. Then the lever and all working parts, 
 particularly the trigger and hammer, are oiled, 
 and the lever worked up and down to test its 
 perfect working order; then the outside of the 
 rifle barrel is oiled well with a coat of gun grease 
 and an oiled rag drawn across the polished stock 
 and forearm; then the magazine is filled with 
 
174 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 cartridges, another pumped into the barrel, and 
 the old reliable weapon is carefully deposited in 
 some handy corner, ready for instant use at any 
 moment. 
 
 I do not know of anything in camp that receives 
 more care and attention than the hunter's favorite 
 gun. In fact, a good gun can only be kept so by 
 the most persistent and careful attention. My 
 guns are never allowed to stand over night after 
 being shot without a thorough cleaning and being 
 well oiled, and I never had a pitted or rusty gun. 
 The special borings of the modern 30 calibre 
 rifles especially require the most exacting atten- 
 tion, but it is a very easy matter to keep your 
 rifle clean and well oiled all the time if it is always 
 attended to every night when you come in. In 
 damp weather, in snow or rain, I oil my rifle when 
 ever I come into camp, if it is once or oftener a 
 day. If you do not do this the magazine tube 
 or barrel and other steel parts of the gun are 
 liable to rust. 
 
THE TIMBER WOLF. 
 Chapter X. 
 
 Nearly all deer hunters who are well posted on 
 the facts agree that more deer are killed annually 
 by the pot and hide hunters and large timber 
 wolves, than all the deer hunters combined who 
 hunt only as the law provides and during the 
 open season. 
 
 Then I learned that many deer are killed out 
 of season in the summer, by the use of a light at 
 night. This is unlawful at any time of year, but 
 many are killed that way. 
 
 The large and ferocious gray timber wolves, of 
 which there are a great many in the back counties 
 of the upper peninsula, are another great source 
 of wholesale destruction to the deer. In winter, 
 when the snow lies deep, and a little moisture 
 has prevailed in the atmosphere, then is followed 
 by a cold, crisp spell of weather, a hard crust forms 
 on the snow, which will oftentimes bear up the 
 weight of an ordinary, good-sized man, and even 
 heavier weights, such as a big buck, walking or 
 trotting along slowly, but if the deer are running, 
 and on the long jump, as they usually are, the fore 
 feet of the animal strikes the crust something like 
 the point of a pike-pole being driven with force 
 into the ice, and the momentum of the body, 
 
 175 
 
176 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 together with, the weight of even a small deer is 
 sufficient to cause the crust to be broken on the 
 surface, thus letting the animal down into the 
 soft, dry snow underneath for a foot or more, 
 sometimes several feet. 
 
 A deer thus entangled cannot run, as at every 
 new jump ahead it only plunges through the crust 
 of snow, the sharp edges of the icy covering being 
 like a knife, cut the skin and even sever the legs 
 of a deer if it continues to run in the crust at a 
 great distance; but it is practically impossible for 
 the deer to go very far in the snow crust; thus it 
 is that they fall an easy prey to the howling, 
 blood-thirsty and ferocious pack of wolves, which 
 can follow on the trail of a deer on the crust, their 
 soft padded feet making scarcely a scratch on 
 the surface, save where the sharp, cruel claws cut 
 into the ice, as they leap along over the glistening 
 surface with the swiftness of the wind. 
 
 As soon as the unfortunate deer is reached, if it 
 be a large buck, a terrible battle begins at once 
 only to end in the utter destruction of the noble 
 game; the deer is lodged in the crust, and at every 
 attempt to run away, is met by the howling, 
 snarling and jumping wolves, who have formed 
 a complete circle around their prey, and gradually 
 grow bolder, advancing leap by leap, until some 
 bigger and bolder one fastens his powerful jaws 
 into the living flesh of the frantic deer, and with 
 awful ferocity and powerful yanks, actually tears 
 the bleeding flesh from the bones; then the scene 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 177 
 
 that follows is calculated to fire the blood of any 
 man, it is so terribly real and intensely exciting. 
 
