Chapter III: Preface (3)

Any trapper living in the northern forest should be able to make a rabbit skin blanket for his own use. A few days setting and tending snares will provide the necessary number of rabbits, and the weaving of the blanket may be done on a cold day or in the evenings. I have never made one, for I have been able to buy them from the Indians at prices ranging from $6.00 to $10.00 each, and that is cheaper than I could make one myself.

The camp bed that is generally unloaded on the unsuspecting tender foot is some form of sleeping bag. There may be good sleeping bags and it is possible that I am unduly prejudiced against this form of camp bed, for I have given only two styles a real tryout, but I can say emphatically that the kinds I used were no good. My first sleeping bag was made of heavy canvas, inside of which was a separate bag made of a blanket. It was very unsatisfactory, for in addition to being exceedingly stiff and inconvenient for handling, getting into and out of it, it was also a very poor protection against the cold.

The next investment along this line was one of the sheepskin-lined bags advertised so much about 10 or 15 years ago. It was made of heavy duck with a lining of sheepskin with the wool on. Inside of this was a blanket bag and this was also fitted with a removable drill sack, which could be washed. If weight and thickness were sure indications of warmth this should have been all right for the polar regions, for the complete outfit must have weighed 25 pounds. I found it very little warmer than the bag with the blanket lining, and I was not long in getting rid of it.

This is the extent of my experience with sleeping bags, but it is sufficient to turn me against the entire family. As I said before there may be good ones, but I am from Missouri. The plain, heavy, all-wool blanket for me as long as the weather is not bitterly cold, for when zero temperature comes I want a rabbit fur blanket if I am to do much camping out. These are good enough for me until I find something better, and I don't expect to find it. They have been with me under the most trying conditions and have proved their worth.

What is needed by the trapper, or by anybody who finds occasion to camp out, is something light with little bulk that will keep him as warm and comfortable as he can hope to be under the circumstances. This he finds in the articles recommended.

Other furs than that of the rabbit have been tried out for blankets, but I am told that they are not as good. Lynx and wolf fur are perhaps the best kinds, as they are long and dense, while the skin is relatively light. But they are all heavier than rabbit fur, less warm and much more costly.

A deer skin makes a nice spread for the top of the camp bed to sleep on when the weather is cold, for it stops much of the cold air that comes up through the bed from beneath and helps retain the heat generated by the body of the occupant. The skin need not be tanned.

A man needs a night cap of some kind when sleeping out of doors. I have slept quite comfortably when wearing a wool toque, and I have also used the loose hood, which is worn by most northern bushmen to keep the snow from getting inside of the clothing. Some men can get along very well with an ordinary hat or cap.

In the bushman's outfit, as I see it, the blanket is second in importance only to the ax. How can good, pure wool be used more advantageously than in the form of a blanket, which will keep the owner comfortable eight or nine hours out of each 24? The worth of a blanket to the man of the woods can hardly be over-estimated. And when its days of usefulness as a blanket are ended it will still bring him much more comfort by being converted into mittens, hood, and extra protection for the feet when the Frost King reigns.

THE WOODSMAN'S AX AND ITS USE

On the ax more than on anything else depends the comfort and success of the northern forest traveler, whatever his calling. He may, to lighten his load, discard all of the articles in his outfit which are not absolutely essential, but never by any chance is the ax among those cast aside, because this tool is the most necessary and the most useful article used by the bushman. Not a day passes that the ax is not put to strenuous use, and on the trap line nearly every hour of the day finds the ax at work, smoothing the rough path of the traveler and providing for his comfort and welfare.

How could the wilderness trapper exist without the aid of this most useful tool? On it he must depend for his night's supply of firewood, and when the weather is cold this means not only comfort, but life itself, for the hardiest trapper could not long survive a temperature of forty below without a good warm fire beside which to spread his bed. With the ax he cuts poles for the frame work of his night's camp; he uses it to blaze the trail that he may follow it again when he goes the rounds to glean his harvest from the traps which he has set; he uses it when making the sets themselves; for cutting the drooping, snow-laden branches across his trail, and many minor uses which cannot now be mentioned. When making a hard trip he may leave his gun in camp, and may even travel and camp without blankets, shelter or cooking utensils, but the ax must go with him on every trip.

We are told that in early days the Indians paid fabulous prices for the most simple and common tools, and it has been said that as much as a hundred dollars in furs has been paid by an Indian hunter for an ax. It seems like wholesale robbery, but the bargain had two sides--two points of view. The Indian simply exchanged what was practically worthless to him for what was of priceless value, and from his point of view he drove as shrewd a bargain as did the trader. When we leave civilization behind us values change, and utilitarian worth counts more than intrinsic value, therefore, the ax becomes more valuable than a whole season's catch of furs.

