HE ABOVE title does not refer to some new animal; but most of my readers know what obstacles are. How delightful existence would be if we never encountered them. They are often much worse than the unprime skins and the shedders we get. And yet it is a matter of doubt if the fruit of our efforts would be near as sweet if we never struck snags of opposition.

If the trap and game hawker was unknown; if floods never overflowed our traps, or in receding left them bare; if traps would not freeze up on a particular night and fool us out of a good catch of fur; if property owners were not quite so generous with their display of "No Trespass" signs, and many another hindrance and vexation was left out, how different the testimony would read at the season's close!

But trapping, like any other calling, is a stream with rocks and snags protruding and ever waiting to puncture our craft. Nothing but eternal vigilance avoids shipwreck and be we ever so alert we seldom get through without damage. And with so many conflicting forces on every side we are kept in a state of anxiety and apprehension, if not actual fear. About the foremost dread is the thought that traps, or game, or both, will be appropriated by some avaricious and unprincipled person. In many sections the trapper rather expects to los one or more traps at every round he makes and often they contain catches of fur which he has no means of knowing about. Sometimes when only a single tra has been set it is picked up before it has done duty one night. Lynx. eyed individuals, both men and boys, patro the woods, fields, lakes and streams, ostensibly fishing or hunting, o just strolling for health and diversion; but in reality their errand is looking for traps and their contents. Once in awhile a skilled trapper will be found guilty of bagging the other fel

low's traps. When he does this, he refrains from setting any of his own in that locality and so prevents the honest trapper from swiping a few to play even.

In the deep woods traversed by a nice brook I had traps set for mink, 'coons and rats. I had to secrete them as much as possible, for I regret to say that certain human pilferers were abroad and I lost several traps the first week. Acting upon the saying that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, I set another trap in the bed of the one I had lost in every instance. I had missed none for a few days and began to hope the meddler had transferred his attentions to other ground. But I was coming up the creek visiting my traps one dark day late in November when I came to a wagon road and log bridge, or in sight of it rather, where I had a trap set for mink. Just then a man stepped out into the clearing and started towards the bridge. I drew back behind a big tree to see what he would do, for I discovered at first sight who this man was. It was Joe Harris, a trapper of shady repute, whom I dreaded to have on the ground worse than any other. He was closely scanning the banks, both outwardly and under them. He carried a sack

partly filled with traps, as I presumed. When he came to the bridge he knelt down and looked under it. No doubt he was interested in what he saw, for he arose quickly and surveyed the surroundings and believing that no one was in sight he unslung his sack and waded under the bridge. In about two minutes he came up the bank carrying a good sized mink by the head, which had drowned.

I carried a double shotgun and I fired the right barrel high in air over Harris and called out: "Leave that mink right where it is; I'll take care of it," for in his alarm at the report he had dropped his prize.

"I wasn't goin' to keep your mink," Harris protested, "I was goin' to bring it to your place, for I thought you might not see the trap to-day an somebody might steal it. There's a bad gang trappin' around here now and they stole four traps from me last week up towards the head of the creek. Did you fire that shot at me?"

"No," I replied, "if I had I shouldn't have missed the target; but let me impress upon your mind that I will tend my own craps in the future and take chances on losing game or traps. I have no means of disproving your statement as

to being so kind in your intentions; but if I should catch you paying my traps such respects again I might not shoot so high as I did this time."

Harris evidently saw that his statement did not go down with me and he meandered off muttering about my lack of appreciation.

I picked up my mink and pulled the trap also; it would be a waste of time to trap where Harris was operating and he was as revengeful as he was crooked. He night lie in hiding if I continued to patrol the creek and pepper me with shot.

"Ah, ha!" I mused as I flipped the water off my mink, "you are a good one, full furred, good color and worth a five dollar bill. You (Continued on Page 66)

M

ANY A TRAPPER, even the much experienced, overlooks the value of the natural lure. There is logic in the theory that certain scents and odors attract certain animals; but many a trapper puts too much faith in such stuff, fooling away his time and, if he buys it, his money, on scents and artificial baits which are practically useless. Some will say they are worse than useless, for the smell may drive off animals rather than attract them. This is a little too much, however, for the average scent bait doesn't smell long enough to be a warning worth considering. It is true that some scents and scent baits have values, if rightly used, and often the young trapper makes a good investment when he pays a dollar for a bottle of bait with a trapper's guide. The return on the investment comes from his using the sets described in the guide, however, and not to any appreciable extent to the smell of the bait. The best "bait" is some natural lure, not always scent, not always meat or food, but something in the woods or fields which attracts the animals. The most successful trappers use these lures. Sometimes a little scent or other bait will help the set. Just how much, or why, or when, depends altogether on the conditions. The most successful trapping is probably a nicely balanced combination of natural, artificial, and food lures.

