"I suppose not. You see, I was born here, that is, in this state away up north in a little place called Matagamon. There were only about twenty people there then and I don't suppose there are many more now. I don't imagine you ever heard of it."
"Oh, yes, we have, although we've never been there," Jack assured him. "Isn't it on the East Branch of the Penobscot?"
"It sure is. It's been nearly thirty years since I have been there, but there isn't much territory within a radius of fifty miles from the place that I didn't know back in those days. It was pretty wild country then and, for that matter, I guess it is now."
"I'll bet you had lots of adventures," Jack ventured.
"Well, yes, I suppose you would call them that. I owe this game leg to a bear."
"Oh, please tell us about it," Jack said as he paused.
"Well, if it isn't too late and you care to hear it——"
"It's never too late for us to hear a real bear story," Bob laughed, as he hesitated.
"To begin at the beginning, then, I'll have to tell you of an old legend which the old folks used to tell us children when I was very small. It seems that nearly three hundred years ago a small tribe of Indians had their dwelling place up near what is now called Big Machias Lake. By the way, the only big thing about the lake is its name, as it isn't more than a mile long. In fact, it is really nothing more than a widening of the Big Machias River.
"They were called the Tutehonekut'qin Indians and, it was believed that they had made their way overland from the Yukon River in Alaska, as there used to be a tribe of that name there."