If any class of people need perfect goods it is the class who must depend on these goods for their existence. The woodsman should have a perfect gun, perfect traps, perfect camp equipment, the best food he can buy, but above all a perfect ax. It should be of the finest material and of the best temper, tough but not hard. When put to a great strain steel will do one of two things--it will bend or it will break. If of good quality, with the proper proportion of carbon, it will stand an unusually severe test before it will do either, but when it does give it should bend rather than break. Of this kind of steel the trapper's ax should be made, and it should have a temper which will enhance these good qualities. If the ax is tempered a little too hard the edge will break when cutting into hard knots or frozen wood, or when the frost has not been drawn from the edge before using. When once the edge becomes dulled it is difficult to sharpen, for the trapper of the great woods has no grindstone, and must depend on file and whetstone to keep his cutting tools in perfect condition. A hard ax cannot be filed, so that puts the taboo on the ax with high temper.

I have emphasized the necessity for perfection in the trapper's ax, and that you may realize the seriousness of this, I will repeat what I said at the beginning of this article, that often the camper's life depends on the ax and its ability to stand the woodsman's test. The northern or western trapper frequently finds it necessary to make long trips in terribly cold weather, camping out night after night. Since the entire camp outfit and food supply must be carried on these journeys the outfit taken must of necessity be meager. Only a single blanket and a small, light canvas shelter can be taken and to sleep without a fire under such conditions is out of the question. A good hot fire must be kept going and such a fire will consume nearly half a cord of wood during the long northern night. This must be cut into lengths that can be handled and what would become of the camper if his ax were to break before the night's wood was cut; he far from the home camp, darkness at hand, and the temperature far below the zero mark. Freezing to death could be the only possible outcome, unless he could retrace his steps in the dark and travel all the long night. So you see it will pay you to test your ax well before you take it into the woods, and take only one that will stand the most severe trial, even if you break a dozen axes before you get one that is satisfactory.

What I have said of the material of the ax head applies with equal force to the ax handle. It should be of sound, strong, straight-grained, springy wood, for sometimes a broken ax handle is as disastrous as a broken blade. I have never found a better wood for ax handles than good second-growth hickory, but young white oak, the sapwood, is almost as good.

Even if the temper and material of the ax and handle leave nothing to be desired, if the ax is not of the right pattern, weight and length, it will be unsatisfactory. Perhaps the most useful pattern for the wilderness trapper is that having a long narrow blade, but this should not be carried to the extreme, as a narrow blade is more easily broken. The long blade is very useful when cutting holes into the sides of trees for setting marten traps or in making deadfalls, and for many similar uses about camp where the simplicity of the outfit necessitates making of the ax a general utility tool. If made extremely long and narrow, however, the consequent weakening and the fact that a narrow blade is not so satisfactory for hewing and for chopping in heavy wood more than offset the good qualities of the long blade. The eye of the ax should be large, so that the handle may be large in the eye of the ax and close by the head, and it should be enlarged slightly at both edges. This will make it possible to wedge the handle so that it will hold the head solidly, and it will leave the handle if fitted well, thickest where the greatest strain comes, close to the eye of the ax.

In the shaping of an ax blade there are some rules that must be remembered and adhered to if the maximum of efficiency is desired. These same rules must be known to the user of the tool, for in the grinding, a bad chopping ax may often be made better, while bad grinding makes it worse. One of these rules, and the most important, is to have the blade or bit thinnest on the "inside corner," which is the end of the blade nearest to the user. The hasty conclusion would be that if this corner were thinnest, the opposite side of the blade should be thickest. This is wrong. The thickest part of the blade should be two-thirds of the way across from the inside corner, the place marked X in the drawing of what I call "the woodsman's perfect ax." A blade so shaped will have the maximum chopping power, will sink easily into the tree, will burst the chip well, and will not bind in the wood.

I think it best that the ax head be made of wrought iron, split, and a welded-in steel bit. This gives the maximum strength. The butt of the ax might also be of steel, and would be more convenient for the trapper if it had a claw for drawing trap staples. If the eye of the ax is not tempered in the least the entire head may be made of steel and will be almost, if not fully, as strong, while the making is simplified.

You may wonder why a trapper need concern himself with the making of the ax if he can buy it ready made, but if there is a trapper's perfect ax made, I do not know of it. I know, however, that many readers of this article have in their locality a blacksmith who is fully capable of making such an ax to order.