Going about in the woods, especially in snow, one is struck by the fashion all fur bearers have of visiting certain places. Other places will be attractive to some special variety of animalsometimes the tracks indicate that one particular animal pays repeated visits to a place where others do not go. The skilled trapper has probably noticed these signs and studied them, but many young or inexperienced fur hunters either haven't had the opportunity, or have been too indifferent to observe. There are other evidences of animal presence besides tracks in the snow, although, of course, these are the easiest studied

My first experience with a natural lure was a good many years ago when I first became interested in trapping. I had just begun reading Fur News, and was finding the market reports fascinating, at least to my dreams. I was not getting any fur. Then, by following the directions in an article on muskrats, I managed to catch five or six of these creatures. I sent the skins to a fur house which sold also scent baits. I told them to send me a bottle of mink bait as part pay for the muskrat skins. This they did, including the trapper's guide. I studied the same very carefully, and used the bait religiously. There was nothing doing in the mink line, however, mostly because I was trapping the same ground an experienced trapper was working, and by the time my bungling sets got in working order the fur-bearers had been pretty well killed

out.

For a long time I pinned my faith to the bottled scent. Then, one day I was seated on a log beside a little back-water hole in the river low grounds. This happened in Eastern Virginia, where the rivers run through wide valleys, rather flat and inclined to be swampy. In seasons of

high water the river spreads back over considerable areas, and when it recedes pools are left. Often these contain fish, especially catfish and eels, and, of course, frogs, snakes and ducks come to them, if the water stays any length of time. Some of these holes are deep, being washed out by flood currents; some are fed by springs and therefore remain all summer, although the majority dry up. It happened that this particular hole was spring fed, and in fact, was quite a puddle for fish, frogs and snakes. I was sitting on the bank studying the trapper's guide. I had met the other trapper some little time before, and he had in his possession a pretty, dark mink. He was secretive as to method; so I could only admire and wonder how he did it.

Even to this day I can repeat whole paragraphs of that trapper's guide. It later on was worn to pieces by much handling. Now I was going over again, for probably the hundredth time, the directions on mink. Now I could take a similar guide and follow it successfully, but I was green then, and naturally directions which are plain to the person somewhat acquainted with a subject, are vague at times to the wholly new student. So that, while I was following the directions as to the sets I made, I was not following the spirit of the thing, which, naturally, is to make the sets where the animals are likely to go. You can make a set with the most accurate precision of measurement in tension of trigger, distance of trap from hole, height of stepping stick if one is used, etc., in your back yard and not catch anything except the family cat. Of course, muskrat are rather easy to locate, so I got some of them. My mink sets were made on barren ground-for instance, we all know the value of that "hole in the bank" set for mink. But I made my holes on a little creek in an out of the way woods, to which the only entrance for minks from the low ground timber and marshes was through a small ditch through the fields. The experienced trapper had this all covered with traps. He caught several mink and 'coon which were on their way up to my sets in the woods. Of course, I could not catch anything as long as no animals got to my sets. even though my sets were made properly.

There was, however, one axiom in that old trapper's guide that did me a great deal of good. It said that mink travel in well defined trails, and if you find tracks once, they are likely to come that way again the next time they come along. I have mentioned that I was sitting beside on overflow puddle. Presently I heard splashing in the water. I looked that way, thinking it was a hardy frog, the batrachians remaining at times above the mud in that section in winter, as i doesn't get very cold, usually. The visitor proved to be a mink. Of course I was excited, but I did not try to shoot it, for I had only a small rifle with me, and the animal was moving about actively. When it saw me it dived under the surface. Evidently it swam under water, for the next I saw it it was at the lower end of the puddle and scuttling away down a kind of spring branch running from the hole.

