The Republican journal., 1910-09-22
A HUNT UNDER ADVERSE
CONDITIONS.
Hart L. Woodcock in The Maine Woods.

Hart L. Woodcock in The Maine Woods.
Hardly anyone can look back without
some regrets. Ralph Simpson certainly
could not, and the one uppermost in his
mind, lust at present, was the stupid
covetousness and reckless disregard of
consequences he had shown in thinking
he could secure foothold on sloping,
wet, dead root. A jump looked so much
easier than climbing over lot of down
stuff to get around a big pool of water in
his pathway.
A quick, long spring, and he made it,
only to find his feet flying out from under
him, and he came down with crash, his
knee striking projecting rock with force
sufficient to send him hustling end over
end into the road, where he landed, gasp
ing and choking with pain.
Here was state Of things" surely.
Two miles at least from camp, and the
thought of getting onto his feet sent the
shivers chasing up and down his back,
while the attempt was agony beyond en-
durance. Recovering his breath as best
he could, he sat up and looked about in a
dazed and stupid manner.
This morning he had started out hunt
ing at daybreak, and as the law was just
off and game not yet gun-shy, he had
fondly hoped the Gods good luck, or, in
fact, any old circumstance might fortu-
nately put him onto deer.
With a guide, this would have been
easy, there was game enough about, ard
with the help of good man he would be
reasonably sure to come out with all the
law allowed; but Simpson was ambitious,
he wanted to get his deer, if possibly he
could secure one, alone by himself.
He wasn't looking for deer meat, but
was playing a game, matching his skill
and knowledge of woodcraft against the
keen senses and instincts OF the tlmld
animals.
1t was now well by noon, and so far
the day had passed without results: For
three days he had hunted faithfully and
persistently. During the time he had
Jumped several deer, but they had allow
ed him but glimpse of the white flag as
they flashed out of sight, giving him alb
solutely no chance to shoot.
This was discouraging, to say the least,
and particularly exasperating when he
remembered his campmate had, on the
previous morning, met ten-po,nt buck
face on, standing in wood road, and
had sent it down with a we'll directed
80 80 through the neck.
Of course he was pleased over his
friends good fortune, but it certainly
was enough to lift man clean off the
water wagon to think of his own beastly
luck, and to cap it all, here he was com
pletely done up, with game knee TWIST
ing spasms and bad talk out OF him When
ever he attempted to move.
He was in tote road running from
the HunneWell choppings to the Bingham
main road. The tote team had just gone
in with two or three lumbermen clad IN
their gaudy Mackinaw coats and knit
caps trailing along behind. Picturesque,
foreign-looking fellows they were. He
could still family hear the bells on the
horses, but it was hopeless of course for
him to attempt following them. He fired
his rifle and shouted, hoping to attract
their attention, but if they heard, they
did not turn back.
What should he do? Someone might
come along at any time, but the chances
were he wouldn't see anybody until the
team came out in the morning. No more
could he expect help from the sporting
camps at Chase pond, where he was
stopping, as they hadn t the least knowl-
edge as to where he was, and if he didn't
show up at night, even they wouldn't
turn out to hunt for him until sunrise.
He had crossed the lake and gone west
over Cow mountain, then circled north in
the direction of Hale pond, until he came
into this tote road, which he had followed
several miles, and so now was we'll east
OF the camps.
What was he to do? 1t looked as if he
must depend entirely upon himself if
he expected to get in, or else be out all
night. Of course, he couldn't entertain
that proposition for moment, especially
as his knee was swelling alarmingly and
he must have medical assistance.
Conditions We're certainly far from
pleasing, and for while he worked
Well, that didn't do any particular good.
an attempt to help himself, it was high
rifle and using it as support, he drag
ged himself to the roadside, where he
cut a birch sapling having crotched
top, which would do very we'll for a
crutch.
To a man in his condition, it was Kill
ling work attempting to make his way
over a rough road like this, but nothing
else could be done, so the next hour found
him hobbling on and dragging his wound
ed member painfully after him. 1t was
a slow, heart breaking process, as every
few minutes his leg got twist which
would send him down faint and exhaust
ed. But through clear grit he struggled
on and although very slow y, he made
constant progress, and il due time came
to the so-calIed second bridge, which was
nothing more than rough platform of
poles thrown over a shallow brook. He
rested here and drank his fill of the de-
llclously cool and clear water. This re-
vlved and strengthened him. For long
time he sat there, his shoulders supported
by his rifle, small 80 80 carbine, which
was slung over his back by the strap. 1t
had bothered him somewhat as he labor
ed homeward, but he hadn't felt quite
like leaving it behind.
He was now about half way in, but
when he realized that he had still an
other mile to make, it seemed he could
not force himself to attempt it.
His knee had become badly infiamed.
and was throbbing almost to the bursting
point, and the least movement gave him
excruciatlng agony. Faint and sick with
pain, 1t seemed so much easier to lust lie
here IN the warm sunshine and give it up,
for when quiet he found little relief. but
It was growing late and the sun was sink