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CHAPTER IV.
The Gorge. — A Bear-Path. — Another Pond. — Water-Snakes. — Hawks. — Wash as a Naturalist. — A Hawk’s Nest. — The “Brulê.” — Blueberries. — “Scat! you great-headed Wretch.” — A Lynx-Hunt. — A Hedge-Hog. — Mephitis mephitica.
FOR
breakfast we
had another pudding, considerably improved on that of the preceding
evening,
and the remainder of the cakes and cheese in the lunch-basket. As we
had no
further use for the basket, we left it hanging in the spruce, to be
carried
back to the boat on our return. At quarter-past seven we clambered
down from
the “big rock,” and went on. A hundred rods took us up into the throat
of the
gorge. The two peaks were now seen, towering six or seven hundred feet
on each
side. Their ledgy summits could scarcely have been more than five
hundred yards
apart. Judge, then, how steep must have been the sides of the ravine,
and how
narrow the rocky pass along its bed, down which poured the brook in a
continuous cascade. Yet, doubling and threading along the bank, we were
not a
little surprised to find a small but well-worn path. “Is it
possible
that parties going up through here have worn this?” Raed asked. It seemed
hardly
probable. “Then it
must be
bears, deer, or some other kind of wild animals,” said Wash. We
concluded that
it was mainly the track of bears. “Oh!
wouldn’t here
be a grand place to hunt them?” exclaimed Wade. “What say for stopping
here a
few days for a bear-hunt?” “We’ve other and better business,” replied Raed. “Besides, our friend back at the shanty says “tain’t the right time o’ y’ar to hunt b’ars;’ and I dare say he knows.” The gorge
was here
and there choked with drift-logs and brush. Huge bowlders had rolled
down from
the peaks, and lay piled in seemingly im passable barriers. But,
following the
path, it somehow found its way either around or under every thing.
Indeed, it
was very convenient for us; though we were in no little dread of coming
upon a
regular tramper at
some of the
numerous short turns. Thus we went on for fully three-fourths of a
mile. Toward
the top it grew still wilder and narrower. We could scarcely hear each
other’s
voices for the roar of the torrent. Every bush and every rock seemed to
wear a
scared look, and to be listening, — listening for something above the
noise of
the waters. We walked on in silence, and involuntarily stepped quicker.
Hurry
and wildness were all about us. Quite unexpectedly, the path and the
bed of the
glen turned sharply to the right, and, presto! we were at the head of
the
gorge, looking out on a wide, calm pond. Taking a few steps forward,
all the
roar of the ravine behind was suddenly stilled, and all the wildness
merged in
a quiet landscape. ‘Twas a marvellously rapid transition. “I don’t
feel like
the same fellow!!” cried Wash, looking back to hearken.” What a den
that was!” “A den of
waters,”
suggested Wade. A little
farther on
we crossed the brook, the outlet of the pond, on a fallen bass-wood.
Beneath
the log the stream ran quiet as a sunbeam. “Looks
good-humored
enough under there,” said Raed. “Who would think it meant to set up
such a
howling?” The
mountain-ridges
fold back on each side of the pond. After crossing the outlet, we went
on up
the eastern shore between the pond and the mountain, the craggy side of
which
rose steeply from the water. The pond itself was seemingly three or
four miles
long, running north-west by south-east nearly. Its shores were clothed
down to
the water with spruce mainly, with here and there a clump of hard-wood.
A
two-hours’ tramp, with occasional “rests,” took us up near the north
ern end.
The water was low, and a long mud flat lay exposed. The hot August sun
had
baked and seamed it with a network of cracks. Several hawks were
circling
slowly over the flat. One was nearly white, with black-tipped tail and
wings;
and, as we passed along, it suddenly stooped, barely touched the mud
with its
talons, then rose straight up. Something was writhing and dangling from
its
claws. “Looks
like a piece
of rope,” said Wash. “It’s a
water-snake,” said I. “That flat
is
doubtless alive with them,” remarked Raed. “That’s what those hawks
are
sailing round there for.” The hawk
was having
quite a struggle with its prey in the air. The snake proved refractory,
and
kept coiling around its captor’s legs and body. As often as it got
wound about
too closely, the hawk would, with a few quick flaps, shake it off. Once it
fell from
its talons, but was caught up ere it struck the mud. At length it hung
down
long and limp; and not till then did the hawk sail off to its nest.