For the northern forest and the western mountain district the ax that I would recommend would weigh only about two pounds, handle not included in the weight. Some of you may think this entirely too light, but the northern Indians use axes of only one and a half pounds, and find them heavy enough for practical purposes, while light to carry on the trail. To make a light ax effective, however, it must have a long handle. An ax like this should have a handle of from thirty to thirty-four inches over all, and with such a tool you will be surprised to see what heavy work can be done.

As said before, I do not know of a better wood for ax handles than hickory. It is very strong and springy and it always stays smooth; as cold to the touch as the ax head itself. It is difficult to get ax handle wood when we reach the upper part of the northern tier of states or Canada, for hickory is not found there. Hard maple is used extensively for ax handles in these places; but it does not compare well with hickory. About the only way to get a handle of the proper length for the woodsman's ax is to remove the handle from a large ax and work it over into the proper shape and thickness. The full size single bit axes usually have clubs of handles and there is plenty of wood on which to work.

Did you ever wonder why an ax handle is curved in an S shape? It is made to fit the hands of the user without strain on the arms or wrists, and this curved shape enables him to hold the ax more solidly when striking a blow than could be done with a straight handle. The handle should be quite thick and "hand-fitting" near the end where it is grasped by the left hand (or right, according to whether the user is right or left handed), but the other part should be shaped so the hand can slide easily back and forth while chopping.

The handle should be fastened into the ax with a wedge, which in turn is held in place by a screw. The wedge has a head so that when the screw is removed it is easily pried out, and then if it is necessary to remove the handle the ax can be driven into the top of a stump or into a log, and the handle easily detached. Such wedges may be bought from almost any hardware company.

This is my idea of what a woodsman's ax should be, and such a tool weighing two pounds, with a well-shaped handle thirty or thirty-two inches long from the end to the ax eye makes an efficient tool of light weight and a great article for use on the trail or trap line. I might say of it, as Davy Crockett said of his knife: "It will jump higher, dive deeper, shave more hogs and stand more bending without breaking than any other made."

As nearly all woodsmen are good axmen, it may seem superfluous to give advice regarding the care of an ax, the way to grind it, and how to use it, but this article is not intended for those who know, but for these who do not, and are desirous to learn. By a reckless, careless blow at a hemlock knot I have seen the entire bit broken off an ax, while other axes of no better temper but properly ground and well handled have gone through an entire season of "bark peeling" without a nick of any consequence. I have seen axes ruined in a half day's work cutting brush close to the ground, and have myself used an ax day after day at the same kind of work without making a nick which could not be whetted out in a few minutes with a small ax stone.

There is also a lot of danger in the careless use of an ax. I have known of at least two men who have cut their heads by splitting wood under a clothes line. The same thing may happen when working under a tree with low, drooping branches. In the woods it will pay double to make it a rule on every occasion to be sure that there is not even the smallest twig in the way to catch the ax before you make a stroke with it. Trim all brush away from around a tree before you commence to cut it, and observe the same precautions when you cut it into lengths or when lopping the branches. When cutting the fallen tree into lengths, the common and most convenient way is to stand on the log and chop it half way through between the feet, then turn and cut the other side in the same way. Use double precaution when doing this, for I have known of an ax being deflected and a nasty cut being the result. It seems that the smallest branch or sprout can turn the ax toward the foot of the chopper.

When chopping down timber the tree can nearly always be thrown either of three ways--the way the tree inclines or to either side, but not the opposite way from its inclination. In addition to the incline of the tree, the influence of the wind and the weight of the branches must be considered, and when all of these forces are brought to bear the timber cutter must be well "onto his job" to know just how to cut the tree to make it fall in the desired direction. A good chopper, however, can throw the tree to any spot designated within the falling zone almost every time. The wind is a great factor and must be considered, especially when the breeze is strong or when the tree appears to stand perfectly straight. A tree on a slope that appears to be perpendicular will, in nearly every case, fall down hill if free to fall as it wills, providing there is no contrary wind. If the tree really stands perfectly upright and there is no wind, it will fall best toward the side that has the most branches, or to the side having the greatest weight. If allowance must be made, however, for both wind and gravity, it is then the judgment of the chopper is put to the test. If he can estimate accurately the power of each of these forces, he can drop his tree exactly where he wants to, but how?

