Camping in the Winter Woods: Adventures of Two Boys in the Maine Woods
Date: 2020-11-24T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Teenage boys -- Juvenile fiction; Camping -- Juvenile fiction; Winter -- Juvenile fiction; Maine -- Juvenile fiction; Hunting -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: Camping in the Winter Woods: Adventures of Two Boys in the Maine Woods

Author: Elmer Russell Gregor

Release date: November 24, 2020 [eBook #63873]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAMPING IN THE WINTER WOODS: ADVENTURES OF TWO BOYS IN THE MAINE WOODS ***

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Camping in the Winter Woods, by Elmer Russell Gregor

Note:

Images of the original pages are available through Villanova University Digital Library. See https://digital.library.villanova.edu/Item/vudl:380229

IN THE WINTER WOODS

CAMPING
IN THE
WINTER WOODS

ADVENTURES OF TWO BOYS
IN THE MAINE WOODS

BY
ELMER RUSSELL GREGOR

ILLUSTRATED

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXII

COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1912

K-M

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED TO MY NEPHEW

CHARLES RUSSELL GREGOR

A LAD WITH ALL THE “EAR-MARKS”
OF THE TRUE WOODSMAN

THE AUTHOR

CONTENTS

CHAP. | | PAGE
I. | Into the Wilderness | 1
II. | A Wild Ride | 20
III. | Bees and Wildcats | 35
IV. | A Deer Hunt | 63
V. | A Forest Fire | 75
VI. | An Interesting Afternoon | 86
VII. | A Visit to the Beavers | 98
VIII. | A Bull Moose and a Narrow Escape | 114
IX. | Fishing Through the Ice | 127
X. | Winter Settles Down | 137
XI. | An Adventure with a Bear | 150
XII. | Lost! | 166
XIII. | On the Trap Line with Bill | 188
XIV. | A Lynx Makes Trouble | 205
XV. | Bill Captures a Prize | 220
XVI. | A Visitor | 232
XVII. | Christmas at the Cabin | 241
XVIII. | An Encounter with Wild Dogs | 255
XIX. | An Indian Cave and Its Occupants | 270
XX. | A Fight on the Ice | 287
XXI. | Spring and Its Sports | 300
XXII. | Treed! | 316
XXIII. | Off to the Lumber Camp | 332
XXIV. | A Daring Rescue | 353
XXV. | Called Home | 371

ILLUSTRATIONS

IN THE WINTER WOODS | Frontispiece
GEORGE LANDED FAIRLY ASTRIDE THE BACK OF THE FRIGHTENED BUCK | Facing p. | 24
GROUSE DRUMMING ON A LOG | “ | 40
FIGHTING A FOREST FIRE | “ | 80
MAKING A PORTAGE | “ | 98
BEAVER HOUSES | “ | 108
THE WHITE MANTLE OF WINTER COVERED THE EARTH | “ | 138
THE BEAR STRUCK OUT WITH ONE HUGE PAW AND SENT GEORGE OVER BACKWARD | “ | 158
CAUTIOUSLY THE TRAPPER ADVANCED | “ | 216
“WATCH OUT; HERE THEY COME!” | “ | 262
GATHERING THE MAPLE-SUGAR SAP | “ | 306
“RIDING” A LOG DOWN THE STREAM | “ | 354

CAMPING IN THE WINTER WOODS

CAMPING IN
THE WINTER WOODS

I
INTO THE WILDERNESS

As the train stopped before a small station built of logs, two boys carrying guns and rods sprang from their seats and hurried out into the fragrant, pine-laden air of northern Maine. They were Edward Williams and his friend, George Rand. They waved their hands to the conductor as he swung himself back upon the train, and then they turned to face a vast forest which seemed to surround the tiny station on every side.

As they were too young to enter college until the following year, the lads had been sent to spend the fall and winter in the Maine woods. Their fathers, both outdoor enthusiasts, whose boyhood days had been passed on a farm, believed that a taste of pioneer life would strengthen the boys for their life-work. They would be thrown largely upon their own resources, and their parents hoped that the results would justify the experiment. It was to be a new venture in education—a course for the building of clean, self-reliant manhood.

Ed and George were accordingly intrusted to the care and tutorage of Ben Adams, a tried and trusted old woodsman, who had guided their fathers for many years. Ben was told to teach them whatever he considered it necessary for them to know. They had their text-books, also, and a tutor was to keep in touch by letter. So at the end of a two days’ journey we find the city boys standing curiously on the threshold of a new world.

Suddenly a friendly voice called to them, and turning, they saw a figure which seemed to belong to the forests.

“Well, boys, you got here all right, eh?”

They looked up to see a tall, gray-haired man dressed in corduroys smiling down at them. His face was tanned and kindly, and his keen, penetrating dark eyes looked at them approvingly; for he winked at the young station agent, who had just greeted him, and nodded toward the lads.

“Are you Mr. Adams?” asked Ed.

“Yes, I reckon that’s me; but I guess you’d better call me Ben. It sounds more natural up here,” he laughed.

The boys smiled at each other, and then Ed offered his hand to the guide, who smothered it in his own great brown one.

“I am Ed Williams; and this is my friend, George Rand,” he explained, introducing his chum.

Adams then made them acquainted with the agent, and said they had come to take a course at nature’s school in the woods.

“Well, now that we all know one another, I’ll get the team, and we’ll load up and mosey away from here,” and, so saying, the guide disappeared around the corner of the station.

The agent had departed to report the passing of the train which had just gone.

“Well, what about it?” asked Ed of his friend.

“I think it is going to be great!” declared George, looking off into the woods which they were soon to enter.

Ben drove up with the team and, assisted by the agent, began loading the luggage into his wagon. When everything was finally tucked away, he called the boys.

“You fellows had better telegraph some word to your folks to let them know you arrived all right. When we get into the woods it may be some time before you can send a letter out,” he advised.

“I almost forgot,” confessed Ed, guiltily, as he and George followed the agent into the station to send a telegram to their parents.

When they returned, the guide was sitting on the wagon, reins in hand, impatient to start for camp. The boys quickly climbed aboard and found seats on top of the baggage. Ben spoke to the team of wiry little mountain ponies, and with a sudden jerk the wagon started and rattled down the road toward the wall of towering pines at the edge of the forest.

Once in the woods, the road became rougher, and the ponies subsided to a walk. “Hang on there, you fellows!” shouted the guide, each time the wheels dropped into a rut or bumped over the top of a rock. The boys found it great sport, and Ed declared it made him think of stories he had read about Rocky Mountain roads.

A low-hanging hemlock limb swept the cap from George’s head, and Ben stopped the team that he might go back and recover it. George jumped down. He was about to pick up his cap when something went tearing through the woods at the roadside with such a tremendous noise that he half-started toward the wagon in alarm.

Ed grasped the guide by the arm and inquired breathlessly, “What’s that?”

“Don’t get scared so easy,” laughed Ben. “That was only a partridge, or ruffed grouse some call them. You’ll see and shoot lots of them; yes, and eat them, too. Why, look at George, he’s pale yet,” he chuckled.

George had meanwhile recovered his cap and climbed thankfully back to his seat. As they traveled along, Ben told about the bird that had given them their first fright in the woods.

“He has lots of tricks to fool you with, but you fellows will learn them all before you go back home,” he promised.

For some time they bumped along over the rough wood-road in silence, the boys gazing with interest into the deep, somber woods which stretched away for miles on both sides of them. Once George thought he saw some large animal sneaking off between the trees. He pulled Ed excitedly by the sleeve and endeavored to make him see it. They spoke to Ben about it, but he only smiled and said he guessed it was nothing much.

“You’ll see plenty of animals later on,” he told them; and they poked each other in gleeful anticipation.

All at once the guide stopped the team and pointed down at a muddy spot in the road.

“See anything?” he asked.

They looked carefully, and finally Ed said: “Why, yes, there are some marks down there.”

“What kind of marks?” demanded Ben.

They had to confess they did not know; and then he told them they were the footprints of deer. Instantly both boys were down from the wagon, bending eagerly over those interesting tracks. Neither of them had ever seen a wild deer, though they had heard their fathers tell many stories of these graceful creatures, and how Ben tracked them through the woods.

“Don’t you notice any difference in them?” he asked.

“They all look very much alike, except that some are bigger than others,” declared George, glancing over his shoulder as though he half expected to see the animals themselves walk into view.

“Is that all you notice?” persisted Ben.

“That is all we can see,” replied Ed.

“Well, now let me tell you about them,” and the guide began to explain. “You see, there are large tracks, medium-sized tracks, and small ones. The large ones, you’ll observe, are rather blunt, and so I know they were made by a buck. He blunts the tips of his toes by stamping around. The medium-sized ones are quite sharp at the point, and were undoubtedly made by a doe, and the small tracks beside them were made by her fawn, a little deer born last spring.

“Then you’ll see, if you look sharp, that the big tracks cover the medium-sized ones in several places, which shows that the buck came along some time after the doe and her fawn had passed. Notice that the little pools in the big tracks are still roiled, which means that the buck has passed only a short time ago.