With a few
strong strokes the victor then rose up higher, and, passing directly
over our
heads, settled on the top of a large hemlock, a hundred feet up the
side of the
mountain. “Nest in
that
hemlock,” said Wash. “Shall we stop for it?” As Wade had never seen one, we decided to do so, and, setting down our buckets, “bundle,” and kettle, began clambering up among the rocks. “What sort
of a
hawk did you say it was?” inquired Wade. As the
naturalist
did not seem inclined to immediately answer to this, I replied that it
was
what country-boys call a hen-hawk. “Ah, yes; Circus cyanens!” cried Wash.
“That’s it!” Indeed
there was
something rather funny about Wash’s knowledge of natural history. He
knew
scarcely any of our birds or animals by sight; though, as soon as I had
told
him the common name,
he could
give the scientific one. I knew them by sight, and he knew them by science. There seemed to be a
little gap
between him and the animal kingdom which he couldn’t get across without
help.
And, now I think of it, I wonder if there are not a great many young
would-be
naturalists in the same fix. Laying
hold of the
bushes which grew among the rocks, we climbed up to the foot of the
hem lock.
The pond was now at our feet, with the dark shadow of the mountain
thrown far
out upon it. “But how
are we to
get the nest?” asked Wade. “We’ve no ladder here.” “Have to
climb the
hemlock,” said I. “Put your arms round it, and shin
up, bear-fashion. Will you go up?” “I guess
you had
better,” said he. “I don’t quite understand the process.” The trunk
was fully
as large as I could clasp: but, pulling off my coat, I shinned up to the branches;
then climbed
from limb to limb ladder-wise. The nest — a coarse structure of sticks
and
water-grass — was placed in a crotch formed by two branches with the
trunk,
near the top. The old hawk had risen from the tree, and was sailing
silently
around quite near, but did not venture to molest me. I raised myself to
look
into the nest; when the snake, which lay upon it, raised his head with
an angry
hiss: it had not yet been killed. I ducked my head in a hurry; for the
water-snake has the reputation among all country-boys of being a
poisonous biter,
though Wash disputes it. Then, spying its tail hanging over the other
side, I
caught hold of that, and, with a quick jerk, sent the reptile down
through the
boughs to the ground, where Raed despatched it. Wash put his
pocket-rule on it,
and pronounced it nearly three feet long. That is about common size;
though I
once cut one in two with an axe as it lay sunning on a log, which, on
being put together,
measured five feet and a
half. Loosening
the nest
from the crotch, I held it out as far as I could to clear the limbs,
and dropped
it down to the boys, the young ones — there were three of them —
squalling like
young crows. The skins and skeletons of no less than a dozen snakes
were
hanging to the twigs; and the whole tree-top had a highly-offensive
odor. On
getting down, I found the boys having considerable sport with the young
hawks.
They were savage, and struck with their tiny claws, and bit, if
touched. “But
they’re all of
different sizes,” said Wash. “Here’s one half grown ‘most, while this
next one isn’t
more than half as large; and the last one looks as if just out of the
shell.
How’s this?” Hawks
begin to lay
their eggs and to set at the same time: so the first egg may often be
hatched a
fortnight before the last. This bit
of
hawk-history was entirely new to Wash. It may be
added,
that the same economy is ob servable at a crow’s nest. Hearing
the cries
of their young, both old birds — for the male had now made his
appearance —
began to swoop down, one after the other, each with a wrathful yellow
eye bent
unwinkingly upon us. Watching his chance, Wash fired at the mother-bird
with
the shot-gun. At the report she uttered a sharp squall, and sidled away
through
the air. Several feathers came fluttering down ward. She was wounded,
and,
flapping painfully, carne gradually down to the surface of the pond
below. “Will
drown, sure,”
said Wade. For some
minutes
the bird lay flat on the water, with its wings spread out; then began
tripping
and splashing, seeming to touch the water alternately with wings and
feet and
never once stop ping till it had reached the opposite shore. At the
same time,
the male bird rose high in the air, and sailed off. Another
circumstance struck Wade as very curious. He could scarcely believe
that the
largest of the hawks — the one Wash had fired at — was the female. “Why, it’s
fully a
third the largest,” said he. “I know
that,”
replied Wash. “The female of hawks and eagles is always the largest.” “Are you
sure?” and
I fear he wasn’t half convinced then. Putting
the chicks
back into the shattered nest, we left them at the foot of the hemlock,
and,
making our way down to the pond-shore again, went on. Above the
pond the
land rose gradually. We were passing through a growth of maple and ash
interspersed with alder clumps; and, farther on, crossed a belt of
hackmatack.
