Frank was so anxious to get to work on the trap line, that he at first objected to putting in so much time in getting up the wood, saying that we could get the wood at odd times. But when told that there are no odd times on the trap line, he then worked the harder to get the supply of wood, including a good supply of dry pine for kindling fires, which we got by cutting a dry pine stub.
The camp now being in good shape, we hit the trap line and began building deadfalls for marten. We went onto the ridges into the thick heavy timber, where the marten were most likely to be found. We would select a low hemlock to build the deadfalls under, so the trap would be protected from heavy falls of snow, as much as possible. Some of the traps we would drive crotched stakes and lay poles in them and then cover with hemlock boughs to keep the snow off.
After we had several lines of marten traps built, we went onto the stream and branches and built deadfalls for mink and coon.
Nearly every day we saw deer, but the weather was still too warm to keep venison any length of time, so we did not carry our guns with us. When Frank would see a deer he would make grave threats that he would carry his gun the next day. We were about two miles from the stage road. The stage made only one trip a week, so there was no way of disposing of a deer as long as the weather was so warm. It took but little persuasion to convince Frank that it would be poor policy to kill deer as long as we could make use of but a small part of a single deer.
After we had gotten out a good line of deadfalls for marten, mink and coon, and as it was now about the first of November and time to bait up the deadfalls, and set out what steel traps we had for fox, I told Frank that we would carry our guns with us and try to kill a deer for bait and camp use. Frank could hardly sleep that night; he was so delighted to think that the time had come to quit the monkey business, as he called it, and begin business.
We climbed the ridge where we knew there were some deer, following down the ridge, one on each side, along the brow of the hill. We put in the entire day without getting a shot at a deer. That night it snowed about an inch, so that in the wooded timber, one could see the trail of the deer in the snow; but in hemlock timber there was not enough snow on the ground, so a track could be followed. We had killed a squirrel or two, and had a little prepared bait, so we concluded to bait a few traps until we struck a deer trail.
We did not succeed in finding the tracks of any deer until well along in the afternoon. It so happened that I got a shot at a deer that was nearly hidden from sight behind a large tree. I shot the deer through, just forward of the hips. We followed it only a short distance when we found the bed of the deer, and there was blood in it, so it was plain to be seen in what manner the deer was wounded. All still-hunters (excuse the word still-hunt; the word stalking does not sound good to a backwoodsman) of deer know that when a deer is shot well back through the small intestines, that if conditions will allow, the right thing to do is to leave the trail for a time and the deer will lie down. If left alone for an hour or two the hunter will have but little trouble in getting his deer. So in this case, as we were not far from camp and it was nearly sundown, I told Frank that we had better let the deer go until morning, when we would have more daylight ahead of us, and we would get the deer with less trouble.
We started for camp and had gone only a short distance when Frank said he would work along the ridge a little and see if he could not kill a partridge.