“Now, look here; see, his tracks are nearer together and run into one another. He heard something which frightened him, possibly us, and started to trot away. Here is where he turned from the road. See that long mark in the bank? He left the road, jumped up that steep place, and went galloping away through the woods. Yes, here are some broken twigs where he went through.”

Ben smiled at the boys and led them to the wagon.

“Well, all aboard, we’ll go on now,” he said.

The lads looked at him in wonder. They did not understand how he could read so much from the few marks in the mud, which, had he not called them to their attention, they would never have noticed.

“Well, that’s your first lesson,” said Ben, as he started the team. “You’ll have many more.”

“My, you know a lot!” declared Ed, enthusiastically. “Who told you all that, Ben?”

“‘The Old Man of the Woods,’” he laughed, and the boys wondered who that might be.

At the foot of a long hill they came to a bit of low, open country, apparently a swamp, or marsh. The wagon bumped and bounced so that the boys had all they could do to hang on. Looking down, they were surprised to find that the road was made of logs laid side by side, lengthwise, across it. They asked Ben for an explanation, and he said it was what was called a “corduroy” road; so named because of its similarity to the ridges in that cloth.

Then he explained that the ground beneath was soft and marshy, and that without the logs the wagon would sink to the hubs. He said the lumbermen built such roads that they could draw out their great loads of logs which they cut far back in the forest. The boys became interested at once and asked about these men and their work. The guide finally promised that some time he would take them to a lumber camp, where they could see these things for themselves.

Suddenly Ben stopped his story and stood up, pulling on the reins and shouting orders to his team. Almost before Ed and George realized what had happened, the wagon plunged down a steep bank and was bumping its way through the racing waters of a fair-sized river. The ponies tugged and splashed, the wagon rocked and creaked, and Ben yelled and plied his whip. The river roared angrily, and great white-crested waves broke over the side of the wagon-box.

Then came a jolt that almost tumbled the boys off into the water. They clutched each other in panic as they saw one of the ponies fall to its knees, and felt the wagon swung around by the powerful current. The guide was plying his whip unmercifully, for they were tipping dangerously over on one side. He finally got the pony on its feet again, and his wagon straightened out and made the opposite bank in safety; and the boys yelled with delight.

A little farther on, however, they came to real grief, for the forward wheels sank over the hubs into a bog-hole, and in trying to drag them out one of the ponies became mired in the black, oozy ground.

Shouting to the lads to throw off such parts of the load as they could lift before the weight of it sent the wheels deeper, Ben jumped down and quickly unhitched the other horse. Taking a stout rope from beneath the wagon-seat, he made one end fast to the free pony and tied the other end to the bemired animal. Urging and helping the straining horse, he at length freed the imprisoned pony.

Then assisting the boys, who had been working with a will, the guide unloaded the balance of the baggage. He told the lads to collect some rocks and pile them near the sunken axle. Next he took his ax and chopped down a small spruce-tree, from which he trimmed the branches. Fastening the ponies together again, he led them forward the full length of the rope until they stood on firm ground. Then he cut a number of stout poles, which the boys carried and placed across the road in front of the wheels, so that when once released they would not sink again, but might travel over the improvised “corduroy” to solid ground.

After much hard work everything was in readiness for an attempt at moving the wagon. Ben ordered the boys forward to guide the team, and cautioned them not to start the horses until he gave the word. Then, using the ax for a shovel, he dug the earth away from before the forward wheels. He placed the spruce pole between the pile of rocks and one of the forward hubs, to serve as a lever or prop.

Ben gave the word to start and, as the boys urged the ponies forward, threw his weight on the end of the pole. The wheels came up, lurched forward upon the bridge of poles, and the wagon bumped its way safely along to solid ground, where it was repacked.

Tired, but elated at the thought that they had been of actual use in their first real difficulty, the boys resumed their places with much satisfaction. They blushed with pride when Ben turned and complimented them on their behavior.

Several times they flushed grouse, which rose with a great roar of wings and thundered away between the tree-trunks. George declared they looked like chickens. To which Ben added, “And taste better.”

Coming at length to an old camp-site by the side of a pretty little woodland stream, the guide stopped his team and, turning, said: “It’s some time past noon, boys, and we’ve got quite a spell to go yet before dark. Guess your breakfast must have been shook down long ago. Suppose we get off here, build a fire, and cook a bite to eat?”

They were quite ready; but what they were to eat, or how or where they were to cook it, they did not know, for neither Ed nor George had ever camped in the real wilderness before.

Ben soon solved the difficulty by taking from a box beneath the wagon-seat tin-plates, knives, forks, cups, and spoons. Then from a small deer-hide case he brought forth six eggs, some delicious-looking brown biscuits, a piece of bacon, and a coffee-pot. Having deposited all these things on the ground near a convenient log, he set the boys at work gathering sticks with which to start a fire.

These sticks were skilfully arranged between two logs, and soon a crackling blaze was frying the eggs and bacon in the pan, while farther along between the logs the coffee-pot was giving forth a tempting aroma.

The lads sat cross-legged on the ground and ate their first woodland meal with keen relish. When they had finished, and Ben had smoked a pipe, he sent them to the stream for water, which was heated over the bed of glowing embers. Then he gave George a dish-cloth and Ed a coarse towel, and set them at work cleaning and drying the dishes. This task finished, the horses were hitched to the wagon; and Ben and the lads climbed aboard, and once more started along the trail.

Noisy jays chattered from the tops of the tallest pines; squirrels scolded from beside the road; and high overhead a large hawk circled about on motionless wings and screamed down at them. The boys asked Ben all sorts of questions about the birds and animals they were likely to see in the woods.

Late in the afternoon they branched off upon a new road that led straight away into the deepest solitudes of the forest. Ben said they were within a short distance of the cabin, and the boys peered anxiously forward to obtain a glimpse of the place which was to be their home for many months to come. This new route followed along the shore of a beautiful woodland lake, and visions of fishing filled their minds as they gazed out over its glistening blue waters.

Just as the sun was sinking behind a ridge of pine-clad mountains Ben shouted, and, much to the surprise of his companions, an answer at once came back. Looking ahead, as the guide pointed with his whip, the boys saw the outlines of a log house. In a few moments more the wagon came to a stop before the door, where stood a great bearded man in rough hunting clothes, who greeted them heartily.

Ben introduced him as the owner of the team, and said that after spending the night with them he would drive to his own cabin, some fifteen or twenty miles distant, in the morning.

While Ben and his friend unhitched the horses, and busied themselves with unloading the wagon, the boys wandered about examining the cozy log cabin, which was the first one they had ever seen.

It was of generous proportions, and was built entirely of great peeled logs, laid one on top of the other. The spaces between them had been closed with pine slabs sealed over with mud. The roof was made of split logs scooped out in the style of troughs and placed side by side, with another slab over each two where they came together, scooped side down. On top of them was piled earth and moss, which gave the appearance of a sod roof. The house contained but one large room, in which was a door and three good-sized windows. At the back of this room were four bunks, two on either side, built one above the other. They were of large dimensions, and would each accommodate two persons comfortably. These bunks were filled with the tips of balsam boughs to a considerable depth, and over this improvised mattress was spread, first, a piece of heavy tarpaulin, and then, on top of this, several heavy blankets. In the front part of the room was a small cook-stove, on which several pots were simmering. Along one side of this combination living, sleeping, and dining room was a home-made bookcase of unpeeled logs, whose shelves held many old and entertaining volumes, mostly of adventure. On the other side were racks and hooks for clothes and accouterments. In one corner a pantry was built for dishes and cooking accessories. Midway between the hard earth floor and the roof-peak, poles were laid crosswise of the room, thus forming a sort of overhead attic for the storing of additional baggage. A pine table covered with red oil-cloth did service for reading, writing, and dining; and home-made three-legged stools served as chairs.

Their inspection finished, the boys went outside and found the men at work building an improvised corral of logs. The ponies were driven into it and bedded down for the night with soft hemlock boughs. Then they all turned into the cabin, for the autumn twilight had already descended, and supper, thoughtfully prepared by the owner of the team, was ready.

In the light furnished by a large lantern hung overhead in the center of the room they sat about the red-topped table and partook of a bountiful meal. There was deliciously browned fish fresh from the near-by lake, hot, crumbly corn-bread, fried potatoes, great steaming cups of tea, and canned peaches and home-made cookies for dessert. The boys ate until they could scarcely move; and when they had finally stopped because they were ashamed to eat any more, they rose and helped Ben with the dishes.

The two woodsmen sat for some time smoking and telling experiences, and Ed and George listened to every word. It was very dark outside, and from time to time one or other of the boys cast glances out through the open door and wondered what animals were prowling about in the great black woods which surrounded the cabin on all sides.

Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a wild, piercing scream from the forest. The men stopped talking and looked first at each other and then at the boys, who sat with staring eyes and open mouths gazing out into the darkness. Not a word was spoken while they waited and listened for a repetition of the uncanny call. Then an involuntary exclamation of alarm escaped the lads, for the cry was repeated, this time nearer at hand; and they moved uneasily away from the door.

The woodsmen smiled reassuringly, and then Ben allayed the fears of his young guests.

“That’s a lynx out hunting for his supper. Don’t get uneasy about him; you’ll hear and see him often between now and spring.”