It is very simple. In cutting a tree a notch is cut on the side toward which the tree is to fall. Remember that this notch should be cut into the center of the tree, and when finished, should be exactly at a right angle to the line on which the tree is to fall. A notch is then cut on the opposite side, just a little higher on the tree, and when this notch is cut in almost to the center the tree will fall. If the tree is notched to fall the way it inclines and there is nothing to prevent it going that way, the second notch should be cut exactly parallel to the first. If, however, the tree leans a little to one side, if there are more branches on that side, or if the wind blows in that direction, the second cut should not be parallel with the first, but should be farther from it on the side from which the wind comes, so that there will be more wood to break on that side. In no case should the notches entirely meet on the other side, for if they do, should the tree be cut entirely off on one side, it will settle farther over to that side. Just how near you dare cut it off on the one side and how much you must hold on the opposite side can be learned only from experience.

There are other little things that have a certain amount of influence. For instance, if there is nothing to interfere, the tree in falling will draw slightly toward the high side of the notch first cut. Then, too, if the notch is not perfectly cut, if it is more acute on one side than on the other, as the tree falls the top and bottom of the notch will meet on one side before they do on the other, and this is certain to swing the tree slightly toward the wide or obtuse side of the notch. A heavy weight of branches, too, on one side may cause the tree to roll slightly in falling.

For your own safety it is always best to get back a safe distance from the tree when it starts to fall, because if it falls over a rock, a log, or a little rise in the ground the butt of the tree will kick and may lift your head off, which would be decidedly unpleasant. If there are other trees in the way, look out for falling branches.

I have already told how to cut the tree in sections, but the branches must be trimmed off before it can be cut up entirely. In trimming, work from the butt toward the top, as the branches usually grow that way, cut easier, and are not in the way while chopping. Hold the ax rigidly when trimming, as the knots are likely to be hard and an ax that is not held firmly may break or bend. Make it a rule to do no more trimming than necessary on such woods as hemlock and fir, which have very hard knots. Frozen wood is also likely to break the ax.

When splitting wood strike straight and don't try to spring the split open by prying with the ax, for that is the easiest way I know to break an ax handle. Usually it is easier and better to merely start the split with the ax and finish opening it up with wooden wedges, using the ax only to drive the wedges and to cut the contrary fibres. Just how to split a block easiest can be learned only from experience. Sometimes it is best to go right at a knot or the toughest place, and sometimes you must attack the clearest place, depending on circumstances. Ordinarily a piece of wood splits easiest by starting the end of the block with the ax and following up with a pair of wedges, using the ax to cut the binding splints.

Learn to cut close to the ground without striking the stones. It requires care, that is all, but one careless stroke may mean a badly damaged ax and an hour or more of hard work to make it sharp again. Don't strike downward when cutting brush; grasp the shrub, if a small one, with the left hand, and cut it by a single stroke, as illustrated, using the ax with one hand only. If the shrub is a large one, handle the ax with both hands and cut close to the ground, making a strong, slashing blow.

Grinding an ax requires some care, but it is really quite easy and it is surprising how many axmen will not attempt to grind an ax. I have known many good choppers, working in log camps, who could not grind an ax, or at least thought they could not.

As the ax comes from the store it usually has a decided bevel on the edge, and the first grinding means considerable work, for this bevel must be ground entirely away. Start well back on the blade and grind it slightly rounding down to the edge, until the edge is clean and even, then grind the other side in the same way. Some axmen maintain that the ax cuts better, or to use the woodsman's expression, "draws" better if in finishing the grinding the ax is given a wabbling motion. Keep in mind what I said about the shape of the blade, and if it is not already the proper form, try to improve it each time you put it on the grindstone. After grinding, whet the edge thoroughly with a fine whetstone until the scratched effect caused by grinding has given place to a smooth surface and a clean keen edge. If you do not whet it after grinding, the edge will crumble away and the ax will cut "dead."

The first grinding will tell you whether the ax is hard or soft. You can tell by the sound of it and by its grip on the grindstone. If it is soft it cuts rapidly, grips the stone hard and gives a dull, dead sound. If hard, it gives a ringing sound and the stone glides smoothly under it, cutting slowly and wearing the steel bright.

The woodsman cannot take a grindstone into the woods and the best substitute is a file. I always choose a flat mill file about eight inches long. Always push the file from well back on the bit down to the edge, and never from the edge towards the eye of the ax, or you will be almost certain to cut your hands before you have finished. After the filing, whet the ax until you have a smooth, sharp edge.

It will be evident that an ax that must be kept sharp with a file and whetstone must not be too hard, for a file will not cut hard steel. The axes sold by the Hudson's Bay Company to the Indian trappers are very soft, so that they may be filed easily, and the Indian files only on the edge, so that the ax soon has a bevel almost equal to a chisel. The average Indian takes just about as much care of an ax as a woman does of a butcher knife.