Emerging from these, we came out into what seemed a vast bushy
clearing. It was
one of those tracts to which the Canadian woodsmen give the name of
“brulé,” —
a region devastated by the terrific fires which some times sweep over
hundreds
of square miles, burning not only the heavy growth of wood, but also
the
ground itself so deeply that a score of years will elapse ere another
growth of
any size can take root. For miles and miles to the northward — farther
than we
could see — the fire had blasted and swept off the entire growth.
Immense pine-
trunks, often four feet in diameter, lay prostrate and blackened,
rotting
slowly away. In some places these arboreal giants had fallen across
each other
till the rick was ten and fifteen feet in height. Millions of dollars
could not
replace the value of the pine-timber thus destroyed.* Thou sands upon
thousands of these trunks lie rotting where they fell. The amount of
pine
lumber — and that, too, of the very best quality — thus irretrievably
lost is
perfectly enormous. Here and there, tall black stubs, burned nearly off
at the
root, and looking as if a breath would cause them to totter and fall,
rose
sixty and seventy feet. Beneath the rank, breast-high growth of recent
brakes,
the ground was strewn with dead coal and charred fagots. The very
stones looked
fire-smitten, and crumbled under our feet. We were constantly running
upon
smutty stumps and rolling knots that lurked underneath the brakes.
Nature was
already at work, — not trying to restore the giant pines, but seeking,
as it
were, to conceal the havoc and nakedness of the region with a sprightly
growth
of dwarfish white birches, pigmy poplars, and wild red cherry and
choke-cherry.
Here and there a low pine-shrub shows its green tassels. In the more
open
places blueberry-bushes abound. In this latitude the blueberry does not
ripen
much before the first of August. But such blueberries! They were as
large as
red cranberries commonly grow. We dropped, each on his little knoll,
and
feasted. As if to vary the repast, the wild-cherry trees reached down
their
laden branches, red with juicy fruit. There was also a kind of plum,
commonly
known among boys as “bird-pears” or “pear-plums,” growing on shrubs
slender and
tree-like, but smaller than the cherry-trees. A stomach full of
blueberries and
cherries will not take the place of dinner,
however. By one o’clock we began to feel the need of something more
substantial.
Following up a little “run” to where it was moistened by a spring under
a mass
of overhanging golden-rod not yet in bloom, we built a fire against an
old log,
and proceeded to boil eggs and make pudding, as usual. This time we
flavored
the pudding with blueberries strewn in with the meal. For dessert we
had some very
sweet “bird-pears.” Getting
dinner and
eating it took until after three o’clock. We then went on, keeping N.
E. by N.
for about three miles farther, threading our way with no little
difficulty
among the fallen pines; and at six o’clock encamped for the night in a
clump of
low firs clustered about the foot of a lofty, blackened stub. A couple
of rods
back from our fire lay the trunk of a truly enormous pine. Wash found
it to be
five feet seven inches in diameter. The low firs which grew about it
were scarcely
higher than the log. A rill in
a hollow,
a few hundred yards to the west, furnished water for our kettle and to
drink;
though we longed for coffee. While the rest of us were preparing
supper, Wade
set the aneroid to ascertain the height above the sea-level. He
announced it to
be nearly thirteen hundred and seventy-five feet. To such of
our
readers as may never have seen an aneroid barometer, I may describe it
as a
circular brass box, with a ring-handle something like that of a watch.