“What sort of a creature is it?” inquired Ed, glancing toward the door.

“Why, he’s a kind of overgrown wildcat,” Ben explained, laughing. “He’s savage enough if you corner him and make him fight; but otherwise he’ll usually get out of your way.”

The call was not repeated; but it made a deep impression on the boys, who, never having seen the animal that made it, conjured up all sorts of dreadful creatures in their imaginations.

At last the guide knocked the ashes from his pipe, and after closing and bolting the door, much to the satisfaction of the boys, declared it time to go to bed. Ed and George decided to share a bunk between them, and chose one of the upper ones. Bidding the men good night, they climbed aloft, rolled themselves in the heavy blankets, and, sinking deep in the fragrant bed of balsam, were soon sound asleep.

George was rudely awakened by something striking him forcibly on the chest and scampering across his face. Rising bolt upright in his fright, he grasped Ed by the hair. As he, too, sat up half asleep, George inquired, breathlessly, “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” asked Ed, at once wide awake.

“Listen!” cautioned George, in a hoarse whisper.

They sat perfectly still, and, above the nervous thumpings of their own hearts, heard strange scamperings, thuds, and scratchings on the logs near the roof of the cabin. Then something soft and furry sailed through space and struck Ed full in the face. This was more than they could stand, and, uttering a wild yell, both of them tumbled out of their bunk and scrambled hastily down to where the woodsmen lay convulsed with laughter.

“What’s the matter with you fellows?” asked Ben, when they tugged at his arm with trembling fingers.

“Say, Ben, there is some kind of wild animal up there!” stammered George, endeavoring to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Yes, and it sprang right in my face!” added Ed, ducking his head when he heard another sound above him in the darkness.

Ben laughed so heartily that the boys began to feel somewhat ashamed for having told him anything about it. Then he explained it to them.

“Why, those are little flying squirrels, the prettiest little fellows you ever saw. I’ll show them to you to-morrow. They couldn’t harm a baby. However, you can take that lower bunk opposite us, and they won’t bother you any more to-night.”

Neither of the boys was a coward, however; and, now that they knew what had disturbed them, they climbed manfully back to their bunk and pulled the blankets over their heads, determined to pay no more attention to their strange bed-fellows.

“Say, Tom, those lads are all right,” said Ben, addressing the blanketed figure beside him.

“Looks like they’d make good,” was the sleepy reply.

II
A WILD RIDE

With the first gleam of daylight Ben was astir cooking breakfast. Awakened by the noise, the boys dressed and jumped from the bunk to join him.

“Listen to that,” he cried, as a weird, trembling laugh sounded from the water. “That’s a loon; and if you fellows will sneak down to the shore of the lake you’ll get a peep at him.”

The boys ran outside and made their way quietly down the trail toward the lake, which they could see shimmering brightly between the tree-trunks.

The call was repeated, and, reaching a group of white birches growing at the edge of the water, they parted the branches and looked eagerly out. A great white mist was curling up from the water, and for some time they could see nothing more. Then George pointed excitedly out toward the center of the lake, and, following the direction with his eyes, Ed saw a large, dark bird with a white circle about its neck swimming leisurely along. Every few minutes it uttered a wild, tremulous laugh, and the lads endeavored to imitate it without success. They watched the loon while it swam about and dove beneath the water, until it finally disappeared from view.

Then they sat on a moss-grown log and looked across the great blue expanse of water to the opposite wooded shore, which rose to form a pine-topped mountain. They saw the sun rise over this mountain in golden splendor, and shed its rays on lake and forest. A big fish jumped into the air and returned to the water with a noisy splash. They instantly nudged each other in delightful anticipation of the sport in store for them with rod and reel.

“Oh, look, look!” cried George; and he pointed to a small brown animal swimming along near the shore. Only its head and part of its neck showed above the water, and its mouth was full of green leaves.

“It’s a rat!” declared Ed, seizing a stone and hurling it at the unknown creature, which promptly dove beneath the water.

When it reappeared some distance away, George took several ineffectual shots at it; but each time it dove before the stone reached it, and finally drew out of range unharmed. Disgusted with their marksmanship, the boys hastened to the cabin, where they found breakfast ready.

They asked Ben about the little brown animal they had seen, and he told them it was a muskrat. He said he would some day show them its wonderful houses, and told how it lived and traveled long distances under the ice in winter.

Breakfast was soon over, and the dishes washed and put away. As the owner of the team was anxious to get started on the long journey to his cabin, Ben and the boys went outside to help him hitch up. The task was quickly accomplished, and, wishing them many pleasant experiences in the woods, he bade the boys good-by, spoke to the faithful team of ponies, and was soon lost to view.

Returning to the cabin, the lads went to work willingly under the direction of Ben, and unpacked and stowed away their many belongings. The guide examined their rifles and shotguns, and pronounced them satisfactory. The heavy boots and waterproof moccasins which they had brought for winter wear also met his approval, and he promised they would have much need of them later on.

When everything had been properly stowed away, he bade them bring their shotguns, and led the way to the lake. Walking into some bushes near by, he dragged forth a canvas canoe and launched it. Placing Ed in the bow and George amidships, the guide took his place in the stern and paddled swiftly up the lake.

He kept well in toward the shore, and explained that there was more to be seen there than on the open water farther out. Not a sound was made, so easily did the canoe skim along. Ben cautioned them that if they used their eyes instead of their tongues they might see something worth while. Consequently, they sat very quiet, watching for something to happen.

All at once the bow of the canoe turned toward the middle of the lake, and the little craft commenced to leap through the water in great forward bounds.

“There he goes!” cried Ben. “Now for some fun.”

The boys looked out on the lake and saw the head and antlers of a deer, which was swimming desperately to reach the other shore. He had already spied them, and was doing his best to escape. Ben sent the canoe racing along, and the excited lads saw that they were rapidly gaining. They shouted aloud in the excitement of the chase, and then began to wonder what might happen when they drew alongside.

“Shall we shoot him?” inquired George, eagerly.

“Don’t you dare!” thundered Ben, between paddle-strokes. “No one but a ‘tenderfoot’ or a ‘pot-hunter’ would shoot a deer in the water. And never try to kill a deer with anything but a rifle. We’ll just have some fun with him and let him go.”

They felt rather disappointed at losing such a chance. They did not quite know what a “tenderfoot” or a “pot-hunter” might be, but were sure neither was a pattern for them.

Meanwhile they had approached to within a few yards of the buck. They could hear his hoarse, quick breathing and see the big, brown eyes turned toward them in fear as they drew close up beside him. The deer was doing all in its power to evade capture. But Ben was an expert with the paddle, and, twist and turn as it would, the frightened creature found the pursuing canoe always beside it. The boys, thoroughly carried away by the sport, reached forth to touch it on the neck. Instantly a change came over the hunted animal. An angry light of battle shone in its eyes, and even as Ben called a warning it half raised itself from the water and struck a wicked blow at the frail canoe with its sharp-pointed forefeet.

In jumping back from the sudden attack, the boys overturned the canoe and were thrown out. Ed and Ben fell into the water, but George landed squarely astride the back of the frightened buck. He had sufficient presence of mind to grasp the antlers and hang on. And then began a ride the like of which few if any boys have ever experienced!

GEORGE LANDED FAIRLY ASTRIDE THE BACK OF THE FRIGHTENED BUCK

The deer, feeling the weight of the lad on its back, threw itself forward in a series of wild leaps half out of water. George gripped the wet body with his knees and hung grimly to the rough horns. He had no desire to fall off into the deep water through which the animal was taking him in its mad flight to the opposite side of the lake.

Ben had meantime boosted Ed to the top of the overturned canoe, and was swimming with it toward the shore they had just left. Both of them were yelling encouragement to the alarmed boy racing through the water on the back of the deer.

The buck, unable to rid himself of his unwelcome rider, began to twist and turn his lithe body in an effort to throw him off. Then what the guide had dreaded happened. The buck dove beneath the water and took George with it!

Ed gave a startled cry when he saw his friend disappear from sight beneath the surface, and poor Ben groaned audibly. In breathless silence they watched for what seemed an eternity for the buck and its rider to reappear.

When the deer plunged under the water George instinctively held his breath and shut his eyes, as he was accustomed to do when ducked in the school swimming-tank by mischievous school-mates. He went much deeper this time, however, and the water went up his nostrils and roared in his ears. He gripped the frenzied animal beneath him more tightly. He could hear it gasping and choking down there under the water, and it seemed as though he, too, must soon open his mouth and free his bursting lungs. He could hold his breath but a moment longer. Then, just as he gave an involuntary gasp for air, his head shot above the water, and, coughing and snorting, the buck once more swam rapidly toward the land.

Ed and Ben, who had reached shallow water, yelled with delight when they saw their comrade reappear far out on the lake. George was too full of water to reply to their shouts and cheers. It was all he could do to keep his hold on that slippery wet back.

The buck seemed to realize that it could not lose its rider in deep water, and it swam strongly and steadily for the shore, now but a short distance away. From the heaving of its sides and its short, rasping gasps, George knew it was fairly well spent. As for himself, he had regained his wind and some of his confidence, and he determined to hold on until he reached land.