As the minister says, "Just one word more," and that is in regard to carrying the ax on the trail. I have tried many ways, but do not find anything more satisfactory than having a leather pouch to slip over the head of the ax and tucking it head down in the pack. When drawing a toboggan it is slipped under the binding cords. If I am carrying my outfit and do not have a gun, I carry the ax in my hand, which is the most satisfactory way on such occasions. The Indian thrusts his ax through his sash, handle to the rear and blade down, but I never fancied that way of carrying an ax.

SNOWSHOES--HOW TO MAKE THEM

My first efforts at snowshoe making came about through trying to repair the broken filling of a pair of Indian made snowshoes. In removing the winding from the toe cord I accidentally discovered the place where the filling had been tied at the finish of the last round. This filling was badly worn and I reasoned that if I could remove it in the reverse order from that in which it had been strung I would know how to weave the intricate web of a snowshoe. I tried it out, successfully filling the old frames, and while it was far from perfect work I had at least learned the secret of snowshoe weaving.

Removing the stringing from a pair of snowshoes, carefully noting every turn, twist and loop, is the best way to learn how the filling is strung, but not every person who has ambitions along this line has a pair of snowshoes so much worn that he would care to risk removing the rawhide strands. Clearly written instructions, supplemented with working drawings, are the next best.

When a pair of snowshoes are to be made the first thing is to plan the size, shape and general character of the shoes. The frames, or bows, are the first step of the actual making.

Snowshoe frames are made of tough, light wood. Many kinds of wood are used, and while I am not prepared to say positively which kind is best I believe that young, straight grained white ash is about as good a wood as can be found. But my experience has been mostly with white birch, and my instructions for making the frames apply to the use of this wood in particular, for it is peculiar in many ways, and cannot be split and worked as freely as certain other kinds of wood.

To find a suitable tree for this purpose is sometimes difficult. I once went into the bush a distance of seven miles to get a tree which I had found, split it, and carried one half home. I surely earned that wood, but I made from it a pair of frames which were so light that old bushmen said I would break them on my first trip; however, I used them all winter, then gave them to an old German who wore them until the filling was completely gone, yet the frames were still good.

The tree from which the frames are to be made should be not more than eight inches in diameter, and one of six inches is better. It should have drooping branches, and must have eight or ten feet of the trunk straight and clean, free of limbs, and absolutely without a particle of twist to the grain. Such trees may be found occasionally growing along the edge of a swamp.

After the tree has been felled and a section of the proper length cut off, a groove about one and a half inches deep is carefully cut the entire length along one side, care being used not to strike hard, as that would injure the wood. When the groove is finished a similar one is cut on the opposite side. The stick should be split with wooden wedges, and if it is properly done the split will follow the grooves. The best half should then be chosen for the proposed snowshoe frames, and this should be ripped lengthwise with a saw, or split, as desired. Each of the pieces will make a frame or bow.

One side of the stick is then cut and planed until it is perfectly straight, and its face at a right angle to the bark side, or at least it must be so in the middle, which forms the toe of the snowshoe, for there should be nothing taken off the bark side, not even the bark, until after the wood is bent into shape for the snowshoe frame. It is best if the entire stick is worked out from the bark side, but the wood may be planed straight at all parts except in the middle, where the greatest strain comes. Then the third side of the stick is marked off with a marking gauge and either cut or sawed to the mark. The fourth side, the inside of the stick, which will be the inside of the finished frame, is then cut down to the proper dimensions, but on this side an even thickness is not maintained, the toe portion being cut thinnest, with the heel--ends of the stick--coming next. For a snowshoe of average size, say 44 inches in length and 14 inches wide, the stick should measure eight and a half feet in length, one inch in width, seven-eighths inch thick at the parts which will become the middle of the shoe (B to C in figure one), one-half inch at A, and about five-eighths inch at the ends.

Before anything more can be done with the wood a form for bending the frames must be made. A convenient form is shown in figure two. For steaming the wood properly it is necessary to have a steaming box, which is merely a long case made of narrow boards, open at both ends. The stick is placed in this case and the steam from a boiling tea kettle turned in one end so that the hot steam travels the entire length. The wood should be steamed thus an hour and then it is ready for bending.

Figure two shows how the wood is bent and secured on the form. The toe must be formed very carefully, bending only a little at first, then releasing, then bending a little more, and so on until the wood can be easily and safely bent to complete shape and secured by nailing blocks to the form. The form should be made from two-inch planks, so that it will accommodate the two frames. The wood is allowed to dry thoroughly on the form before filling, and this will require at least two weeks.

