Part 18 (1/2)

”Erne was ahead; 'n' just as Warry rose up from th' throat-cuttin', Erne dropped into th' weeds 'n' rolled 'n' 'round holdin' o' his stummick, laughin' fit t' kill his fool self, till I thought he'd gone crazy. Then my eye lit on th' fore quarters o' th' doe, 'n' I guess I throwed more twists laughin' than Erne did--_for that there doe was shy a leg_, hadn't but three legs; nigh fore leg gone midway 'tween knee and dewclaw, shot off 'n' healed up G.o.do'mi'ty knows when.

”Warry? He didn't seem t' care none, too darned glad t' get anythin'

shape o' a deer.”

That same evening one of us asked Con if he had ever run across any other mutilated game, recovered of old wounds.

”Sure!” he answered, ”'specially once when I was almighty glad to git it, 'n' a whole lot gladder still that n.o.body was 'round t' see 'n' know 'n'

tell just what I got 'n' how I got it. She 's been a secret these five year; stuck t' her tighter 'n' Erne Moore holds th' gals down t'

Pickanock dances, 'n' that 's closer 'n' a burl on a birch. Fact is, I never told n.o.body 'fore now; 'n' I wouldn't be tellin' it t' youse now, only just 'fore we come up here I got a letter from one o' th' two brothers we blindfolded, sayin' his brother was dead an' he goin' t'

Californy t' live, 'n' wa'n't comin' into th' bush no more.

”If that feller got hold o' her, my brother 'n' me 'd have t' go t'

Australia or th' Cape, for him that's still livin' 's just about 's mean a feller 's Warry's a good one; an' any little _re_pute we've built up 's guides 'n' hunters, he'd put in th' rest o' his life tryin' t' smash 's flat 's that fool _habitaw_ cook got when Larry Adams sot on him for cookin' pa'tridges as soup. He'd just par'lyze her till we couldn't even get a job goin' t' hunt 'n' fetch th' cows out o' a ten acre pasture.

'N' th' worst o' 't is I don't know that I'd blame him so almighty much for doin' it, for there was sure somethin' comin' t' us for foolin' them I don't believe we got yet.

”Th' two o' them came up from across th' line--ain't goin' t' tell you what place they come from or even th' State--in late October, for th' two weeks dog-runnin' season; youse know there is only two weeks th' Quebec law lets us run hounds, 'thout a heavy fine. Never 'd seen either o'

them before, but friends o' theirs we'd been guidin' for gave brother 'n'

me a big recommend, 'n' they wrote up ahead 'n' hired us t' put up th'

teams t' haul them 'n' their traps in, 'n' then guide 'em.

”Soon 's they showed up on th' depot platform at Gracefield, I knowed brother 'n' me was up agin it hard. Train must 'a been a half-hour late gettin' to Maniwaki for th' time she lost unloadin' them two fellers'

_necessities_ for a two-weeks' deer hunt: 'bout a dozen gun cases, 'n'

fis.h.i.+n' tackle 'nough for ten men, 'n' trunks 'n' boxes that took three teams t' haul 'em out t' th' Bertrand farm. Fact is, them boxes held enough ca'tridges t' lick out another Kiel rebellion 'n' leave over 'nough t' run all th' deer 'tween Thirty-one Mile Lake 'n' the Lievre plumb north into James's Bay, for if there's anythin' your average sportin' deer-hunters can be counted on for sure's death 'n' taxes, it's t' begin throwin' lead, at th' rate o' about ten pound apiece a day, the minute they gets into th' bush, at rocks 'n' trees 'n' loons 'n'

chipmucks--never killin' nothin' but their chance o' seein' a deer.

”'N' these bloomin' beauties o' our'n was no exception. Th' lead they wasted on th' two-mile portage from th' Government road t' th' lake would equip all the Injuns on the Desert Reservation for a winter's hunt.