Well, a skilled trapper would instantly on seeing the place have said that it was fine mink set.

For me, however, the place had up to then not looked like much, as the hole was located in a patch of scrub growth and right beside a field. My idea had been that mink stay in the woods and big swamps. As a matter of fact they like fields, small swamp, scrub, etc., fully as well, and a place such as this, full of fish, frogs and snakes, and right beside an open field where mice, birds and rabbits could be found was an Eldorado for the creatures. As I said, the book told me that where mink go once they go again. Therefore, I reasoned, friend mink has come here once, and gone down that little channel, which was only a few inches wide, and he will come this way again. I went then to look at the channel. I heard a big splashing over behind a log, under which the channel ran. I looked and saw the mink-fast in two traps which presumably the other trapper had set, having beat me to the good location. I looked all along the channel, which ran some ten or twelve yards into another overflow pool. All along I saw places where animals had been caught and clawed up the land. The trapper must have caught several mink, 'coon and opossum in that channel. It was quite a surprise to me, and a keen disappointment, also. But I went the other trapper one better, and, following the overflow pools down toward the river, I found other places which looked like animals were using them as runways. There were no traps in them; presumably the other trapper's "line" running across the fields and skirting the woods at that point, but not going into them. I set traps along these places, and used baits such as rabbit, bird, etc., and, of course, the scent. I caught a nice 'coon, and later on a mink, together with a couple of muskrat and one day I found the set ripped all to pieces and the toe of a larger creature in one of the traps, which were Number I thin jaw jumps. I have since discovered that this was the toe of an otter. Since then I have gotten many pieces of fur around this hole. It is, in fact, one of the best natural lures I ever saw. Yet to the inexperienced trapper it would appear to be useless, for it juts back into a thicket and by a field, quite a distance from any timber or swamp of size. Its lure is not only for water animals, either, for fox tracks may be seen on the snow about it, whenever snow comes.

Some may say that the animals walked through the little channel because it was a natural runway. This is true, but the fact remains that the thing which drew them into the channel was the knowledge that ahead of them was that nice hole that seldom froze, being spring fed, and full of frogs, fish and snakes. Animals do many queer things; but I have never yet detected them in doing things that I considered absolutely useless -done just "to be doin'." The trapper must study ort the things they do, why they do them, and where. He must then adjust his methods to the game's intentions and desires. It is only seldom that fur animals get hungry enough, except in the very coldest parts of the country, to make bait trapping much of a success. And successful "blind" set trapping is the result only of getting the traps where the animals themselves choose to go.

Of course, in the instance above given, the animals came for food. But food is not the only natural lure, although it is no doubt the biggest. There was at one time on a river on which I have trapped, a saw mill, one of these peripatetic outfits which travel over the country, leaving slashing and saw dust piles, but not much money in their wake. It had been set several hundred feet from the river. There was also, to one side of the sawdust pile, a ditch running into the river, with a fallen holly tree across it.

Both above the sawdust pile and below it on the river bank one found considerable mink and 'coon tracks. But just opposite the sawdust pile there was very little-nothing like what was seen a few rods above and below. It seemed queer. The animals couldn't fly and it was too far to swim, and, anyhow, it wasn't animal nature to come to a certain point and turn around and go back.