At last the deer found footing and jumped forward into water to its knees. Then it began a series of bounds and bucks which sent George soaring through space to land on his back in a foot or more of water. For a moment the buck stood looking at him, and he feared it was going to charge. But, to his relief, it uttered a loud snort and dashed up the bank and disappeared in the forest. Despite his wild ride, George was unhurt; and, scrambling to his feet, he waded ashore and sat down.

Ed and the guide, having turned the water out of the canoe, paddled across the lake to get him.

“Well, you certainly had a ride and a half,” laughed Ben, when they were within speaking distance. “You’re not hurt any, are you?”

“No, indeed,” George assured them, rising. “Say, Ed, it’s your turn next.”

But Ed’s answer was, “Not for mine!”

They entered the canoe, and Ben paddled quickly across the lake to the other shore, where they alighted and ran to the cabin to change to dry clothing.

While they were drying the dishes after dinner, Ben touched them lightly on the arm, and, cautioning them to be still, pointed overhead toward the cross-poles of the cabin. The boys heard the scratching that had alarmed them the night previous. Watching closely, they saw a pretty little animal peering inquisitively down at them with big black eyes. It was white underneath and soft-brown above. Ben said it was a flying squirrel. He promised, if they would watch at twilight, they would see the dainty creatures go sailing through the air. Thoroughly interested, the lads decided to look at the proper time.

“Ah-oonk, ah-oonk!”

The sound came from above, and Ben ran outside, followed by the boys. Looking up to where he pointed, they saw a V-shaped flock of large birds flying rapidly toward the lake. The guide said they were wild geese, and that their coming foretold cold weather. The lads watched them wheel and drop toward the water. Then they distinctly heard the splash as the flock alighted.

Ed and George were for getting their guns and going after the birds at once, but Ben told them to wait. He explained that when the geese first settled on the lake they were wary and suspicious, but said that after a while, if not molested, they would begin to feed, and might then be approached more easily.

The boys grew very impatient as the afternoon wore on, and finally sneaked away to the lake to have a look at the geese while Ben was busy. They could hear the birds calling somewhere out on the water, and when near the lake threw themselves flat on their stomachs and crawled carefully along. They peered from behind a big boulder; and there, but a short distance away, was the flock, feeding and splashing about in fancied security.

“Great Scott! Why didn’t we bring our guns?” demanded Ed, in a disgusted whisper.

“You go back and get them, and I’ll stay here and watch,” replied George, crouching lower behind the rock as one of the great birds raised itself on the water and flapped its wings. “We’ll get one for supper and surprise Ben,” he added, chuckling at the thought.

Ed started eagerly away on his errand, but in his haste was inexcusably clumsy, and fell head foremost over a prostrate log which happened to lie in his path. He went down with a loud crash in the midst of a tangled mass of broken branches and brittle sticks.

Instantly the geese jumped into the air with loud, frightened calls, and flew swiftly along close to the water toward a point of the shore a short distance away.

“You’re a peach!” cried George, in dismay, as he rose from behind the rock and surveyed his friend, who was still floundering about in the tangle of deadwood.

“Did they hear me?” inquired Ed, anxiously.

“Hear you! Why—”

Bang, bang!

The report of a gun sounded across the water from the direction of the point toward which the geese had flown. Running to the water’s edge, the boys saw the bodies of two dead geese floating on the surface some distance out. Looking along the shore, they beheld Ben, gun in hand, waving to them.

“Well, what do you think of that?” asked George.

“Beat us at our own game; but we’ll eat goose, anyhow,” laughed Ed, slapping his friend on the back.

Ben was calling across to them, and they listened to catch his words.

“Hey, you fellows, watch those birds. I guess they’re dead, all right, and I’ll come around and get the canoe.”

The boys sat down at the edge of the lake, and Ben disappeared into the woods. When he joined them they entered the canoe and went out to where the geese were drifting slowly away. Ben steadied the frail craft while the boys lifted the heavy birds in over the side.

“Always pick them up by the head and give them a shake to get the water off before you bring them in,” he cautioned.

Then he began to chuckle, for the lads were crestfallen and silent.

“That’s all right, boys; you see, I missed you and knew you had sneaked away to have a peep at the geese. I went inside and saw you had left your guns, which was right and proper, for I want you to remember never to take them unless I’m with you or give you permission.”

The boys looked at each other, thankful that Ed had failed in his mission, for they dreaded to think of the lecture that might have come from Ben had they taken the guns without permission.

“Just as I said, I knew you had no chance of getting any of the birds; and as I was sure they would sooner or later see or hear you, I decided to steal down and knock over a couple. They’re mighty fine eating.” He smiled mischievously.

They landed from the canoe, and each of the lads threw a goose over his shoulder and carried it triumphantly to the cabin. They tied the birds up outside, for Ben told them it was best to let them hang for a day or two before roasting. He said the boys should do the plucking and cleaning at the proper time, as he wished them to learn how to do such things.

While the guide busied himself inside the cabin with the preparation of the evening meal the boys sat outside talking over the interesting happenings of the day. Suddenly Ed ducked his head as a little brown animal sailed past and landed against the trunk of a tree.

“Flying squirrels!” cried George, pointing to the roof of the cabin, where several of them were running about in play.

“Here comes another!” shouted Ed, as one sailed off into the woods from the top of the cabin. “They don’t fly; they glide,” he declared, after having watched several more go past.

Ben came out holding something in his hat. When he sat down beside them, they saw that he had one of the squirrels. He said he had caught it with his hands, using the felt hat to protect him from the sharp teeth of the little creature, which would not hesitate to use them. He held the squirrel in such a manner that the boys were enabled to examine the loose folds of skin which extended down the inside of each leg, almost to its toes. They noted that when the animal spread its legs this skin formed a sort of parachute which enabled the squirrel to sail from a higher to a lower position.

When they had studied the odd little rodent thoroughly, Ben released it, expecting it would run up the side of a near-by tree. Instead, thoroughly frightened, it turned and ran up the nearest object, which happened to be Ben’s left trouser-leg.

The boys rolled over the ground in spasms of laughter, while the guide hopped about endeavoring to shake the squirrel down. After great exertion he finally succeeded, and the panic-stricken little creature ran up the trunk of a convenient pine and hid itself among the branches.

After supper Ben entertained the boys by telling several hunting stories. When he had finished the last one, he declared it bed-time; knocking the ashes from his pipe, he rose and went outside to consult the sky for weather predictions.

“Going to be a fine day to-morrow. Guess we’ll line bees and get some honey for the winter,” he said, when he came in.

“How do you do that?” asked the lads.

“I’ll show you in the morning. It’s time to turn in, now.” And he motioned them to the bunk.

“What did he say about bees?” whispered Ed, when he and George were beneath the blankets.

“I don’t know, but I’ll bet it’s going to be sport,” George replied, sleepily.

III
BEES AND WILDCATS

The boys were awake early, and, quickly dressing themselves, they rushed outside to await the appearance of the sun. Ben had told them that the day must be warm and cloudless, for then the bees would work well. Having waited until the sun was some little distance above the horizon, and all danger of a cold or rainy day was past, the hungry lads entered the cabin and ate the meal which the guide had prepared.

As the morning wore on and developed into all the glories of a perfect “Indian summer” day, even Ben became enthusiastic, and declared it just right for the lining of bees.

“Where must we go to find the bees?” asked George.

Before replying Ben took a small bottle from the pantry-shelf. Uncorking it, he began sniffing at the contents. He also brought forth a fruit-jar filled with strained honey, a tablespoonful of which he diluted with warm water and poured into a saucer. Then he found a good-sized piece of old honeycomb. Gathering these things together, he was ready to start.

“We’ll just go down to that little clearing by the lake, where we can see them work,” he said, as Ed and George followed him from the cabin.

In this little woodland meadow some goldenrod had grown and bloomed, and about the blossoms several bees were buzzing industriously when Ben and the boys arrived. The guide seemed much pleased at finding them there, and said he would soon get a line when he had things ready.

He explained that a line was the direction of the bee-tree which held the honey. He said that this was found by watching the bees, who, when they had loaded up with the sweets set out for them, would rise in the air and, after circling about the locality once or twice, would start off in a straight line for the distant tree. Ben cautioned the boys to watch the line of flight as far as they could see it. Then, when they were sure of its general direction, he would move on to where it had faded from their vision, and again set out his bait. They must repeat this operation until they found themselves near the tree. Then they would begin a search for it.

He said he was glad to find the bees at work on the goldenrod. It would save him the necessity of building a fire and rubbing the honeycomb on a hot stone, so that the scent would draw the bees.

Ben uncorked a bottle which contained anise-seed oil. He broke off several blossoming stems of the goldenrod and poured a few drops of the liquid on each. Then he placed them on or near the saucer containing the strained honey, and, bidding the boys be seated, sat down to await developments.

“There’s one now!” cried Ed, as a bee alighted on the edge of the saucer and began to load up with the honey.

Ben nodded his head and smiled.

“There’ll be hundreds here in an hour,” he promised.

“Can they smell it so far away?” asked George.

“No; but these will come back and bring more. You’ll see, before long. Look out! Watch him, over your head there! See him circle? There he goes! Now watch him as far as you can,” cautioned the guide, as the first bee started away for the unknown tree.