After the frames are dry they may be taken from the form, the tail end of each fastened and the crossbars fitted into place. The ends may be secured with a wood screw until after the frames have been strung, but the screw should then be removed and the ends tied with rawhide, through gimlet holes, the part between being counter sunk so that the thongs will be protected from wear. This is shown in figure four.

The crossbars are pieces of flat, strong wood, about one and a fourth inches wide and nearly a half inch thick, with rounded edges. These should be placed about 16 or 17 inches apart, measuring from center to center, and so placed that when the frame is suspended on the hands midway between these two sticks the tail will outweigh the toe by just a few ounces. These cross-bars should be carefully mortised into the frame as shown in the small diagram in center of figure three.

In both sides of the frame from D to E, also from F to G, gimlet holes are bored through the bows from outside to inside at intervals of two inches, or a little more, the holes being in pairs obliquely placed, and countersunk between. Three holes are also bored through each crossbar, as shown.

The frames are now ready for filling. Regarding material for filling, for ordinary use, there is nothing equal to cowhide, a fairly heavy skin. The green hide should be placed under running water for a week or more, until the hair can be pulled out easily. The hair should then be pulled, or scraped off, but care must be used that the grain of the skin is not broken or scraped away. The hide should then be thoroughly stretched and dried in an airy but shady place. When dry it may be cut into strands. A whole hide will fill several pairs of shoes. The portion along the back is best and this should be used for filling the middle section. The lighter parts from the edges of the skin will answer for stringing the heels and toes. All strands should be cut length-wise of the skin, and full length. Their width will depend on the thickness of the skin, the weight of filling desired in the snowshoe, the general character of the snow in which they will be used, and the size of mesh in the web. If cut while dry, then soaked, stretched, and again allowed to dry, as they will be when strung into the frames, it will be found that the length of the strands will be increased greatly, while the thickness will be much decreased. It is well to cut several trial widths, so that the proper weight of strand may be determined. For a coarse webbed shoe the thongs, after being stretched and dried, should be about five-sixteenths of an inch wide for the middle portion of the shoe; for the ends an eighth inch is sufficiently heavy. These strands of hide should all be soaked and stretched thoroughly, allowed to dry while stretched, and then soaked again just before using, and strung into the frames while wet.

The ends are filled first and as I always commence with the toe I will describe my method of stringing that part first. A strand of the water-soaked rawhide is stretched tightly around the inside of the toe portion through the little gimlet holes, as shown in figure five, starting and finishing at one of the holes in the forward crossbar. This thong is called the lanyard, and its purpose is to hold the filling which is woven into the toe.

A small needle of very hard wood, or bone, is used for filling the ends. I have shown in the drawing how the filling runs. Starting in the lower left-hand corner it goes up to the part marked 1, passes around the lanyard, twists back around itself about an inch and then goes down to 2, there passing around the lanyard and again twisting around itself, then around the lanyard at 3, a single twist, and then across to 4, where it again turns around the lanyard, then twists down around the first strand to the starting point, under the lanyard at 5 and up to 6. From there the strand loops and twists the same as in the first round, except that at the lower corners it loops back around the first round, then twists around itself, then around the lanyard, and on the same as before. This looping back of every second round is continued until the filling extends across the entire forward part of the toe, when it is discontinued, and each round is made like the first. This looping back throws the filling alternately from side to side.

The filling must be stretched in very tightly and must not be allowed to slip. When one strand is used up another is joined on in the manner shown. Care must be used to see that every round crosses the others in the proper way, and all the twists must be made alike. The amateur should keep these pictures before him for a guide. Occasionally he should look his work over carefully, and if an error is discovered the stringing should be removed and made right. It will be necessary to straighten out the completed portions occasionally, and for this purpose I use a round-pointed hardwood stick. The weave will finish at the center of the crossbar.

The filling in the tail end or heel is very simple and is shown so plainly in the diagram that I think a description superfluous. It starts at the upper right-hand corner and finishes in the middle of the crossbar. I again advise that great care be used to get the twists and loops right, and to see that the thongs cross in the proper way.

Filling the middle section is also more simple than it appears at first glance, for it is practically a repetition of the system used in the toe portion. The edges of the wood should be rounded slightly to prevent them cutting the thongs. The Northern Indians wind this part of the frame with a strip of cloth, to make a sort of cushion for the tightly stretched thongs. This cloth winding serves its purpose well, but in a country where wet snows are common its use is not advised, for the cloth holds the dampness and causes the rawhide to rot.