Into the
top of it is set a dial, on which, under a crystal, moves an indicator,
or
hand. The box is air-tight; and, when the air is exhausted, the varying
pressure of atmosphere upon the elastic top moves the hand (by means of
mechanism best known to the inventors) around the graduated dial. The
point at
which the indicator stands at the sea-level being marked, the height of
mountains, where the atmospheric pressure is of course less, can be
calculated
from the backward movement of the hand. After supper, Wash, in his capacity of naturalist, reported relative to the habits of the hawks we had seen. He had also noticed that some of the cherry-trees were broken down, the branches showing as if the fruit had been stripped off. Many of the blueberry knolls showed similar marks. From certain big tracks he had discovered over in the hollow by the spring, he supposed this to be the work of bears, which, at this season, leave the swamps for the uplands, where they feed largely on berries and other wild fruits. Raed, as geologist, had noticed a ledge of shelly limestone; which he thought rather singular, since granite was the prevailing rock of this whole region. As mineralogist, I had found a bank of smooth dark-red pebbles of jasper on the pond- shore; also some pure white fragments of felspar where the fire had burned about a number of large rocks. During the
evening
we sprigged off sapin
from the
firs, and pitched our “bar” over it on some willow-twigs from the
hollow. About
nine, Raed built a second fire a little back of us. The guns were set
at hand;
and we lay down under our blankets much as we had done the previous
evening,
though in a far different place; Ding-bat being supposed to keep watch
for the
bears. A few
minutes after
one (as was afterwards found) I was awakened by a sudden stir and
scramble;
and, starting up, heard Wade yell out,
“Scat! you
great-headed wretch!” At the
same instant
a noise as of nails on the pine-log was heard, followed by a pounce down upon the ground and
a
scampering-off. Ding-bat then burst out, barking furiously. “What was
that?”
cried Raed. “Hollo!”
shouted
Wash, suddenly awaking: “What’s the matter?” Wade had
jumped up
and seized one of the guns. “What is
it?” said
I. “Some kind
of a
great cat!” he exclaimed. “Sat there on that big log, staring at us!
Had a head
as large as yours! And such eyes! — shone like fire! Ding-hat hadn’t
heard him;
laid there asleep when I woke.” “The
creature must
have crept up still,” said Raed. “What waked you?” “I don’t
know hardly,”
replied Wade. “I think it was his eyes. I was dreaming, — something
hideous.
Opened my eyes all at once, and saw that big cat-head looking at me
from the
top of the log. Took me a moment to find out whether I was awake or
not. Then I
sang out ‘Scat!’ The
instant I
stirred, he turned and scampered along the log; then jumped down and
ran off.” “Did he
have prick
ears?” I asked. “Yes.” “With
tassels on
them?” “Yes.” “And a bob
tail?” “It looked like that when he turned to run.” “Then it
was a
lynz!” exclaimed Wash; “just like that one we saw down in the
‘dead-growth.’” “Well, it
may be,”
said Wade; “but this was certainly larger than that one. You’ve no idea
what a great head he
had.” “Do you
suppose he
would have jumped at us or at the dog?” Raed asked. I thought
it not
likely that he would. It seemed more probable that the beast had been
prowling
about, and, smelling us, had crept up more from curiosity than from any
ferocious design. Yet we
somehow
found it impossible to go to sleep again, and lay talking till
daybreak; when
Raed got up, and, kindling a fire, began to get breakfast. By this
means we
were able to get a pretty early start, and went on nearly a mile before
sun
rise; our plan being to travel during the cool of the morning, and thus
have
the more time to rest at noon. Ding-bat
had run on
ahead, and presently began to bark so sharply, that Wade thought he
must have
started something sizable. Wash and I had the guns. Giving our luggage
to Raed
and Wade, we ran quietly along from one cluster of bushes to another
for thirty
or forty rods. The dog could now be heard, making a great din and
yapping,
seemingly not more than a hundred yards ahead; but a leafy
hazel-thicket
intervened. Stepping very cautiously, we made our way among the hazels;
and, on
coming near the farther edge, parted the leaves, and looked out.
Ding-bat was
under a clump of thick young beeches some ten or a dozen rods away; and
amid
the leaves, up seven or eight feet, we had a glimpse of gray fur. “What is
it?” Wash
whispered. Although
the
position of the animal in the tree could be made out with considerable
certainty, the leaves prevented us from getting a fair view of it. It
might be
either a wild-cat or a raccoon. Whatever
it was,
the creature seemed to give it self very little uneasiness on account
of
Ding-bat. It lay along a limb, looking nonchalantly down at his noisy
demonstrations. “Try him
with the
rifle!” I whispered. “I’ll stand ready with the shot-gun in case he
jumps out
and runs.” Wash took
a careful
aim, and pulled the trigger. A sharp, cat-like cry followed the report.
The
creature did not leap down, however. We stood watching it a moment.
Then a
little stream of blood began to drop and trickle down; at sight of
which
Ding-bat grew nearly beside himself. “You’ve
hit him,”
said I; “killed him, I guess.” “Hollo!”
shouted
Raed. He and Wade had just come up on the other side of the hazels. They now
came
through where we were standing, and together we went along to the
tree. The
creature was hanging back down, clinging with its claws to the
underside of the
branch on which it had been crouching. It made no movement as we
approached.