“I’ve lost him!” wailed Ed.

“I see him—no, he’s gone!” cried George.

“Never mind, there’ll be many more,” Ben told them. “Watch that fellow on the rim of the saucer; he’s going in a second. There he goes! See him circle? Watch now, watch close, he’s circling again—there he goes—same way,” he declared, shading his eyes with his hands.

For some minutes no more bees appeared, and the boys began to fear that something was wrong. Then three at once alighted on the saucer, and Ben said the tree was not far away. While they were watching them two more came; then others, by ones and twos, until there were fifteen or twenty at the feast. The watchers were kept busy turning and twisting their heads to follow the swift flight of the little workers as each started away with its hoard of sweets. More bees came every moment, until they were arriving and leaving in a steady stream.

Ben had meanwhile discovered what he called a cross-line. Bees from another colony in a different tree had found the tempting feast. They were coming and leaving in a different direction from that taken by the first lot. He decided to follow up the original line, for he believed their tree to be the nearer. He said they would leave this second lot until another day, although he hoped to get all the honey they required from the colony they were tracing.

At length he declared it time to move along the line. Choosing a dead hemlock some distance away, on the side of a hardwood ridge, as the spot where the bees faded from sight on their flight, the guide led the boys through the woods in its direction.

After a hard scramble up the hillside they reached the hemlock and sat down to await the bees. They had not been there long before the industrious little toilers covered the saucer, pushing and crowding one another in their efforts to get their share of the honey it contained. They flew away in the same direction as before, and Ben knew he was on the line. Basing his prophecy on the increased number of bees, he said that with the next moving they should be within reach of the tree.

Once more they traveled on, this time over the ridge and down the other side into a heavily timbered ravine. Here the guide thought they would find the honey-tree. Indeed, no sooner were they seated than bees by the hundreds flocked to the bait. These left without circling, and Ben said it was a sure sign the tree was near.

The bee-hunters rose and began a close inspection of each tree-trunk in the vicinity, looking carefully up and down its length for some opening or cavity which might proclaim the entrance to a hive within. Ben told the boys to travel along in sight of him, one on either side, and urged them to inspect each tree thoroughly. He reminded them that bees sometimes went in an opening at the very bottom, and at other times near the tiptop.

Finally George, who was at the right of the line, came to a great weather-beaten pine with a large cavity in its trunk near the base. He felt sure this was the tree that contained the honey. Stooping down, he foolishly put his face to the opening in an effort to obtain a view of the inside. Luckily there were no bees there, but something else flew out and struck him full in the face. And then, as he fell over on his back from the suddenness of the attack, a perfect army of bats came chattering from the tree. Thrusting his hands before his face, George ran from the spot.

Just then Ed called out that he had found the tree. Hurrying to the place where he and Ben stood gazing at a hole near the top of a giant oak, George saw a steady swarm of bees entering and leaving the cavity.

“Guess we’ll have to cut that to-night,” said Ben. “There ought to be a pile of honey in there, boys. But you can’t always tell; sometimes the biggest trees hold the least honey.”

There was an angry buzzing about their heads, and they ducked and ran.

“We’ll mosey along out of here and go home and make some torches. Then we’ll come back after dark and go to work,” Ben promised.

George told of finding the bats, and his companions laughed heartily.

“They roost in a hollow tree like that by the thousands sometimes,” said the guide. “I’ve done the same thing you did, often. Why, I’ve had them strike me in the face so hard that my eye swelled up.”

“What’s that?” demanded Ed, stopping to listen.

“That? That’s our friend the grouse again, only this time he’s drumming,” replied Ben.

“Drumming!” exclaimed the boys, in unison.

GROUSE DRUMMING ON A LOG

“Yes, that’s what we call it. He wins his mate that way in the spring. Sometimes on a nice day, like this, in the fall, he comes to a warm, sunny spot in the woods and starts drumming, just like it was spring again.”

“How does he do it?” inquired George, as the hollow, booming roll came from the deep, silent woods.

“Why, he stands on a log, or rock, and beats the air with his wings.”

Ben knelt down and imitated the sound by pounding the ground with his closed fist.

“When a grouse is drumming like that, you can walk right up to him. All you need do is to get his direction, and then hurry toward him while he’s busy drumming. As soon as he stops, or a little sooner, you must remain perfectly still. Then, when he drums again, move on, until you come in sight of him.”

The boys made a note of this, and determined to try the experiment at the first chance.

Arrived at the cabin, Ben busied himself in preparing the sulphur torches. He took strips of burlap and wound them tightly about the ends of pine sticks. Between each roll of the canvas he sprinkled a generous quantity of powdered sulphur.

He explained that when the tree fell some one must run forward and hold a lighted torch at the cavity. The torch-bearer must then blow the sulphur fumes down into the trunk to disable the bees till the honey could be “boxed out” and secured.

Toward late afternoon the boys were surprised to hear the deep, musical baying of a hound in the woods near at hand. Ben came to the door at the sound, and peered expectantly down the trail.

“I’ll bet it’s Bill Lang,” he declared, and he uttered a loud helloa, which was instantly answered. “Yep, that’s him, boys. Now you’ll hear some real stories from a genuine trapper.”

A lean, black and white hound, with long, trailing ears, came out of the woods and wiggled its way to Ben to be petted.

“Helloa, Moze,” cried the guide, stooping to reach the dog; “where’s Bill, eh?”

Then a thick-set man about the age of Ben came into view and waved his hand at the group in the doorway.

“Helloa, Bill!”

“Howdy, Ben.” And the trapper turned his keen eyes on the boys, who were endeavoring to make friends with his dog.

“Boys, this is my friend, Bill Lang. Bill, I’ve picked up a couple of ‘pards’ since you were here. Shake hands with Ed Williams and George Rand, young friends of mine from the city. They’re here to learn something about the woods.”

“That’s not the son of Doctor Williams, who comes out here to hunt and fish, is it?” inquired the trapper, looking at Ed searchingly.

“That’s just who he is,” responded the guide.

“Well, if he takes after the ‘old man’ he ought to be all right,” declared the new-comer, as he picked up the basin and retired outside to wash.

“Prospecting for a trap line?” inquired Ben of the trapper, when they were at supper.

“Yes, sort of looking the country over a little bit,” he replied. “So you’re going to cut a bee-tree, are you? Well, I said to myself, to-day, that the bees ought to work good. How far from here is it?”

“Not more than a scant mile,” Ben assured him. “We got another line, too, but couldn’t stop to bother with it. Better stay over and take some of the honey; there’s likely to be more than we’ll need.”

“Why, like as not I will,” agreed the trapper, much to the delight of the boys.

As soon as it was dark they started off for the tree. Ben went ahead with the lantern, the torches, and an ax; George came next, carrying a dish-pan and a large iron spoon; then Ed followed with a pail; and the trapper brought up the rear with his ax and another pail.

Although the stars shone brightly overhead, it was very dark in the woods. The boys, unaccustomed to such travel, stumbled and fell many times before they brought up at the tree. The lantern was immediately concealed behind a rock, so its glare would not attract the bees. Then, cautioning Ed and George to tie their handkerchiefs about their faces, the guide and his friend prepared to fell the tree.

The blows of their axes resounded through the woods, and great chips flew through the air as the cutting blades bit their way into the heart of the oak. Occasionally the choppers paused to gaze upward at its swaying top, for it was important that the tree should fall with the hole uppermost. Then, bending, they again attacked it with powerful, swinging blows, until it began to creak, and give, and totter. Ben seized the boys and pushed them aside, and the forest monarch crashed to earth, the butt bounding back from the stump high in the air.

Hardly had the great tree fallen before Bill was at the hole with a sulphur torch. The lads ran forward to see what he was doing, and were choked by the fumes he was blowing down into the trunk. They distinctly heard the loud, angry buzzing of thousands of imprisoned bees, and were thankful that the trapper stood guard with his torch. A few managed to escape him and forced the boys to dodge and run by buzzing angrily about their ears.

While Bill stood bravely by the entrance and sent the stifling fumes of his torch into the tree, Ben mounted the prostrate trunk. He began cutting out a wide strip directly above the place where he heard the fierce buzzing, now grown weaker and less threatening, thanks to the trapper and his torch.

The others laughed heartily when Bill got a whiff of his own medicine and doubled up gasping and coughing, his lungs full of sulphur fumes. Their joy was short-lived, however, for at that very instant George was stung on the back of the neck and the guide behind the ear. Bill declared it served them right for laughing at him.

Ben called for the lantern and the remaining torch, which Ed quickly brought him. He lifted out the slab he had chopped free, and instantly thrust the torch into the long opening. Then he asked for the pan, and began to take great strips of dripping comb from inside the tree. The cavity was about four feet long, and was lined with layers of clean, fragrant honey, over which crawled thousands of stupefied bees.

Strip after strip was lifted from the tree until the dish-pan and pails were full. All through the woods was wafted the delicious odor of new-made honey.

“That ought to draw a bear if there’s one anywhere around,” declared the trapper, sniffing the air, as they gathered up their burdens and started for the cabin.

Ben had a lump behind his ear, and George had developed a similar one on the back of his neck. Coming to a spring-hole, they plastered the bites with mud.