While the system of stringing this part may appear quite intricate it is in reality simple, and it is the more elaborate arrangement of the forward portion that makes this section appear so complicated. The stout bunch of thongs shown in the drawing, known as the toe cord, is strung in first, the rawhide strand being tightly stretched and crossing the frame some four or five times, a loop being thrown around the whole on the inside of the frame on both sides in the last round. This should be so executed that the last loop will be on the right-hand side. The thong then loops around this bunch of cords again about an inch from the frame, from there being strung up around the cross-bar, then twisting around itself back to the starting point, from there passing down diagonally to the center of the rear cross-bar, where it loops and twists again, then up to the upper left-hand corner, where it twists up the same as on the opposite side. From here it will be noted the thong runs down a short distance and loops around the left side of the frame. The simple loop used for this purpose is clearly shown in a small drawing. From this loop the rawhide strand twists back about an inch, then runs straight across the shoe to the right, where the loop is repeated. This completes the first round of the filling. The second round starts in about the same way as the first, goes up to the crossbar at the left of the first round, twists back to the toe cord, from there to the rear crossbar, then up to the left-hand corner. Here the system changes, for the strand is run up and twisted around the toe cord and first round of filling before it is looped to the frame. After looping it is brought across to the right, where it again loops and twists, and then twists around the toe cord and first round of filling exactly as on the left, after which it is run down to the rear crossbar. In this way the stringing continues, every second round twisting forward around the preceding two. This binds the filling firmly and, it will be noted, also alternates the successive rounds from side to side. When the process of filling has progressed so far that there are four twists around the forward crossbar, on each side, this twisting should be stopped and the remainder of the forward portion left open, for this is where the foot of the wearer works through when walking. This open space should measure about four and a half inches in width, and if it does not the filling must be shifted. In very coarse meshed shoes three twists on each side will be all that can be given. An extra turn around the toe cord should also be made on each of these two twists of the filling, for considerable strain is thrown onto this portion. From this point on, instead of running forward and twisting around the crossbar, the filling simply twists around the toe cord. But here care must be used to keep the filling smooth and the toe cord flat, otherwise sore feet will result from wearing the shoes. The weave finishes in the center of the toe cord and there the end of the thong should be securely and neatly fastened. The last touch is to wind a strand of rawhide about the twisted thongs on each side of the foot opening and around the toe cord, to make these parts smooth and protect them from wear.

In the drawings of the heel and toe sections it will be noted that I have shown the web tied to the crossbars with twine. This is not a permanent feature, for when the center of the shoe has been filled these strings may be removed.

After making one pair of snowshoes the workman will undoubtedly see wherein he can improve on the design of the shoe, on the style of filling, or in the method of making. There are many labor-saving devices and ways of handling the material that make the work easier. But these the amateur snowshoe maker will learn in time and I believe I have now given all the instructions necessary for those who want to make their own snowshoes.

SNOWSHOES--HOW TO USE THEM

Snowshoes of one kind or another are used in all northern countries, for they are a necessity to those who live in the snowy north, and earn their living by outdoor work. Where or when they originated would be hard to say, definitely, but since it is in America that they have been perfected and were used by the Indians when this country was first visited by white men, it seems reasonable that the snowshoe is an invention of the early North American savages, and probably was first used many thousands of years ago.

The snowshoe is copied from one of Mother Nature's many unpatented inventions. She is the inventor of the snowshoe, for she gave this gift to many of the northern animals, for instance the marten, the snowshoe rabbit, and even the caribou. The marten and the rabbit have large heavily furred feet, especially large and furry during the winter, and because these feet cover a large area of snow in proportion to the animals' weight, they support their owners where animals unprovided with a "snowshoe" would sink, and would have great difficulty in traveling. The caribou has a highly split foot of large size; its spreads gives down under the animal's weight until the dew claws also help in supporting it, and thus cover so much surface that this big deer can walk on a snow crust that would not carry a man.

As a further illustration of nature's use of the snowshoe principle, compare the foot of a Canada lynx with that of a bobcat or bay lynx. The former animal, meant for an existence in the North and the high altitudes where deep snows prevail, has a very large, furry paw that supports the animal wonderfully on the loose snow, whereas the more southern wildcat, a very closely related species, has a foot relatively small and with shorter fur. The snowshoe therefore was merely copied from nature by mankind and no doubt it was a study of the natural animal snowshoe that gave the early-day savage the great idea and set him to work on a scheme by which he could increase the size of his feet in a convenient and practical manner, and thus be able to walk on the snow instead of wading through it.