One foggy, cloudy day in the late fall I was bass fishing on the river opposite the sawdust pile. I could see both sides of the pile along the shore, but a small animal coming either way would not be likely to see me unless I made some move, for the growth was thick along the top of the bank and I could only see myself by looking over it. Fish were not doing much, so I had lots of time to look around. The first I saw of him was ripples running out from shore, where he was paddling along hunting clams. Presently I got a good sight at him, which was a nice 'coon. He got behind a large root and vanished. Next I hear a scratching on the holly tree across the ditch. Mr. Coon was just going off the end of it toward the sawdust pile. From then on I had a fine view of his antics on the sawdust pile. A 'coon is a playful thing anyhow, when well fed, and this fellow apparently had gotten his belly full and now romped all over the sawdust, refuse timber, a few pulleys and such stuff as is likely to litter any sawmill set. He disappeared again. Finally I caught a glimpse of him far down the stream going along the edge of the water. I went up to the root behind which he had first vanished. Here I found a regular boulevard where animals had climbed up among the washedunder roots from the shore to the top of the bank. Then there was a faintly defined path through the weeds and leaves to the holly tree. This was well clawed up, the animals evidently having used it to scrape their claws while using it as a bridge. Beyond that was the sawdust pile which showed much digging and clawing, and on convenient logs, planks, etc., both 'coons and minks had dunged. I went down the stream and presently found a log inclining up the bank. Signs indicated that the animals used this to climb up on and to go down by. So the unusual case of animals making tracks plentifully at one point and above, but few in between, was explained. The creatures had been going up to the sawdust pile. They played about a good deal there, although probably they hunted some, for I found several snakes, lizards, etc., while kicking around in the old lumber hunting a few good pieces to make into box traps. I incline to the opinion also, that they used the place for a dung heap. Trappers know how mink and 'coon come to the same place to do this frequently. I caught considerable fur at this place, using a set at hoth points where they quitted the river, one on the holly tree, and two or three baited ones in the sawdust and old refuse. I also caught skunks and foxes in the land sets, showing that these animals also came to this natural "lure."

It is a mistake to assume that the knowledge that they used the sawdust pile as they did was of no great value, because in trapping the river one would likely get the animals somewhere along its course even had they left it at the sawdust pile. River trapping is at best very uncertain. In the North the streams freeze up; in the South they rise and fall so that except a short period in the early fall traps are kept constantly out of commission, being either too deep under water or sitting high up the bank. I have never found that animals are as much afraid of traps as some writers seem to indicate; it is true, however, that traps setting a foot above waterline seldom catch anything, the reason being that

the game follows the water's edge and so goes around the traps, unless the trapper has provided for this by fencing, bait, or some other scheme to push the animal into the traps.

This is sometimes hard to do, and anyhow, it attracts attention from hunters, other trappers, and baits attract dogs and cats. So when the river got unruly, I moved my traps up to the saw dust pile, knowing that the animals would all come there. I kept on making catches at the sawdust pile all winter, while had I been depending on water sets in the river, I should have caught very little.

It does not follow from these two instances that a natural lure is always some sizable thing like an overflow pond or an old sawmill. A single stone, old log, over-turned tree, hollow tree or old woodchuck hole in a field, or at the edge of a field, or beside a stream will call the wood dwellers to its vicinity. Animals are not alone in answering the summons. Snakes, bugs, mice, toads, salamanders, lizards, birds all seek out the shelter or food to be had at these places. But because fur animals go there, these are not, as a rule, good places to set traps-at least not directly at the tree, log or rock, as so many beginners do. I know of no reason for saying this, except the broad one that I have never been successful at these sets, while by setting my traps in other places near by, utilizing the lure of the tree or rock, but not placing the traps right at them, I have made good catches. Usually when I did make a catch in hollow trees it was a dog, squirrel, buzzard, or owl. This in spite of the fact that when snow was on the ground many mink and 'coon tracks surrounded the hollow trees. Mink are great fellows to visit the hollow trees which have a hole at the ground. Oftentimes they find a bird or two in the tree hollow, which they kill and eat leaving the feathers or they may have caught the bird elsewhere and brought it to the hollow tree to eat. Yet traps set in hollow trees of this kind and baited with birds never proved very successful with me. It may be that the minks visit the hollow trees most when there is snow. At the same time, a hollow tree of this kind can be considered an asset on the trapping line. Look for a place nearby where the game has been walking-through high grass, through a hedge, along a small stream. Keep a set in this place, for the majority of fur animals which come along will visit the hollow tree. Someday I hope to be able to tell why traps set in a hollow tree seldom catch mink or 'coon-for me-while I know that both animals visit such trees often.