“Must be close to fifty pounds altogether,” said Bill, when they reached the cabin.

“Yes, all of that, if not more,” agreed Ben, scooping out some very sticky bees which were leisurely crawling over the comb.

While they were going over the honey to rid it of bark and bees, the boys heard a new sound from the forest.

“Who-ah, to-who, to-who, to-who!”

It was a weird, dismal call, and they went to the door to listen. Ben laughingly told them it was only an owl.

Bill went outside, and, to the delight of the lads, gave a perfect imitation of the hoot. The bird answered and came nearer, and Bill replied again and again, and at last decoyed it into a tree directly over the cabin. There it called and hooted for a long time, until finally, uttering a blood-curdling screech, it flew away in the darkness and called faintly from the other side of the lake.

Later they heard the hound baying, and the trapper declared it was running a coon. The boys were anxious to start a search for it, but Ben said they had done enough for one day. He made Bill promise to remain and take them on a hunt the following night.

“Isn’t it great, though?” exclaimed Ed, when they were in their bunk.

“Each day gets better,” George replied.

The next day they spent in the woods with the trapper searching for coon signs. The first tracks were found in the mud about a spring-hole. Bill showed them to the boys, who were surprised at the resemblance to baby footprints. He said the little gray-and-black animals made trails very similar in form, though, of course, much smaller, to those of the bear, to whom they seemed distantly related.

About the border of the lake they found other tracks, and saw many empty mussel shells lying about close by. Bill explained that racoons were exceedingly fond of these freshwater clams, and described how they cracked the shells to get at the meat inside. He said, judging by the many signs and tracks about, they would have little trouble “jumping” a coon when they started with the hound that night.

It was barely twilight when the boys were eager to be off. Bill told them that the best coon hunting came long after dark, and declared there was no need of starting so early. The hound was fastened to the cabin by a long leash, to prevent him straying off before the hunt. Then for some time the impatient young hunters sat waiting.

At last it was time to go, and the little hunting party filed away into the black forest. Following along one behind the other, they came to the spring-hole where they had seen the tracks. Bill, who was leading with Moze, had trouble in holding the hound back. It sniffed excitedly over the moist ground, but seemed to find nothing especially interesting, and they moved on.

“Little too early,” said Bill.

“We’ll find one before long,” Ben prophesied, hopefully.

The boys moved slowly along behind the trapper, who carried the lantern, and Ben followed in the rear to prevent their straying from the trail. The great black woods had a peculiar charm about them at that time of night, and as the boys peered about beneath the massive trees they recalled the story of a panther which the guide had told them. They wondered if one of those savage animals was lurking somewhere near them in the darkness, and were thankful for two such body-guards as Bill and Ben.

Suddenly the hound uttered a long, dismal howl and jumped forward so quickly that it almost pulled Bill headlong to the ground.

“He’s found one!” cried Ben.

“Yep, there’s been one here, sure,” declared Bill, stooping and releasing Moze.

The hound instantly dashed away into the night, uttering a series of short, excited yelps.

The boys were for chasing after him, but were laughingly restrained and told to remain where they were until the coon was treed. The hunters stood clustered expectantly about the lantern, while every few moments the voice of Moze echoed through the woods and gave warning that he was hot on the trail.

Then farther away they heard his quick, snappy bark, and Bill said the coon had been treed. At a rapid pace he led the way down a steep ravine, across a rock-strewn gully, and up a rough hillside. Panting and excited, the boys raced along behind him. They seemed heedless of the sharp, stinging blows from branches which snapped in their faces, the scratching grasp of thorny bushes which tore their hands, or the strong, entangling grip of low, sprawling vines which wound about their feet.

At last they came out into more open country beneath a great grove of evergreens. The dog’s impatient yelps sounded from a short distance in advance of them. Shouting encouragement, Bill hastened on toward where they heard the hound. When they got there Moze was jumping about and barking excitedly at the foot of a giant, lightning-killed pine whose trunk extended high up into the blackness.

“It’s up there, all right,” said the trapper, holding aloft the lantern and peering upward into the night.

They were unable to see the coon, which was evidently in the very top of the tree and well shielded by the darkness. The two veteran hunters decided to build a fire. Soon there was a great roaring blaze, which threw a shaft of light far aloft into the mass of naked branches. On one of them, in near the trunk, crouched their quarry. The tree was too big to chop down, and after some discussion Bill volunteered to climb it.

Having cut a long, crotched pole, the trapper fastened it to his waist with a piece of buckskin, and then he twined his legs about the tree and began to “shinney” toward the top. Ben and the boys armed themselves with stout clubs and waited anxiously for something to drop.

When he was within striking distance, Bill loosened the pole from his waist and pushed the coon from the limb on which it crouched. It fell, but caught on a lower branch, which ran to a fork, and again settled down. Bill slid down to it, and this time gave it a prod that sent it sailing through space with outstretched legs. It fell heavily to the ground in the midst of the little group at the base of the tree.

No sooner had it struck than Moze was upon it. Then began a fierce battle between dog and coon. Snarling and coughing, they rolled over and over in their struggle, Moze on top one moment, and the coon, which was putting up a valiant fight, uppermost the next.

The battle was waged furiously, and the animals appeared to be about evenly matched. The hunters formed an interested circle about the combatants, until the latter, in their frenzy, rolled between Ed’s feet and brought him down in a heap on top of them. For a moment there was the wildest kind of excitement as Ed frantically endeavored to roll away from the snapping animals. He finally managed to scramble to his feet, and ran nimbly aside, as Ben struck and killed the coon with his club.

Moze came up for inspection under the lantern light. He wagged his tail in triumph, but he looked much the worse for his encounter. He was scratched and torn from the sharp teeth and claws of his late antagonist, but appeared not to mind his wounds. Bill examined him carefully, and said that the few scratches were nothing to what he often got on such expeditions. As the hound seemed willing and eager to continue the hunt, the hunters moved on.

They walked several miles through the black woods in the hope of finding another coon, but Moze was unable to strike a second trail. Bill led the way through two large swamps, where in many places they sank to their knees in water. Then he guided them up a mountain-side, where the ground was covered with fallen tree-trunks—the result of a forest fire and tempest the year previous. The boys found it hard work climbing over these obstructions in the dark, and George declared he felt like an ant clambering over a pile of tooth-picks. At last they came to the top of the ridge, which was crowned with a forest of hardwoods, mostly oaks and chestnuts. They sat down to rest and dry their brows, for, though the night was cool, the brisk walk and hard climb had made them perspire.

Moze had gone on ahead, and suddenly they heard him baying furiously a short distance away to the right. The boys jumped to their feet instantly, but Ben cautioned them to wait until the hound had treed its quarry. They listened to the yelps and howls, which now seemed to come from farther away. Finally Bill rose and said they would follow the dog.

“Sounds like he might have a bob-cat or a lynx,” said Bill, as they hastened along to where Moze evidently had something up a tree.

“If that’s the case, we’re in for fun,” laughed Ben.

The lads became much excited at the prospect of an encounter with either of the savage animals mentioned, and thought of the wild screech they had heard the first night in camp. Ben had told them it was made by a lynx. As they hurried along Ed determined to keep out of the way this time, for he had no desire to tumble into a mix-up with such a formidable antagonist.

“Will Moze tackle a lynx?” he asked, breathlessly.

“He’ll pitch into anything from a bear down,” Bill declared. “You’ll see fur fly in a few minutes, I guess,” he added, as the savage challenge of the hound sounded through the night.

As they drew near, Moze went racing away down the hillside, baying lustily. Whatever animal he was pursuing had evidently jumped from the tree when it heard the noisy approach of the hunters.

“That’s a bob-cat trick,” said Bill.

“Yep,” said Ben, as he cautioned the boys to be careful of their eyes while pushing through the mass of unyielding branches which swept stingingly across their faces.

Again Moze drove the unseen creature up a tree, but not before he had come close enough to make it spit and snarl wickedly. Bill now assured them that they had a bob-cat to deal with. He said there would be the fiercest kind of fight. They hurried on to where the dog was barking and growling at the base of a low, scrubby oak. The hair on his neck stood stiffly erect, and his whole manner was more defiant and threatening than when he had treed the coon. From time to time he left off barking and raised himself on his hind legs in an effort to leap into the tree.

Gazing into the tree-top but a few feet above their heads, the boys saw a pair of shining green eyes peering down into their own. They quickly withdrew from beneath the limb, and called Ben and the trapper, who had been staring into the twisted branches from the opposite side.

“Yes, that’s a bob-cat, all right enough, and a big one, too, I imagine,” cried Bill, excitedly. “We should have brought a gun. Might have known we’d run across one of these fellows before we quit,” he said.

There was a rustling of dried leaves, and before any one had time to move the bob-cat landed with a thump in the midst of them. Ed crashed into George in his frantic effort to get out of the way, and both of them fell in a heap. Ben made a vicious swing with his ax; but the bob-cat evaded him and went racing off with Moze in hot pursuit.

When the boys regained their feet, the trapper was some distance away with the lantern. Ben, who was crashing through some bushes to their left, called to them to follow the light. Not wishing to be lost in the inky woods, they hurried, pell-mell, after Bill and the sounds of fighting.

