by Quincy Allen
CHAPTER IX
THE WONDERLAND OF MAINE
"I've already spoken about the professional honey hunter," beganFrank, "who puts in a lot of his time summers roaming the woods incertain sections, always on the lookout for bees working in theblossoms or flowers."
"Yes," Will broke in, "and we know how they find the hives in deadlimbs of trees, by trailing working bees. They catch a bee that'sloaded with honey, or sugar water supplied by the bee hunter, andattach a little white stuff to him. This they can see for a longdistance as he makes a beeline for his home."
"That's right, because I watched a chap doing it once," Bluffasserted. "He kept edging closer and closer with every bee he marked,till in the end he found the hive. I saw him take a heap of good honeyout of that tree, and I got beautifully stung in the bargain."
"Then there's the man who gathers the crooked wood that shipcarpenters use for making boats' knees," Frank continued, marking withhis fingers as he spoke. "Nearly every small boat has to have just somany. They're mighty hard to get, even after you've run across theright juniper or hackmatack, because it's necessary that they shouldbe of a certain shape."
"That's sure a queer occupation," remarked Jerry.
"Of course, there are lots of trappers up here who work all winter,"Frank observed, "just as we know our old friend, Jesse Wilcox, doesout where we live. But the furs they get here are pretty valuable,though not bringing quite as high a price as others taken up in Canadaand the Northwest."
"How's that?" demanded Bluff.
"Stop and think a minute," he was told, "and you'll understand why itshould be so. The colder the climate the more need of a heavy coat offur. Now, take the common raccoon that is found all over the easternsection of our country. The animal down in the Gulf region grows apoor thin coat beside the one that has to stand a spell of winterweather up here."
"Oh, I see now, plain enough!" Bluff exclaimed.
"Trust Nature to look out for her children," remarked sentimentalWill.
"She always does," Frank told him seriously. "That's why certainanimals in the far North change their coats with the coming of winter.From gray or brown they take on a snow-white fur. That's intendedeither to help them escape from their enemies in the midst of thesnow, or else to assist them in creeping up on their food supply."
"Yes," broke in Jerry, "and when we were down at New Orleans andcaught some saltwater fish for a change, didn't they tell us thatcertain ground fish like the flounder is white underneath, where itdoesn't count, but mud-colored on top? That looks as though Naturewanted to protect him as he lay on the bottom of the shallow bayousand flooded places."
"Then," continued Frank, "there are the Indians, who act as guides toparties of sportsmen in the summer fishing and in the fall hunting.Their women make baskets, and lots of other pretty things, usingcolored grasses and porcupine quills, and sell them to the guests atthe hotels in the State."
"How about the spruce gum hunters, Frank?" Bluff asked.
"I'm coming to them right now," replied the other. "That's one of themost interesting employments in the Maine woods--gathering the gum ofthe spruce trees. Of course you know it's used in making some kinds ofchewing gum for the girls."
"Yes, and some boys are just as bad about using the stuff," Bluff wenton, in a scornful tone. It happened that he himself had recentlygraduated from the ranks of chewers.
"These fellows keep on the move pretty much all the year," Frank toldthem. "A gum hunter has to cover his field about once in so often. Hemust have pretty good eyes, or he couldn't discover where the stickymass hangs on the side of tall trees. Some of them use field-glassesin their work, and I don't blame them much."
"I should think that would help out considerably," Will commented,doubtless remembering how difficult it often was for the unaccustomedeye to tell whether a certain protuberance far up on a tree trunk wasa boll or a woodpecker flattened out at his hammering work.
"It's a paying business, if only they can pick up enough gum," Frankexplained. "They get as high as a dollar and a half a pound for thestuff. As a rule they go in couples, because there is often need ofhelp. And they work far away from civilization, so it must be lonelyat times."
"But that isn't all, Frank, I take it?" queried Bluff.
"Why," replied the other, "I've hardly begun to tell you about thescores of things that are going on up here in these wonderful woods,pretty much the year round. Perhaps you've never bothered your headsabout finding out where all the hoop poles come from. They usemillions of them every year, and the supply is inexhaustible, even ifit does take time and trouble to gather it."
"Then that's one of the Maine woods' industries, is it?" questionedWill.
"A big one," Frank answered promptly. "You know that after certaintrees like birch and ash are cut down, the roots throw up sproutsa-plenty."
"Yes; I've seen regular little forests of them, many a time," Bluffreplied.
"Well, that's where the harvest of the hoop pole man comes in," Frankcontinued. "He follows the path where the loggers have gone a year ortwo before. Of course, his work makes it necessary for him to have ahorse, so as to carry his day's gathering to a central point, where itcan be shipped."
"Do they fetch the stuff out just as it's cut?" asked Jerry.
"Not as a rule," Frank answered. "At night the men sit by the fire,and spend the time in talking, while they use their shavers to takethe bark off the poles. Later on these poles are split at thefactories and used for barrels, kegs, and orange boxes."