The subject of natural lures might be enlarged upon to a very great extent. It is limited only by one's knowledge of animals and their habits, for nine-tenths of an animal's actions are due to some urging of nature. Indirectly the other ten'h is, too. Hunger is probably the biggest urge in an animal's life. But it is closely followed by the instinct of self protection. This is not fear-I do not believe that any animal except man is guilty of true cowardice. Man, fortunately, is not often so. Probably some would put sex first. With an animal well fed and in good condition, sex, of course, is supreme-but a starved animal will eat first. In trapping where does hunger lead us

In trapping, hunger in the game leads us to setting traps where the animals are likely to go in search of food. In convenient locations it makes the use of food baits practicable. In very cold sections and for the more careless anima's. baits may be used to appeal to hunger or appetite in a way that may, for want of a better term, be called "openly." It can be nailed up on a tree. or stuck on a stick above a trap. or placed in the back of a baited pen. But this method is not

successful in settled sections, because it reveals the location of sets to trap thieves, dogs, cats, etc., and also in these sections the animals more likely than not have plenty of food, as the weather is not especially cold and food is seldom frozen up. Yet seeking food is a lure that makes possible dozens of good sets for all animals, and makes the use of bait in concealed and indirect

ways highly successful. The trapper should familiarsize himself with the kinds of food each animal eats-what it prefers most, then what it eats as a second choice, etc. Persons whose knowledge of animals is theoretical-bookwould be astonished if told the things about animal food any experienced student of the actual animals has proven by observation.

The mink and fox prefer to catch their own game alive. The 'coon and skunk are just as interested in something dead, if reasonably fresh, (Concluded on Page 66)

J

PHANTOM FALLS.

OHN," I exclaimed, as I stood emptying the water out of my boots,"John, I will surely write an count of this night's adventure."

ac

"No one will believe you if you do," replied he. "If it was not for this water," he continued, as he gave his soaked jacket a wring with both hands, "I should doubt it myself, and declare that we have only been dreaming, and had not shot two miles of those rapids to-night, nor dragged our boat from under the suction of Phantom Falls."

"I do not care whether people believe it or not," I replied. "There lies your broken paddle," -and I pointed to the piece of shivered ash,"and there you stand, wringing the water of the rapids from your jacket, and we know that something more than human has now for two nights appeared off our camp, and that we did, two hours ago, take boat and follow it until it vanished into mist; and I shall tell the story of what we have seen and done, not expecting any one will believe it."

Gentle reader, I keep the promise made to John, as we stood by our camp-fire under the pines, and advise you to believe no more of it than you see fit. Perhaps the reading will serve to entertain a circle of friends some winter evening, when the wind moans dismally without, as the writing will rest him who, in front of a glowing grate, on a December night, for his own amusement even more than for your own, tells you the story of

PHANTOM FALLS.

"John," said I, "since eight o'clock we have made good forty miles, and my fingers are so stiff that I can scarcely unclasp them from this paddle-staff. Let us make camp before the sun goes down."

"Well," replied he, "fifteen years ago I camped one night by that big rock there at the mouth of the rapids, and I would like to see how the old camp looks, for I saw something there that night that I could not account for; I will tell you about it after supper to-night."

Of course I assented, and bent myself to the paddle with renewed energy.

We were in the heart of the wilderness, where even trappers seldom penetrated. For fifty miles on either side not even the smoke of a hunter's cabin colored the air. For weeks I had not seen a human face or heard a human voice other than our own. Day after day we had been pushing our light, narrow shell up unexplored creeks, building our fire each night on the shore of some lake or pond where it is doubtful if fire was ever kindled before. As we proceeded down the lake, the roar of the rapids came more and more distinctly to our ears, and as the shores converged the boat began to feel the action of the water beneath it, where were the beginnings of the current. As John felt the movement, he lifted his oars, and, laying them carefully along the bottom of the boat, pointed toward a huge pine that stood to the west of a projection of land along the other side of which rushed the rapids. Understanding the motion, I turned the bow of the boat toward the tree, and then, with easy stroke, urged it along.

"How well I remember the night I camped here," said John, speaking half to himself. "How naturally that old pine looks, and the three hemlocks on the point, and the rock against which I built my fire. I wonder if the old story is true,

and if I did see her, or whether it was only a dream!"

By this time the boat had run into a little notch or bay, and a few sharp strokes sent it to the shore with a force that urged it half its length up over the yielding sand. We stepped to the beach.

