As a result of these forest fires, one of the worst pests that the frontiersman meets is the black fly, which flourishes in a burnt country. This little insect is apparently always hungry, is never tired, and wages a relentless fight upon every inch of the white man's epidermis that is exposed to its reach, even penetrating the hair and beard of a man, and leaving the effects of its poisonous bite. So terrible were these little pests, and so numerous were they on two days of the excursion, that one eye of each of three of the white men in the party was so badly swollen by the bites of the insects, that it was closed. No remedy has ever been offered that effectually protects the woodsman from injuries inflicted by this insect. While our party was on that expedition that summer, reestimating the timber in the burnt district, Mr. Patrick came close to a large bull moose standing in some thick woods. The animal had not yet discovered Mr. Patrick's presence, consequently he was able to carefully examine and study this great beast of our northern woods. Below the animal's hips, on either side, at a point where he could in no wise protect himself from the ravages of this insect pest, the poor beast's flesh was raw and was bleeding. The Indians claim that their dogs frequently go mad and have to be killed as a result of the bites inflicted by these insects. In proof of the wide range of their activities I will briefly relate one experience with them in Wisconsin. Joseph McEwen and I left Wausau one morning, riding out behind a livery team twenty miles to the Big Eau Plaine River, in search of desirable cranberry marsh lands. The country we traveled over was flat. Fires had recently killed the timber, and black flies formed one vast colony over this territory. Our driver had trouble controlling the horses, so fierce was the attack of the black flies upon them. We arrived at the nearest point of our work that could be reached by team about ten o'clock in the forenoon, and dismissed our driver. We then proceeded on foot into this burnt, marshy country, attacked continuously by swarms of flies. They penetrated our ears, our noses, and our mouths if we opened them. They worked themselves into our hair, up our sleeves, under our collar bands, over the tops of our socks and down into them until they found the end of our drawers where, next, was our naked skin. We camped at night in the marsh. The next morning the attack was renewed as vigorously as it had been waged on the previous day. At eleven o'clock we stopped for our dinner. McEwen wore a heavy beard all over his face; my face was bare. He looked at me as we were eating our dinner, then dryly remarked, "I don't know how I look, but you look like the devil; the black flies have bitten you everywhere; your face is a fright." We went out to the main road, and secured a conveyance by which we reached Wausau about five o'clock that afternoon.