From the snarls and growls which they heard, the lads knew that Moze had once more brought the bob-cat to bay. Panting and excited, they at last bumped into the trapper, who was standing with the lantern held high above his head, pointing at some rocks which Ben was cautiously approaching, ax in hand.

There, among the rocks, the bob-cat faced them, driven to bay. With ears flattened, eyes glaring, and lips drawn back in an ugly snarl, it crouched before the dog. It kept up a constant low, rumbling growl, which was defiantly answered by Moze. The old hound knew too much to rush recklessly into close quarters, and contented himself with circling about the ugly cat and so holding its attention. The bob-cat was indeed, as Bill had judged, a large one. Neither Ed nor George had ever seen such a ferocious-looking wild animal before, and it seemed to grow in size and ugliness while they stared at it, squatting there in the glow of the lantern, its whole body quivering with rage.

It drew back as though to spring when the guide approached, and Bill called a warning. Ben cautiously retreated a few paces, and the bob-cat relaxed somewhat, growling so fiercely that the boys involuntarily moved several feet nearer Bill.

Moze rushed forward, but instantly jumped back when the watchful creature struck a savage blow at his head.

“Look out, old boy, you’ll get a clawing!” laughed Bill, warningly, to the enraged hound, which was jumping to and fro barely out of range of the sharp claws, bared and ready to repel his attack.

“I’ll stone him till he turns, and then you send Moze in, and I’ll take a chance with the ax,” Ben proposed.

“He’s big, and he’ll fight hard,” said Bill, dubiously.

“I know it; but it’s the only chance we have of getting him without a gun.” And Ben stooped and picked up several stones. “Now then, boys, look out for trouble!” he warned, preparing to hurl one of the stones.

“Hold on till I get a club,” urged Bill, searching about for a weapon. “Here, Ed, you hold the lantern, and, mind you, keep the light on him!”

Ben threw a stone, which struck the bob-cat full in the side. With an enraged snarl it turned to run, but Moze was upon it the same instant. He fastened his teeth in one of its rear legs. The cat whirled and struck before the dog could jump aside, and its long, sharp claws inflicted a nasty gash in the top of his head. With a howl of mingled rage and pain Moze bounded to one side, and Ben let go another rock, but in his eagerness he missed the mark entirely.

Then he shouted a warning, for the bob-cat drew back as the second missile sped past its head, and, gathering its powerful feet beneath it, sprang directly at Ed and the lantern. As the startled boy turned to run it struck him in the middle of his back and sent him pitching forward on his face.

Instantly Moze rushed in, and Bill ran forward yelling, club in hand. Then ensued some terrific fighting in the dark, for the lantern had been smashed against a rock when Ed fell. Snarls, growls, yells, and blows resounded from the blackness as Bill, Moze, and the bob-cat fought over the prostrate body of Ed, who prudently lay face downward, afraid to move.

Luckily, Moze closed with the bob-cat before it had a chance to inflict injury on the lad. And then, seeing the danger the boy was in, Bill rushed into the fray with his club, and the cat was too hard pressed to turn its attention to the boy underneath. But he was in a risky place, for the combatants rolled back and forth over his body, and several times he felt sharp scratches on his neck and shoulders as Moze and the bob-cat struck and snapped at each other. Then he heard Bill’s club descend with a loud whack, and at the same time the trapper called to him to roll out of the way, which he lost no time in doing.

Moze had been getting the worst of the fighting; but once Ed was out of the way, Ben went to the aid of Bill, and with club and ax they soon killed the bob-cat, but not before the trapper had been severely clawed on his legs and arms. Moze was bleeding from a dozen wounds, and Ben told George to gather sticks that they might build a fire and nurse the injured.

Bill’s wounds were painful, but not deep, and he made light of them when Ben offered to help him. Ed had by some miracle escaped with a slight gash in one shoulder and a few minor claw-marks across his back. The guide bound up his shoulder, and then turned to poor Moze. The old dog was lying down, quietly licking his injuries. There was little they could do for him at the time, so they all sat by the fire to rest before moving toward the cabin.

Ben stretched out the body of the bob-cat; it measured over four feet, and the guide claimed it would weigh between thirty and forty pounds. It bore the marks of Moze’s mauling, and Ed went over and petted the hound affectionately for having so gallantly gone to his rescue.

“That’s a powerful big bob-cat,” said Bill, gazing down at the mottled gray body stretched out at his feet.

“’Most as big as a lynx, and just about as ugly,” declared Ben.

They had a hard trip back to the cabin, with no lantern to help them, but finally arrived there tired and sore. Ben at once heated some water, and Bill and Ed carefully washed their wounds. Then they did the same for Moze, and he wagged his tail in appreciation. More than once the boys fairly hugged him, for the faithful old hound had gained a lasting place in their affections by his bravery.

When they were finally in bed, George said: “Well, Ed, you had your turn to-day, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and it was almost as exciting as your ride on the deer. I’m going to ask for the skin of that bob-cat as a souvenir.”

“I wonder what we’ll run into next!” mused George.

“Catamounts and bears, I guess. Good night, I’m tired.”

IV
A DEER HUNT

The boys awoke one morning to find Ben hard at work oiling the rifles. Delighted at the sight, they hurried into their clothes, for they felt sure the oft talked of deer hunt was about to take place. They fairly bolted their breakfast, so eager were they to be off; but Ben restrained them and reminded them that many things must be attended to first.

When they had finished washing and stowing away the dishes, which they did with all possible speed, he taught them how to make a suitable pack of their blankets and a few camp necessities. Then he made them change their heavy hunting-boots for lighter, softer moccasins, explaining that these would enable them to travel through the woods more quietly.

Finally, after putting the cabin in order and attending to a dozen other chores, which the boys, in their eagerness to be away, thought might have been dispensed with, he announced that he was ready to go.

Armed with their rifles, and each with a pack on his back, the three hunters left the cabin and struck off through the woods. The air was crisp and exhilarating, and their high spirits prompted a rapid pace.

Ben kept his gaze on the ground ahead of him, in the hope of finding deer signs. Noting this, the boys quickly imitated his example. They flushed many grouse, and one alighted in a tree in plain sight of them, and stood conspicuously exposed to their aim. They were anxious to try a shot at so easy a mark, but were reminded that they were after larger game. Ben warned them that a needless shot ringing through the woods would frighten away any deer which might be lingering in the vicinity. The hint was sufficient, and, casting a longing look at the foolish bird, they followed obediently on after the guide.

At last they climbed to the top of a dividing ridge, and here Ben halted. He pointed to a slight depression in the carpet of dead leaves, and said it was a deer track. He explained that deer in their journeyings traveled along the summits of these low hills, which were then termed “runways.” Ben said that the ridge on which they stood was one.

Leading the way to a near-by boulder, he bade one of the boys climb to the top to watch the surrounding country for any sign of a buck. He left it to them to decide which one would remain there. Ed said he would stay; and, after cautioning him not to shoot until he saw the whole body and antlers of the animal aimed at, Ben ordered him to remain until he stopped for him on the way home. He told him, if he succeeded in shooting a deer, to fire two shots in rapid succession and, after a minute’s pause, two more.

Ed climbed to the top of the big rock, and sat down with his rifle across his knees. He waved his hand to Ben and George when they turned just before they disappeared from sight among the trees.

George was placed at another “runway,” about a mile farther on; and, after cautioning him as he had Ed, Ben said he was going on to try to scare out a deer. He said that anything he might start would be sure to come over one or the other of these “runways,” and warned George to be on his guard. Then with a wave of his arm he disappeared, and the boys were left alone in the heart of the wilderness.

Each boy remained at his post, expectantly gazing through the aisles of the vast forest which surrounded him. The noise of the wind through the tops of the trees; the squeaking of a leaning pine as it rubbed chafingly against its neighbor; the snap of a twig, or the sudden call of a jay, caused them to start nervously.

Several times George half rose and cocked his rifle when he thought he heard some animal walking about near him. But after watching with straining eyes and thumping heart and seeing nothing, he relaxed and made up his mind it must have been the wind, or a squirrel scurrying about among the leaves.

Suddenly a shot sounded from the direction in which he guessed Ed to be, and George jumped to his feet. Another roared through the woods a moment later, and echoed loudly between the mountains. For a minute or so all was still. Then two reports rang out in rapid succession and, after a minute, two more!

“Gee whiz! Something is up!” declared George, aloud. He wished he might find Ed and learn the cause of the shots, but he dared not leave the place until Ben came for him. He doubted if he would be able to find the way to his friend; and, as the guide had forbidden him to leave the spot, he sat down to await developments.

Ed became hungry and brought out his lunch. He was just about to bite into one of the appetizing sandwiches when the sharp crackling of twigs close by caused him to drop it and seize his rifle.

Then a loud, frightened snort drew his attention, and, looking in the direction from whence it came, he beheld a big buck standing broadside to him. Its head was turned to look at him; the great ears were thrown forward and moved nervously about; and the sensitive muzzle twitched apprehensively as the dreaded man-scent came to it on the breeze.