Supper having been prepared and eaten, we threw some heavy logs upon the fire, and, reclining upon our blankets, gazed off over the lake. The moon was nearly at the full. Her rounded orb was just appearing above the eastern mountains, and across the tranquil water she poured her pure white radiance. The lake lay motionless; not a wave, not even a ripple, broke the smooth surface. Above, the sky was cloudless. Suspended in the still ether, a few of the larger stars struggled for existence. Weak and vain such rivalry! for the queen of night held open audience, and their lesser lights paled in her more brilliant presence. The woods were dumb. Silence brooded in the heavy pines and amid the darker firs. The balsams, through their spear-like stems, yielded their fragrance upon an air too motionless to waft it. Even the dull roar of the rapids was so even in tone, that, instead of disturbing, it seemed rather to deepen the all-pervading silence.

"Mr. Murray," said John, at length, "do you know that we are camped on haunted ground?" "Haunted ground!" I returned, raising myself upon my elbow, and turning toward him. "What do you mean? You don't believe in ghosts, do you?"

"Well, I don't know," replied John, "what to believe; but some of the old trappers tell queer stories about this place, and I know that, just fifteen years ago this month, I made my camp under this very pine, and that during the night I saw something off the camp which was n't human!"

"So that was what you were muttering about, was it, John, when we were running in?" I responded. "Give us the story, as you promised; this is the very night and place to hear a ghoststory. I can almost catch the soft, cat-like tread of old Indian warriors gliding through the shadows, and the dip of unseen paddles along the motionless water. So go ahead, John; give us the whole story, and take your own time for it."

"Well, it won't take long," replied John; "and I would like to know what you think of it, anyway. The story which the old trappers tell is this:

"The tribe of Indians that once hunted around the shores of this lake, and over these mountains, was called the Neamski. It was a branch of the great Huron family, and their chief was Neosko, which means thunder-cloud, or some such thing. Well, this chief had a daughter, Wisti by name. The French called her the Balsam, because of the richness of her dark beauty. This girl fell in love with a young Frenchman, a Jesuit priest, whom the missions in Canada had sent down to this tribe to convert them. Her love, it seems, was returned with ardor, and here in this little cove they were wont to hold their nightly tryst. At last the young priest, impelled by his passion for the girl, determined to visit Montreal, get discharged by his superiors from the service, return for his mistress, and, striking through the lakes eastward, reach Albany, where he could embark for France. He left in the early spring, with the understanding that he would meet her at

this spot on a certain night in June. For some reason, perhaps because he could not get a release, perhaps piety prevailed at last over love, or, more probable still, because he was ambushed on his journey by hostile Indians and killed, he never returned. Night after night, as the story runs, Wisti would take her canoe, paddle to this point, where, not finding her lover, she would return dejected to her father's camp. She had many lovers, of course. Chiefs from near and far, even from the big lakes, came seeking her hand. She refused each and all. In vain her father threatened, her relations urged, her tribe insisted. To every suitor she returned the same answer: "My heart is far away in the North, and will not come back to me." A year came and went. The snow for a second time melted from the mountains, and the ice deserted the streams. Her lover had been sick, she said to herself, and could not keep his promise; but now he would surely come. Thus she kept her hope up as she watched and waited. Night after night she would visit this spot, only to be disappointed. The burden was too heavy for her to bear. The light deserted her eyes and agility her limbs. With the leaves of autumn she faded, and one September night she launched her canoe and left her father's camp. When last seen, she was directing her course toward this point. It is possible that, caught in the sweep of the rapids, she was swept down, or else, broken in spirit by the continued absence of her lover, and weary of a life, every day of which brought only

a

new and bitterer disappointment, she purposely paddled out into the current, and sought, through the white foam and mist of the rapids, a meeting with him who was, as she believed, no longer on earth.' And they say," continued John, "that thrice each year, about this time in June, there comes up out of the rapids a canoe, which leaves, as it glides, no wake, urged by a noiseless paddle, and in it a figure sits, clothed in raiment whiter than the mist."

"Well, John," I said, after a slight pause, "is that all? Do you believe the story? Did you ever see her?"

"Mr. Murray," said John, solemnly, "I do believe the story; and I have seen her."

"What!" I exclaimed, now thoroughly interested:, "do you say that you have seen her, John? When, and how? Tell me all about it."