 The dash of the leader at the deer and his suc- 
 cessful assault, is the signal for the whole cowardly 
 pack to do likewise, and in less than it takes time 
 to relate it, the poor helpless deer is devoured, 
 hide, hair and all, only except the white and 
 cleanly picked bones, which lie scattered about, 
 pointing out to the stray woodsman or hunter 
 who may pass that way, the synopsis of a most 
 common but awful tragedy of the great untamed 
 forest and its savage inhabitants. 
 
 The big timber wolf is an animal of great sagacity 
 and cunning, and who can outwit the most skillfully 
 devised plans for his destruction. His animal 
 instinct and intelligence, if I may use this term, 
 often surpass human knowledge. As a rule, he 
 will not take meat of any kind which has been 
 handled by humans or has the faintest taint of 
 anything human about it; he will not enter any 
 kind of a deadfall, pen, pit or enclosure, no matter 
 how famished he is'; he will not take poisoned meat, 
 lard drops or so-called poison pellets, and, there- 
 fore, is practically immune from poison. There 
 are some exceptions to this, but such instances are 
 now rare. He will not be trapped — it has been 
 tried by the best trappers in the north woods. 
 His tracks can be seen in the woods where he has 
 been pursueing deer or sneaking around the vicinity 
 of your camp, but no matter how fresh the track 
 you never catch sight of his lordship. He is like 
 
lyS Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 a phantom, he prowls through the woods by day 
 and night and yet is not seen, and so he lives to 
 prowl another day. His terrible bowlings at night 
 and sometimes in the late afternoon, drive terror 
 into the hearts of the defenceless animals within 
 hearing of his blood-curdling yells. He is by 
 nature a coward, a sly, slinking sleuth, who will 
 follow on the trail of his prey for hours until it 
 falls from exhaustion, or is forcefully pulled down 
 by him. He will not hesitate to attack even 
 human beings when driven to desperation by the 
 pangs of hunger; usually the wolf goes in packs 
 or droves, but as his numbers are gradually becom- 
 ing less, he oftentimes runs or hunts in twos and 
 threes up to a dozen. The largest pack I know 
 of having been in our vicinity in the North Country 
 numbered about a dozen, this being carefully 
 estimated by the howling and tracks. Starting 
 through the woods, the animals scatter out to a 
 distance of say half a mile to a mile, traveling in 
 the same general direction. They naove both 
 slow and rapid by spells, according to the circum- 
 stances. They are so adroit and cunning, that 
 they will often pass within rifle shot of a hunter 
 in the woods, but he will not either see or know 
 of their presence save by the tell-tale tracks after- 
 wards. When one of the number has found any- 
 thing good to eat (for instance a dead carcass of 
 a deer, horse or cow, or other flesh morsel), that 
 lucky wolf sets up a howl which is followed by a 
 series of prolonged howls, it being a signal to the 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 179 
 
 other members of his pack to come to him as he 
 has found something good. Answering howls 
 come from the depths of the forest where his 
 fellows are roaming, and all the wolves then 
 assemble at the place of finding, when a great 
 pow-pow commences, engaged in by the entire 
 pack, each one seeming to outdo the other in 
 intensity and ferocity of blood-curdling howls. 
 If the find proves to be ripe, i. e., in that condition 
 known as putrid, they are indeed, in a happy 
 state, and after howling to call up all the wolves 
 in the woods, at a given signal from the leader of 
 the band, they fall to and devour the carcass, 
 hide, hair and all, leaving only the white bones, 
 licked clean. 
 
 Their powers of endurance are almost incredible, 
 and it is said on good authority, a wolf will often 
 travel as far as 80 to 90 miles inside of 24 hours; 
 they will run down a deer even on bare ground in 
 from three to five hours. So it is not to be wonder- 
 ed at that the killing of one of these ferocious and 
 cunning animals should be heralded with joy by 
 all hunters and woodsmen, and the lucky man 
 can claim a state and county bounty of from 
 $20 to $25 in Michigan. The man who can go 
 into the woods and still hunt and kill his deer is 
 a hunter, and the man who can match his wood- 
 craft and skill against the timber wolf and kill 
 one in still hunting, is a sure-enough hunter, and 
 is also considered a lucky mortal, as this does not 
 happen once in ten thousand times. 
 