"The men who gather them don't get rich at the job, I reckon," Bluffcommented, at a hazard, seeking still more information concerning thiswonderful country which he had never dreamed could produce so manystrange livelihoods.
"Oh, they get a few cents apiece for the poles," said Frank, "but asthey work steadily, and there are no labor agitators to call them outon strike, I guess they make it pay. Another strange business up hereis getting ax-handles."
"Gee whiz! doesn't it beat the Dutch about that?" chuckled Bluff."Like every other fellow, I've often wondered where they got all thosefine ax-handles that come to our town. So here's where they come from?I'm glad to know it."
"A fair part of the supply comes from up around Maine," Frank toldhim. "The woods roamer needs the best quality of ash for his business.He hunts over a large territory to find just what he wants. In thefall of the year the trees are dropped, and in a rough way each handleis shaped by a tool they call a 'froe.' After that they keep themunderground for a time."
"What's that--bury the handles?" remarked Will wonderingly.
"Just to season the wood so it will not crack," Frank explained. "Ofcourse, after all this the finer work of finishing the ax helves hasto be done at the factory. Another man who makes his living from thewoods is the fellow who gathers the hemlock bark used by nearly alltanneries. Besides, all sorts of roots that bring in good money arebeing dug every year throughout Maine."
"You mean wild ginseng roots, and golden seal, don't you, Frank?" Willasked.
"Yes, and many others in the bargain. In lots of places boys makequite a little money finding these roots, and drying them. Then--let'ssee, did you know that pearl hunting had become a regular business insome parts of Maine?"
"Now you must be joshing us, Frank," Bluff remonstrated, "becausepearls are found in oysters; and I've read that there are only a fewplaces in the wide world where these pearl oysters grow plentifullyenough to pay for working the banks."
"You're mistaken about that," Will broke in. "I know fine pearls havebeen picked out of mussels in Missouri and Indiana. Is that what youmean, Frank?"
"Yes," the other explained, "there's been considerable hunting in thestreams up here for mussels, or fresh water clams, that happened tohave a pearl in the shell. While every hunter isn't lucky enough tomake a big find, still a man found one last summer near Moosehead Lakethat sold for several hundred dollars."
"And then there's the shells; they say they're worth something," addedWill, who
apparently was posted on that subject at least.
"They sell those to factories where buttons and such things are made,"continued Frank. "If you've ever noticed the shell of a mussel, you'veseen that the inside is mother-of-pearl and mighty fine."
"Does that finish the list?" Jerry wanted to know.
"There are plenty of other things that bring in money to those whofollow them up," Frank told him; "but in every case it takes more orless hard work. Thousands of men are employed in logging during thewinter. Then, ice is gathered in great quantities, to be shipped toBoston, and even to New York, when it's warm weather. Protecting thegame in the close season gives work to a good many men as wardens."
"I never would have dreamed a single State could have so many ways ofmaking a living in its woods," murmured Will.
"Think of the hotel men," Frank continued, "who live on the swarms oftourists and sportsmen. And the guides who get big pay for their workin season. There are the canoe-makers in Oldtown and other places;they seldom try to build the older style of birch-bark boats nowadays,even the Penobscot Indians preferring the smooth-sided canvas canoe,painted green, so the fish can hardly notice it above them in thewater. There must be thousands of these boats built every year, andthey find a ready market from Florida to the far West, and all overthe country."
"Well, you have certainly interested us by telling about thesethings," declared Bluff. "Nobody but a fellow who had lived in Mainepretty much all his life would be apt to know so much about how peoplemade their living up in these Big Woods."
"I'll have a heap more respect for the Maine pine woods after this,"admitted Jerry. "Up to now I kind of looked down on 'em, because theredidn't seem to be a great many whopping big trees, such as we see outour way in the forests. But, shucks! the more you travel the biggeryour knowledge box grows."
"That's right," added Bluff frankly.
"There are plenty of other things I could tell you," continued Frank,"but they wouldn't seem quite as interesting after what you've heard.And I've talked myself pretty hoarse by now, so I'd better close shopand quit."
"I hope my flashlight trap works all right," mused Will.
The fire felt so delightful that no one seemed in any hurry to crawlinto his bunk. This was the life these boys enjoyed more than anythingthey could imagine. Will was perhaps the only one of the quartet whocared little for hunting; but it pleased him to be in the company ofhis chums, and, besides, his new hobby was causing him to look forwardto a season of profitable employment.
He was fully determined not to let any opportunity pass whereby hemight secure some remarkable pictures of outdoor life to enter in thatcompetition which the railroad companies had inaugurated.
While they sat there, looking into the fire, each one engaged with hisown thoughts, Frank was noticed to suddenly raise his head and listen.
"What was that sound, Frank?" demanded Bluff. "Ever since we spentthat time out in the Rockies on that ranch I've believed I'd be ableto know the howl of a wolf if ever I heard one again, and seems to methat was what came down on the wind just then."