"It was just fifteen years ago this moon," continued he, "and I was returning from a trip down the Black River country, when, late in the evening, I ran my boat into this little bay. The moon, the lake, the mountains, all looked as they do at this moment. Against this very rock I built my fire, and, being tired, quickly dropped to sleep. I lay that night in the same position in which you are now lying. How long I had been sleeping I do not know, when a low, uneasy whine from my hound, and his nose rubhing against my face, aroused me. Thinking that some wild animal had approached the camp, I seized my rifle and peered steadily into the forest. Not a twig snapped. Twice did the dog walk around the fire, lift his nose into the air, and whine. I did not know what to make of it. I was about to order him to be quiet, when he started to his feet, took a step toward the lake, and then crouched, shivering, to the ground. Quick as thought I turned, and there, Mr. Murray," said John, speaking in a low but steady voice, and pointing with his brawny hand toward the east, "there, just rounding that point, I saw a sight which made my blood curdle. A boat, or what seemed to be a boat, was there,-a birch canoe, curved up at either end,-and in it sat a girl, or what seemed a girl, all clothed in white. and airy as a cloud In her hand she grasped a paddle, and her head was turned as in the attitude of listening. Up to the very margin of the water the canoe came, and twice did that face, or what seemed a face, look steadily into mine. Then, with a motion as when one shakes his head with disappointment, it turned away. and the canoe, as if impelled by a paddle, described a circle, and glided, with the white form in it, around the point."

John paused. That his narrative was honest I had no doubt. Every tone and syllable proved it. I did not know precisely what to say, so we sat for a while in profound silence. At last John started up, seized hold of the end of a large log which the fire had burned through in the middle, ended it over upon the pile of glowing coals, and as he seated himself said,

"Well, Mr. Murray, what do you think of it?" Rising to my feet, I turned about so as to face him, and responded:

"John, I do not doubt that you think you saw what you say you did see; but I do not believe that you really saw any such sight after all. The fact is, John, it was what the doctors would call a mental delusion. You were very tired; you had heard the old story about the place-. Be still, Rover, will you!" I exclaimed, interrupting myself to touch the old dog with my foot, as he rose to his feet, lifted his nose into the air, and began to whimper,-"it is nothing but a wolf or a wildcat, you old fool you; lie down.-The fact is, John," I resumed, "you were very tired that night; you had often heard the story about the place; you were here all alone, and dropped asleep thinking of it, and, being in a feverish state, you dreamed that you saw-'

"Mr. Murray," whispered John, hoarsely, interrupting me, "for God's sake, look there!"

There was something in his voice, ana in the quick motion of his hand as he thrust it out toward the lake, which startled me. Scarcely knowing why or what I was doing, I turned and saw what was enough to quicken the blood in cooler veins than mine. Within a hundred feet of the beach on which I was then standing was what seemed at least to be a canoe, and in it a form sat, bent slightly forward as in the act of listening. A moment it sat thus, and then the attitude became erect, and a face, as it were the face of a girl imprinted on the air, looked directly into mine. I neither spoke nor moved, but stood steadfastly gazing at the apparition. I was not frightened to bewilderment. All my faculties seemed supernaturally active. I noted the form of the canoe. It was as John had described it,-curved up at either end, and delicately shaped. I noticed the paddle, slender and polished; the white drapery, the shadowy face. I remembered afterward that the moonlight fell athwart the prow, as it projected from the dark shadows of the pines into the unimpeded radiance. It may have been a minute that the apparition faced us; then, with a movement of the head as when one seeks in vain for something not to be found, the paddle sank into the water and the phantom boat, urged as by a steady stroke which stirred no ripple, glided, with the white figure in it, along the shore and around the point, and then, heading toward the rapids, vanished from sight.

It must have been several minutes before either of us spoke. Then John broke the silence with the words, "Well, Mr. Murray, what do you think about it now?"

"I think," said I, "that imagination has played a trick on me, or else the old story is true and this is haunted ground."

"Did you notice the canoe," continued John. "how it was curved and ornamented at either end; and the paddle, what a delicate shaft it hed; and the face, was it not as the face of a girl?"

"Yes," I returned, solemnly, "it was as you describe it, John, save that it did not seem like a real boat or paddle, and the face looked like the outline of a face printed on the air, rather than a solid head."

"So it did, so it did," responded he; "but does not the good Book say somewhere that we shall all be changed at death, and that our bodies will not look as they do now?"