”Why, when Tom 'n' me got hold o' th' box they'd been takin' ca'tridges from t' heave her into the boat, she was so light, compared t' th' others we'd been handlin', we landed her plumb over th' boat in th' water; 'n'

d.a.m.ned if she didn't nigh float. She was the only thing they had light 'nough t' even try t' float ('cept their own shootin,') which sure wasn't heavy 'nough t' sink none, 'n' could 'a fell out o' a canoe 'n' been picked up a week later b.u.mpin' 'round with th' other worthless drift.

”Took us a whole day to run their stuff over t' th' camp, 'n' it only a mile across th' lake from th' landin'; 'n' when night come we was 's near dead beat 's if we'd been portagin' a man's load apiece on a tump-line--'n' that's a tub o' pork 'n' a sack 'o flour weighin' two hundred and seventy five pounds--over every portage 'tween Pointe a Gatineau 'n' th' Baskatong.

”O' course th' gettin' them fellers over theirselves was a easy diversion, they was that t' home 'bout a canoe! Youse may not believe it, but after tryin' a half-hour 'n' findin' we couldn't even get them into a canoe at th' landin' 'thout upsettin' or knockin' th' bottom outen her, we had t' help them into a thirty-foot 'pointer' made t' carry a crew o' eight shantymen 'n' their supplies on the spring drives, 'n' then had t' pull our d.a.m.nedest t' get them across th' lake 'fore they upset her, jumpin' 'round 't shoot at somethin' they couldn't hit!

”'N' eat! Well, they ate a few! We was only out for two weeks, 'n' when we loaded th' teams 'peared t' me like we had 'nough feed for six months, but after th' first meal 't looked t' me we'd be down t' eatin' what we could kill inside o' a week. Looked like no human's stummick could hold all they put in their faces, 'n' brother, he said he thought their legs 'n' arms must be holler.

”'N' sleep! When 't come t' wakin' of 'em up th' next mornin' they was like a pair o' bears that 'd holed up for th' winter, 'n' it nigh took violence t' get 'em out at all. We started in runnin' th' hounds, 'n'

brother 'n' me had the best on th' Gatineau--Frank 'n' Loud, 'n' old Blue, 'n' Spot--dogs that can scent a deer trail 's far 's Erne Moore can smell supper cookin', 'n' that 's far from home 's Le Blanc farm his father used to own, over Kagama way, 'bout eight miles from Pickanock, where he lives. We run th' dogs for four days, 'n' it was discouragin', most discouragin'. Country was full o' deer when we was last out, three weeks before, 'n' th' dogs voiced 'n' seemed t' run plenty right down to 'n' past where we'd sot th' two on th' runways; but they swore they never see nothin', said th' hounds been runnin' on old scent, sign made the night before.

”Then brother 'n' me took t' d.o.g.g.i.n' too, makin' six dogs, 'n' givin' us a chance t' see anythin' that jumped up in th' bush. Still nothin' came past 'em, they said, though we saw many a deer jump up out o' th' swamps 'n' go white flaggin' theirselves down th' runways toward the two 'hunters.'

”We just couldn't understand it 'n' made up our minds t' try 'n' find out why they never got t' see none.

”So the sixth day I placed one o' them myself on a runway half as wide 'n' beat most 's hard 's th' Government road, full o' fresh sign, picked a place where a big pine stump stood plumb in th' middle o' th' runway, 'n' sot him behind it where he had a open view thirty yards up th' runway th' direction we'd be d.o.g.g.i.n' from.

”Then I let on t' break through th' bush t' th' swamp we was goin' t'

dog, but 'stead o' that I only went a little piece 'n' left brother to start th' hounds at a time we'd arranged ahead, while I lay quiet behind a bunch o' balsam 'thin fifty yards o' my hunter. After 'bout twenty minutes, the time I was supposed t' need t' get t' th' place t' start th'

hounds, I heard old Frank give tongue--must 'a struck a fresh trail th'

minute he was turned loose. Then it wa'n't long 'till th' other three began t' sing, runnin' 'n' singin' a chorus that's jest th' sweetest music on earth t' my ears.

”Talk about your war 'n' patriotic songs, your 'Rule Britannias' 'n'