the wet condition of the snow, the Indian's buckskin pants had become saturated with water, causing them to elongate to such an extent that he was literally walking on the bottom ends of them. His wigwam was not far down the river, to which point he soon repaired. Then the cook made a short calculation of the menu he would serve us for our supper after the very disagreeable experiences of travel during the day. He decided to broil the mallard and cook some venison steak. Besides this, he boiled rice, some potatoes, some dried peaches, and baked a few tins of baking powder biscuits.
The land hunter's or surveyor's outfit of cooking utensils invariably includes a nest of tin pails or kettles of different sizes fitted one within the other, and sufficient in number to supply the needs of the camp; also a tin baker, so constructed that when set up before an open fire, it is a tilted "V" shaped trough of sufficient length to place within it a good sized baking tin, placed horizontally and supported midway between the two sides of the "V" shaped baker, so that the fire is reflected on the bright tin equally above the baking pan and below it.
The snow had ceased falling, and, by building a rousing camp fire outside of the claim shanty, we were soon able to dry our clothing. Having partaken of a sumptuous meal, we "rolled in", contented and happy, for a night's rest. To me, this 14th day of October was a red letter day, and in memory ever since has been because it was the birthday of my then fiancée, who, not many years subsequent, became and ever since has remained my faithful and loving wife.
The second and final trip of that season in open water was made several weeks later when we again poled up the Chippewa River in a dugout, taking with us our supplies for the cruise in the forest.
The current in that part of the river was so swift, not infrequently forming rapids, that we were obliged always to use long poles made from small spruce trees from which the bark had been removed, and an iron spike fastened at one end to aid in securing a hold when pushed down among the rocks. The water was so nearly at the freezing point that small flakes of ice were floating, and the atmosphere was so cold, that, as the pole was lifted from the water, ice would form on it unless the pole at each stroke was reversed, thus allowing the film of ice formed on the pole to be thawed when immersed in the slightly warmer water beneath. The day spent in this manner was attended with very great discomfort, and when night came, each man found himself tired and hungry, and glad that the day had come to an end. We camped that night at a French-Canadian logging camp. Our party was too fatigued to pitch its own tents and prepare its own meal, and gladly accepted the foreman's hospitality at the rate of two dollars a day each, for some of his fat pork, pea soup, and fairly good bread.
On the morning following, we found the ice had so formed in the river that further journeying in the dugout was impossible, so the latter was pulled up on shore, covered with some brush, and abandoned, at least for the winter, and, as it proved in this instance, for always, so far as it concerned our party. We finished this cruise on foot, and returned about two weeks later to Eau Claire.
There were not many men living on government lands in that part of Wisconsin. Those who had taken claims and were living on them depended on their rifles for all of their fresh meat. Some of them made a practice of placing "set guns" pointing across deer trails. One end of a strong cord was first fastened to a tree, or to a stake driven into the ground some distance from the deer trail. The cord was then carried across the trail which was in the snow, for a distance of one hundred feet or less. Here, the gun was set firmly, pointing directly in line with the cord or string. The barrel of the gun was sighted at such an elevation as to send the bullet, when fired, across the deer trail at a height from the trail sufficient to penetrate the body of the deer. The string was then carried around some stationary object and fastened to the trigger of the gun, the hammer of which had been raised. The pressure of the deer's body or legs against the string would be pretty sure to discharge the gun, thus causing the innocent and unsuspecting deer to shoot itself.
While running a compass line one day, we discovered, just ahead of us, a cord or string at right angles to our line of travel. I stopped immediately, while my companion, Tom Carney, followed the cord to its end which he found fastened to the trigger of a rifle. He carefully cut the cord, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and fired it into the air. He next broke the gun over the roots of a tree. Further examination showed that the cord was stretched across a deer trail which we would have reached in a minute more.
With the return of winter the Sage-Patrick contract was about completed.
CHAPTER VII.
A New Contract—Obstacles
"To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware."
My life, up to the time of my contract with Mr. Patrick to go with him into the wilds of Wisconsin as an apprenticed land hunter and timber examiner, had been spent on the farm, in my father's shop, at school and college, and in teaching. The change of occupation and manner of living will therefore be seen to have been radical. In six months of contact with nature, I had been born into a new life, a life of initiative, of daring, and of hardships, insuring health and inspiring hope of financial success in a way honorable and helpful. I loved the forms of nature all about me, untouched by the hand of man. I therefore sought for and found an associate with capital sufficient to permit me to continue in the same line of work. The late Robert B. Langdon then became my partner, and this relationship was most pleasantly continued to the end of Mr. Langdon's life.
Late in December, 1871, my first trip under the new contract for securing pine timber, was undertaken. The ice in the rivers and lakes had now become firm and safe for travel thereon. Considerable snow had already fallen, and the roads were heavy in consequence.
Our work, as planned, lay many miles up the Chippewa River. In order to reach the desired locality with sufficient supplies to enable us to be gone a month or six weeks, it was necessary to take them on a toboggan made expressly for the uses of this proposed trip. Four men were needed to push and pull the load. After a week of hard labor, our party arrived at the point where the work of surveying the lands was to begin. A place to camp was chosen in the thick woods not far from the river bank, where water would be near by and convenient for the use of the camp. A small, but strong warehouse of logs was first constructed, in which to store the supplies not necessary for immediate use.
Having thus secured the supplies for future use from the reach of any wild beasts roaming in the forests, we put enough of them into our pack sacks to last for a ten days' absence from our storehouse camp. We were about to start, when Abbot, one of our axmen, in chopping a stick of wood, had the misfortune to send the sharp blade of the ax into his foot, deep to the bone. The gash was an ugly one and at once disabled him for further usefulness on this trip. The man must be taken out of the woods where his foot could receive proper care. How was this to be accomplished? Two men alone could possibly have hauled him on the toboggan. The distance to the nearest habitation where a team of horses could be obtained was seventy-five miles. There was but one tent in the outfit and not sufficient blankets to permit of dividing our party of four men. It seemed, therefore, that there was nothing possible to do but for the whole party to retrace its steps to the point where it had been obliged to leave the team behind. The wound in Abbot's foot was cleansed and some balsam having been gathered from the fir trees, the same was laid on a clean piece of white cotton cloth, which, used as a bandage, was placed over the wound and made secure. The wound having been thus protected, Abbot was placed on the toboggan and hauled to the ranch seventy-five miles down the river.
Cruising in the woods is always expensive, even when everything moves on smoothly and without