SENTIMENT OF FIUNTING. 
 Chapter XL 
 
 The sentiment in regard to hunting is changing 
 as each succeeding year sees the wild game of 
 our once vast forests more and more depleted. 
 The time is fast approaching when the sight of 
 large game such as moose, elk, caribou, deer, 
 bear, antelope and other big game will be a curi- 
 osity to the younger generations. Although 
 nearly every state and territory in the domain 
 of the United States and also Canada has game 
 laws on their statute books to protect the game, 
 the fact remains that it is not protected in the 
 manner desired to have the right effect. The 
 result remains largely with the hunter himself 
 whether he will use such good judgment and 
 exercise good principles when he is in the presence 
 of game. 
 
 The days of the pot-hunter and game hog should 
 now cease to be, if ever, as with the multiplied 
 number of hunters and perfected state of fire- 
 arms, the great net of railroads which have pene- 
 trated nearly every portion of our once impenetra- 
 ble fastness, it is easy enough for most any man 
 to become a game hog at some time or other. 
 He can, if he so choose, kill much more than any 
 decent, natural lawwould allow for his share, 
 
 181 
 
1 82 Hunting in the Land of Hiawatha; 
 
 and I regret to say that some men will do it. 
 But why? Simpl}?, I think for the sake of killing 
 the game. It is not because they are really in 
 need of the food which the killing of game sup- 
 plies, because the meat is often left to lie on the 
 ground and spoil or to be devoured by carnivorous 
 animals or carrion birds. What a shame it is! 
 No man that pretends to be even human, and 
 who has any principle at all would be guilty of 
 such wanton destruction of the wild creatures 
 which God has created for raan's use and not 
 abuse. I raise my voice, with that of tens of 
 thousands of others against the killing of any 
 bird or animal for which there is not a good and 
 just reason. Why should they be destroyed? I 
 think it is often done in a criminal, careless 
 manner, and regretted afterwards. 
 
 But all the regrets in the world will not restore 
 to life the most insignificant creature crushed out 
 of existence by your hand. Remember this, you 
 especially of the younger generations, and heed 
 these words. Small and • harmless animals are 
 often shot and killed by thoughtless persons 
 simply for the love of killing. Did you ever 
 stop to consider what kind of a world we would 
 have if all these defenceless and harmless animals 
 and birds were forever wiped off the face of the 
 earth? Nothing could be more desolate than the 
 aspect of such a thing, but that is just exactly 
 what will happen if this destruction is not checked 
 soon. 
 
or, The Hunting Trips of an Editor 183 
 
 I sometimes feel as though the shedding of 
 blood should be left out, as it seems cruel to 
 deprive the animals and birds of life which fall 
 before the deadly charge; and yet, this is the order, 
 the natural law of life. Man has power to kill and 
 rule all things on the earth, in the air and in the 
 deep, but I believe he should not misuse such 
 power nor privileges simply because he can do so. 
 
 You would not go out and slaughter all your 
 neighbor's ducks in his pond, nor kill his flock of 
 sheep because you had a loaded gun and plenty 
 of ammunition; neither should you go out and 
 slaughter ruthlessly nor wantonly the animals and 
 creatures which the Great Creator has given life 
 and freedom; they make the fields and woods, the 
 vast forests and lonely places, an entrancing and 
 inviting picture of animal and natural beauty; all 
 Nature lovers love to seek the haunts of the wild 
 life of mountains, woods and plains. Hunting, I 
 believe, as should be done in this day, should be 
 mostly for recreation and to study Nature. The 
 time has long since passed when hunting can be 
 followed for a living; the forests have faded away, 
 the plains dotted with farms and ranches and 
 civilization holds its sway. The wild game is 
 scarce and the recreation one gets in trying to 
 capture some trophy of the woods whether he 
 succeeds or not, should be the principal reason for 
 hunting. Especially should this be true among 
 true sportsmen and gentlemen.