Wash reached up with the rifle, and gave it a poke; when it fell to the
ground,
dead, as we had supposed. It was a
lynx. The slug
had gone
the whole length of its body, probably hitting the heart. Wash was not
a little
proud of that shot. “Isn’t it
beautiful?” cried Wade, stroking the soft, bright fur. “Shall we skin
it?” If we
skinned it,
we should have the skin to carry with us many a weary mile. “Guess we
had best
leave it as it lies,” said Raed; “though it does seem too bad to lose
it.” Its head was large and round, with erect, pointed ears, each tipped with a tuft of black hairs. The yellow eyes were partly unclosed, and had a fierce look even in death. Its body was nearly three feet in length, and its legs stout and powerful, with large feet, and long, curved claws. The back and sides were clad with fur of a beautiful stone-gray color; while the under parts of the body and breast were white, beautifully mottled with black spots. The tail was very short, — not more than four inches in length, — and also tipped with black. The broad, white breast, flecked with foam and blood, disclosed a gaping wound where the slug had come out. Its weight we judged to be somewhere from thirty to thirty-five pounds. “Does it
look like
the great-headed wretch
you saw
last night, Wade?” asked Wash. “Well,
something
like it: only it isn’t nearly so large.” Wade has
always
insisted that the one he saw was as large as a full-grown hyena as we
see them
at menageries. Naturalists seem to concur in their opinions that the
Canada
lynx is very shy, always fleeing from the presence of man.
Nevertheless, I have
an authentic account of one that came boldly out into a logging-road,
and
attacked the driver of a sled, who had to fight for his life, and only
by his
utmost efforts succeeded in beating the creature off with a sled-stake.
Two or
three miles
farther on we entered a growth of large poplars, forming a pleasant
grove about
a spring at the foot of another limestone ledge. Three of the poplars
standing
near the spring were of remarkable size. Wash found one of them to be
rising
two feet in diameter, with a grand pale-green trunk, straight as an
arrow, and
fully seventy-five feet in height. Though there was no perceptible
breeze, the
polished leaves seemed never to rest from their ceaseless shiver. As so fine
a spring
is not always to be chanced upon, we decided to camp here for dinner,
which was
prepared after the usual programme. While
eating, we
several times heard a harsh, low cry, which we had at first supposed to
be a
bird. “Don’t sound just like a bird, either,” said Wash; “too gruff.” “But it
seems to
come from the tops of the poplars out there,” said Wade, pointing off
to the
west of the spring. “I think it’s one of those large woodpeckers,” remarked Raed, “such as we heard down at the flow.” The low
shriek was
repeated at intervals of from five to ten minutes. Finally Wash jumped
up. “I’m going
to see
what that is,” he said, and walked off, peering attentively among the
leafy
tops. Presently
we heard
him whistle sharply three or four times. “He’s
calling us,”
said Wade. “Let’s go out there.” We went
quietly
along, and soon caught sight of Wash standing behind the body of one of
the poplars.
He was beckoning with his hand to come quick and be still. We tiptoed up. “There!”
he
whispered, pointing into the top of another poplar fifteen or twenty
yards
away. “What sort of a bird
do you
call that?” Up about
thirty-five feet from the ground, a brown animal, nearly as large as
Ding-bat
was sitting in one of the stout crotches, looking un easily toward us.
Ding-bat ran along under the tree; when it again uttered the same
harsh, low
shriek; at which the Chinaman glanced quickly up, and began to bark. “Keep your eye on him,” exclaimed Wash, “while I run back for the shot-gun!” “But just
look at
those branches,” whispered Raed; “those above him! They’re all peeled.
See how
red and dry they look!” “Yes; and
look at
those poplars out farther!” said Wade; “those beyond the one the
creature’s in.
They’re dead, — all stripped of their bark.” Wash came
creeping
up with the gun. Pointing it by the tree, he fired. The creature seemed
to roll
off the branch, and fell all in a heap to the ground. Ding-bat made a
dive at
him, but suddenly drew back with a yelp. We ran along. The animal lay
all
rolled up in a ball, his stiff brown-black hair standing out in all
directions.
Mixed with it were numerous white quills with black tips. “It’s a
hedgehog!”