Whatever may have been the style of the first snowshoes or the material used in them, the first white visitors to the American continent found the Indians using snowshoes with frames of wood, strung with rawhide, in fact, exactly the same as are being used to-day. While the white men may have sought to improve on materials and general form, it is certain that they could find nothing better or even as good, for the Indians' snowshoe was adopted and is being used in its original form to-day where serious use is required. Snowshoes are often modified in form for the use of the white people in and near the settlements, but for the rough, wild country the Indians' snowshoes cannot be surpassed, unless it be in the selection of materials and in workmanship.

Everybody knows that snow is not always of the same nature. The character of the snow depends on weather conditions. Cold weather causes it to remain loose and fluffy; warm days and cold nights settle the snow and form a crust, while during midday it becomes wet and packy; wind following a snowstorm makes drifts of more or less solidity. These are all very different conditions of snow and a snowshoe that is perfect in form for one kind of travel or one kind of snow cannot be perfect for another, although it may answer for all kinds of use. In widely separated districts the prevailing weather conditions may cause one or another condition of snow to predominate the season through, and as a consequence the proper snowshoes to use in any particular place are the ones adapted to the prevailing snow conditions. Likewise the nature of the country with respect to surface and vegetation greatly influence the styles of snowshoes.

The sporting goods catalogues show snowshoes of very different forms and proportions, and the extreme conditions, not for general use. But the catalogues seldom give any information on this subject that will aid the tyro in selecting snowshoes adapted to his use, and if uninformed on the subject he is all at sea.

Long, narrow snowshoes are used for fast travel in open, fairly level country. In general, they are not good on rough ground, in brushy districts, or where the snow does not fall to a good depth. If the toes are turned up somewhat and more or less pointed they are better for travel in loose, powdery snow. But the upturned toes render the shoes worthless for hill climbing, as the frames will not take a grip on the snow, while on hard trails or crusted snow, such as we sometimes find on the frozen lakes, they make the wearer's feet sore through lack of spring in the frames.

The most perfect type of snowshoes for general use is that shown in figure five. It has the average dimensions and proportions, all extremes being avoided. It measures about 44 inches in length by 14 inches in width at the widest place, and this is the proper size for the average person and general conditions. A heavy man, if of average height, or taller, can use larger shoes to advantage, while for a smaller and lighter man slightly smaller snowshoes are better adapted. The toe is round and flat. It slips easily through the brush, takes a good grip on the hard snow of the hillsides and covers enough snow to keep it up near the surface while the narrow heel cuts down. The tail is short, which adapts the shoe better for turning in brushy places and reduces liability of breakage when crossing logs. The stringing, it will be noted, is heavy and coarse, which makes the shoe better for damp, sticky snow. A fine mesh filling is all right where the snow is always in a loose, dry condition, but when the snow becomes packy it closes up on the web and makes continuous trouble. The ends are filled with a finer material, for here the stringing is subject to less strain.

The Indians of Canada frequently fill the heel and toe of their snowshoes with fine twine instead of rawhide. This material wears much better than would be expected, providing the snow is deep and the snags well covered, as they are up there in winter. But a twine filling is not nearly as good as rawhide and is used only because it is a more convenient material.

Many kinds of raw skins are used for filling snowshoes, but there is nothing better than cowhide. Horsehide is said to wear very well. Calfskin is a good material for stringing light shoes, for use on broken trails or for women and children. Moose and caribou skin are much used in the North, but are not as durable as cowhide. Except that the hair is removed from the hide it undergoes no other preparation for snowshoe filling, no oiling nor tanning being permissible.

In the frames also various kinds of wood are used, this depending partly on the woods obtainable where the snowshoes are made. A tough, light wood is required. White men usually make use of white ash, a very good material for the purpose. Black ash is also used, but is a poor wood for snowshoe frames. The Canadian Indians use white and yellow birch, both very good if good judgment is used in selecting the trees. In the far Northwest snowshoe frames are sometimes made of spruce, while in the West service wood is frequently employed. There are many other woods that will answer very well.

In the illustration are shown two patterns of long, narrow snowshoes. One has a pointed, upturned toe, the frame being made in two pieces, fastened together with rawhide at heel and toe. This style of shoe I think originated in Northwestern Canada, anyway it is used there by Indians and whites alike. Snowshoes of this pattern are usually made five feet long and 12 inches wide. The toe curves up seven or eight inches and the length from the toe cords on which the wearer's foot rests to the point of the upturned toe must exceed the length from the ball of his foot to his knee; if it is not so, the toe of the snowshoe will strike his knee when he lifts his foot.