"Well, John, we won't talk any more about it to-night," I replied; "I want to sleep on it. Toss me my blanket there, and roll those two logs on to the fire, and we will go to sleep. In the morning we will hold a council, and decide what to do. If there is any truth in the old story, you and I might as well find it out."

John did as he was requested, and, coming round to where I stood, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and side by side, with Rover at our feet, prepared ourselves for slumber. "What's that?" I exclaimed, as a sharp, quick cry, followed by a prolonged howl, came up from the depth of the forest.

"A wolf has killed a deer," murmured John, "and he is calling in the pack;" and then we slept.

The sun was high in the heavens before we awoke. Our sleep had been a heavy, oblivious slumber, which took as it were so many hours clean out of our lives,-a gap across which was stretched not even the filament of a dream by which the memory could afterward connect the lying down and the rising up.

"John," said I, when breakfast was ended, "I tell you what we will do to-day. We will explore the rapids and mark us out a course down as far as Phantom Falls, and we will lay in wait off our camp to-night, when, if the apparition makes us another visit, we will run alongside of that canoe or shadow, whichever it may be, and solve the mystery. What say you?"

"I say anything you say, Mr. Murray," promptly responded John. "I never yet saw a canoe I was afraid to run my boat alongside of; but what shall we do if it goes from us? Shall we give chase?"

"Certainly," I responded; "and I don't believe that anything short of a ghost can out-paddle us, if we fairly settle ourselves down to it."

"Nor I either," returned John, laughing; "but what if it leads down the rapids? I heard an old trapper say that he followed it once to the very entrance of them, down which it glided and escaped him."

"Well, as I said, John, we will explore the rapids to-day, and map us out a course. The river is high, and with the full moon we can easily run them. It is a good mile, you say, before we reach the fails, and it must be ghost or devil if, with a good paddle at either end of this shell, you and I cannot catch it in a mile race."

So it was arranged, and, taking up our paddles, we stepped into our boat and started for the rapids. In a moment we had turned the point and shot out into the current, in which, with reversed strokes of the paddles, we held the light shell stationary while we scanned the reach of tremulous water below. No prettier sight can a man gaze at, nor is there one more calculated to quicken the blood, than to see two men sit bareheaded and erect at either end of their cedar boat, paddle in hand, in the smooth water which gathers like a pool at the mouth

of rapids. And many a wild, ringing cheer have I heard rise, mingling with the roar of waters, from those who glided in their skeleton boats over the verge, and passed from the gazer's sight amid the foam and rocks below.

"John," said I, as we sat looking downward, "it's all clear ahead; let her glide."

"All right," replied John; "the waters are high, and we shall have a clean run of it. The small rocks are covered, and the boulders we can dodge. We will aim for the centre, and let the current take us. I guess we shall ride fast enough. Only one thing before we start. We shall find several small falls, which we must jump; but when you hear the roar and see the smoke of Phantom Falls, look well to your paddle and mind what you are about. It won't do to go over them. Twenty-five feet are more than I care to jump."

"Exactly my sentiment," returned I, "but which side are we to land? If you and I shoot this boat out of such a current as that," and I motioned downward, "it must be with a stroke quick as lightning and well together."

"I know that," said John. "I explored the banks above the falls, one day, not knowing but that I might be swept down some time, and about thirty rods up stream, right abreast of a dead hemlock, there is a large whirlpool. We will strike it to the right, and when exactly abreast of the tree we must jump our boat with one stroke under cover of the bank. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," replied I.

"Ready, then," said John. "Steady as you are. Now!"

At the word "Now!" we lifted our paddles and glanced like an arrow down the slope.

Three times that day we ran the rapids, and each time without a mishap. Indeed, it was not a difficult matter, as the water was very high; and as soon as we got accustomed to the extreme swiftness of the motion, we found no difficulty at all in handling our boat. The most trying spot was where we had to run out of the current, to do which it was necessary that the stroke of our paddles should be as one, and made with our united strength.

"There," said John, as for the third time we ran under the bank, "I am not afraid to run these rapids night or day, even if chased by a ghost. Come, let us go and see the falls."

Forcing our way through the underbrush, we clambered down the bank, and, walking out upon the shelving rock, stood where the mist and spray fell on us. The falls were some twenty-five feet high, perpendicular as the face of a wall. The (Continued on Page 65)