I exclaimed. “Ah, yes!”
cried
Wash, — “Erethizon dorsatus,
the
Canada porcupine. Strange I hadn’t recognized it!” Some of
the quills
were nearly four inches long, — those along its back. “Its snout
does
look some like a pig’s,” said Raed. It had
wonderful
little black feet with black nails. Its length was about thirty inches;
and its
weight not far from twenty-five pounds, we thought. It seemed strange
that so
clumsy an animal should climb so well. Ding-bat was clawing at his
mouth. “Come
here!” said
Wade. “What’s the matter, sir?” “Oh, look
at the
two quills in the poor beast’s nose!” cried Wash. Wade pulled them out. The dog seemed to know that the operation was for his good, and bore it very well; though it made the tears come in his eyes when they tore through the flesh. These
quills have
tiny barbs like the beard of wheat-heads. Once in the flesh, they will
keep
working in farther and farther till they strike the bone. Wash
informed us
that the porcupine feeds on the bark of trees and shrubs, especially
that of
the poplar. It was, therefore, fairly to be presumed that the dry
poplars had
been denuded, and finally died from the gnawings of the porcupine. At two
o’clock, P.
M., we started on again N. E. by N., and continued for four or five
miles over
ridge after ridge of the bushy “brulé.” One who has never cruised on one of these burnt
tracts can
form no adequate idea of the tiresome nature of the walking, where
fallen
trunks have to be climbed over at every rod. Add to this a heavy bucket
in one
hand, and a gun in the other, and you have “such a getting up stairs”
as soon
sets a fellow’s legs aching. We encamped, weary enough, in the lee of a great rick of logs and rocks, a little up from a tiny runnel which moistened a fire-blackened gully between two of the ridges. Blackberry-bushes grew about the rick, and were now laden with berries. Some of them were an inch long, soft, and sweet as honey. They went well with our pudding and eggs. So abundant were they, that, as we sat around our pudding-kettle, we could reach back and pull them off by the handful. Raed and
Wade built
a number of fires for the night at different points about our camp;
while Wash
and I brought sapin
from some
pine-shrubs a little way up the gully. From some cause, — atmospheric
or
providential, — there were no mosquitoes. We lay down in the shadow of
the high
blackberry-bushes to make up for last night’s broken slumbers. But
Ding-bat
seemed to suspect something wrong about the rick. He kept trotting
around it, poking
his nose into odd chinks, and snuffing. Presently, as we lay talking
drowsily,
he ran round to the upper-side. We could hear him sniffing; then he
barked
sharply, once, twice; when there started out from our side, and within
a few
feet of our bed, a very
beautiful little animal,
such as we have
all frequently met in our afternoon walks, — started out, and, turning
partially about, waved a fine, bushy- black-and-white tail, making all
the
while a queer, wheezy, hissing noise. “A skunk!”
shouted
Raed. “Mephitis
mephitica!”
from Wash. We jumped
up, and
scrambled back out of range “in hot haste.” Wade caught up an old knot.
“Hold! —
don’t!
don’t throw it!” exclaimed Raed. But he
spoke too
late. Wade had already let fly. The missile struck little “enfant de
diable”
whack on the side, knocking him end over end: whereupon he jumped
nimbly up,
and whisked his bush. We all distinctly heard a squirting sound. “Faugh!” “Skunked!”
“You’ve done it now!” exclaimed Raed, holding his nose. “Come away, Ding-bat!” Ding-bat
came away
willingly, with his tail between his legs. “Whew!” cried Wade. “Struck ile, no mistake!” “Might as
well
follow him up now,” said Wash. “Get stones, and give it to him!” A rapid
fusilade
commenced. Several throws missed him. At length, a big knot sent him
heels over
head again; and we kept throwing at him till he had gone nilly-willy down to the bed of
the gully.
Very fortunately, he had not hit
the blankets; and the buckets and kettle had been set on the other side
of the
fire. As may readily be guessed, we lost no time in moving camp.
Gathering up
our luggage, we went along to where Wash and I had got the sapin among the shrub-pines. It was ten o’clock before we were again settled for repose. Raed complained considerably of nausea. The awful odor seemed to linger in our nostrils — even in our mouths — all night. To all wandering tourists permit me to exclaim, in the words of Wash, “Beware of Mephitis mephitica! Give him a wide berth!” ___________________________
* It is
said that
many of these terrible fires have been wantonly set, out of spite
toward the
State government. |