It may be with the same wood hunter you start a prime buck moose or elk during those glorious days in the beginning of autumn, and he bounds away in his strength and swiftness. Your Indian says, "We must run him down," and leads off in long, regular strides, and for a time you feel as if your lungs were in your throat and your heart is beating a double tattoo. Over and under fallen timber, down precipitous banks, up steep hills, and it takes some time for you to "catch your second wind," and to brace up your will and say to yourself, "I am also a man," and then settle down like your Indian to steady work. He, however, is doing more than you, who are but following him. He is noting lay of land and direction of wind, calculating in order to cut across where your game may have gone around, watching the tracks, gauging the distance the buck is ahead of you, noting the settling of the earth at edge of pool or creek where the big fellow left his tracks as he ran. and you are encouraged and spurred on, or contrariwise, as the crafty hunter tells you in hushed tones what he knows. Then, by and by, after an hour or two, or three, perhaps, of such work, you stand beside the fallen carcase and wipe your forehead and wish you had a dozen towels; but while your exultations and congratulations are hot within you, a word of caution comes from the Indian beside you: "The sun is low and the camp is far; let us hurry," and the work of butchering and skinning the meat goes on, till presently, with a load of meat on your back, you start for the distant camp. Suppose, as you tramped and climbed and panted, some one had said, "What a lazy life yours is," you would have shouted back, "No, sir; not in any sense is this a lazy life!" Or it may be your hunter friend is in for a "fur hunt," and you start with him to make a line of dead-falls for marten, or to hang a hundred or so of snares for lynx. The snow is deep, and at every step several pounds of it fall in on your snowshoe; but from early morn until late in the evening you tramp and toil, chopping and stooping and grunting over snare and deadfall, and when night is on, having carried your provisions, blanket and kettle all day, besides the baits for dead-falls and snares for lynx traps, you dig away the deep snow, cut some wood and make a fire for the night. While the fire burns, you doze and chill, and pile on fuel and wait for morning, only to repeat yesterday's work, and so on, until, having made a big detour and hung your snares and carefully fixed your deadfalls, you in three or four days reach home. Then in a short time you must visit all these, and in the intervening days make your forays for food. No one who has tried this manner of obtaining a living will pronounce it a lazy life.