For a moment Ed was helpless, and stood gazing with surprised, startled eyes at the magnificent creature before him. Then he managed to recover, and quickly brought up his rifle. He aimed where Ben had told him to, behind the shoulder, and with trembling fingers pressed the trigger. At the report the buck made a tremendous leap, fell to its knees, recovered, and bounded away. He fired again, this time at random, and the deer crashed from sight into the heavy timber.

“Wouldn’t that make you sick?” cried Ed, disgustedly, as he sat down and wiped the beads of nervous perspiration from his brow. “I must have hit him, or he wouldn’t have tumbled down,” he assured himself.

Then he remembered the signal and rose and fired the four shots, two at a time, which would bring Ben and the proper advice.

After what seemed a very long time, he heard another sound near at hand and cocked his rifle. He uncocked the weapon a moment later when he was hailed by Ben and George.

“I got a shot, and I think I hit him!” he cried, as he ran to meet them.

“Where is he?” Ben asked, quietly, after he had cautioned George, who had begun to whoop.

“He went off that way,” explained Ed, pointing in the proper direction.

A look of disappointment came over the face of the guide, and George at once subsided into gloomy silence.

“I hit him, I tell you,” Ed declared, emphatically. “He fell and then jumped up and ran off.”

“Where was he standing?” Ben asked, a bit more hopefully.

Ed got his bearings from the rock on which he had been sitting, and went over to about where he thought the buck had been when he had fired at it.

Ben stooped over and scanned the ground closely in a wide circle. He was silent for some minutes while thus engaged; then he straightened, laughing, and pointed to a low bush beside them.

“You hit him, sure, and hit him hard,” he declared. “And we’ll get him—he’s shot through the lungs!”

The boys looked at the bush and saw several red splashes on its brown leaves. Following close behind Ben, who was crouching along near to the ground, they saw other darker spots at their feet.

“He won’t run very far. I started him in a swamp. Just got a glimpse of him as I was crawling under a fallen tree-top, and couldn’t shoot,” Ben explained.

“My, he’s big!” said Ed.

“Better not talk any more now,” the guide cautioned them, looking keenly ahead.

They crossed a brook, and when they reached the opposite side there was a rustling of undergrowth. The lads cocked their rifles and the buck jumped to its feet and stood facing them.

“Shoot!” cried Ben.

The boys brought up their rifles at the same instant, but George was the first to pull trigger. His bullet went straight through the heart, and the buck dropped dead.

Ben ran forward and cut its throat with his hunting-knife. He complimented the lads on their good shooting, and said they must have been practising before they came to the woods. Ed told him he had a rifle-range in the cellar of his home, and said that George and he had engaged in many contests.

The guide showed them how to cut a slit in the flesh of the deer’s hind legs and insert a stout stick from one leg to the other to spread them apart. He called it a gambrel and briefly explained its use. Then, with their assistance, he raised the carcass by aid of poles. The deer once swung up, Ben quickly cut it open and removed its entrails. He put aside the liver, which he promised to cook for breakfast.

He would have skinned the buck, but twilight was fast gathering, and they must choose a suitable camp-site and build some sort of a shelter for the night. Therefore he decided to leave the deer hung up until daylight, when he could remove the hide and quarter the carcass.

They washed in the clear, cold water of a little stream. Then Ben began his search for a camping-place. At last he found a spot to his liking on top of a pine-clad knoll. He led the boys to it, and bade them slip their packs.

Ben looked around until he found two trees growing on a parallel line, about six feet apart. He cut a pole about an inch wider than the space between their trunks. After cutting some notches in the pole’s upper side, he placed it between the trees and drove it down until it became securely wedged about six feet from the ground. Next he cut and trimmed two logs, each about eight feet long and some five inches through. He placed them on the ground, one extending back from the base of each tree.

At his order the boys had cut some long straight poles, about two inches in diameter. They were placed against the notched ridge-pole between the trees, the end of each pole fitting nicely into the notch cut to hold it, and the lower end resting on the ground some eight or ten feet back.

They had the roof, sides, and door of the lean-to completed, and were ready to go on with the “shingling,” under Ben’s directions. He bade them cut many armfuls of balsam and hemlock branches. These he dexterously wove between the roof-poles until he had made a thick covering, or mat, over their little shelter. Then he placed small trees and branches against the sides.

When the boys returned, each with a back-load of balsam tips for bed-making, they were astonished to find a cozy bough-house ready for them. The delicious aroma of fried bacon rose from the pan which Ben was shaking over a bed of glowing coals. Hastily throwing their boughs inside the shelter, the two hungry young hunters sat down to supper.

That night they made a big camp-fire, for the autumn air was chill. As the flames leaped and danced and threw a circle of orange-colored light into the dark, somber woods, the lads sat on a great log and listened attentively to Ben, who told them tales of the forest.

Finally the fire died low and the blackness crept in upon the little group before the shelter. Ben rose and declared it was time to turn in. By the aid of the lantern they made their beds of boughs, rolled themselves in their blankets, put out the light, and soon drifted off to sleep.

George was awakened by the hooting of an owl in a tree close by, and lay for some time listening to the mournful serenade. He heard the deep, heavy breathing of the guide, and knew he was slumbering soundly. Ed did not stir, and he was sure that he, too, was far away in the “land of nod.” The bird continued its dismal hooting; and then, as the fire flickered into new life for a moment, an idea seized the waker.

George rose and slipped noiselessly from his blankets. Then he felt around until he had secured his rifle, and, once in possession of it, he stole quietly out into the darkness.

The owl ceased calling, and the sleepy young hunter strained his eyes in an effort to locate it. Then again came the mocking call, and it seemed to the eager youth as he stood there peering aloft into the dark that the uncanny bird was actually laughing at him.

The fire again flared up and sent its flickering shafts of light high into the surrounding tree-tops. This was the opportunity for George to get his shot. Boldly outlined on the limb sat the owl. George took quick but accurate aim and pulled the trigger as the owl started to vacate its illuminated perch.

The report of the rifle reverberated through the silent woods like the crash of thunder. Awakened by the noise, Ed and the guide sat up just as the owl crashed through the branches and sailed headlong into the lean-to. Its heavy body struck Ed squarely in the face and tumbled him over backward with the force of the blow.

“What in tarnation has happened?” cried Ben, leaping from his blankets and grabbing the lantern.

“There’s something in here!” yelled Ed, rushing from the shelter. “Where’s George? He’s gone!” he cried, in alarm.

George was helpless with laughter at the results of his shot. When Ben had lighted the lantern and discovered the owl lying on the blankets, the guilty marksman appeared, grinning broadly.

“Well, say, young feller, you certainly stirred things up considerable for this time of the night,” said Ben, as he threw the dead owl at the disturber of his dreams.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” protested Ed.

“Thought I did,” laughed George, unloading his rifle and crawling beneath his blankets. “Will you show me how to skin the owl, Ben?” he asked, meekly.

“Sure I will,” promised the guide; and then he extinguished the lantern and ordered the boys to go to sleep.

V
A FOREST FIRE

When the boys awakened it was daylight; and, to their surprise, Ben was missing from the camp. They looked for him outside, but, not finding him, decided he had gone to skin and quarter the deer. They busied themselves with making a fire, that it might be ready for the guide to cook breakfast over when he returned.

“It looks foggy,” suggested Ed, gazing off between the trees.

“That’s not fog, it’s smoke!” George declared, sniffing the air suspiciously. “Don’t you smell it?”

“Right you are, son,” said Ben, coming into camp at that moment carrying the head, skin, and fore quarters of the deer. “It’s smoke, and I don’t like it a little bit. There’s a forest fire not a great ways off, and we better mosey toward the cabin. We’ll hustle through breakfast and then travel on,” he declared, uneasily.

The boys helped get breakfast, and when it was ready they ate rapidly and in silence. From the way Ben consulted the sky they knew he was anxious and worried. The sun had risen, but was obscured by a purplish haze which he told them was smoke. Then they smelled it. The distinct odor of burning pine was borne to them on the scant morning breeze.

The dishes were hurriedly washed and stowed away in the packs. Each of the boys packed up as much of the deer meat as he could stagger under; Ben added another quarter to his load, and the remainder was covered with boughs and hung high in a tree, to be called for later. Then, eager and anxious, Ben led them away through the smoky woods, at a brisk pace, toward the distant cabin.

As they hurried along, the air seemed to grow heavier, and all through the forest there drifted a hazy fog. The smell of smoke became stronger with each mile they traveled, until Ben, in his anxiety, set a pace that his young companions found it hard to follow.

On the top of a small mountain, which they were obliged to cross, the guide stopped a moment and pointed out a heavy, black cloud of smoke. It was curling up from behind a distant ridge in a direct line with the cabin.

Then, with great strides, he raced down into the valley, the boys stumbling along after him as best they could. Their faces and hands were torn and scratched from thorns and briers, and their feet and legs were bruised from contact with sharp-pointed rocks. They went on uncomplainingly, however, for they feared that the cabin was in danger, and they were anxious to help Ben in its defense against the oncoming fire.

Thicker and more dense grew the smoke-clouds in the woods, and the air became oppressive and suffocating. Tears ran down the boys’ cheeks, and they coughed violently as the pungent smoke filled their lungs.

“Come on, you’ll get used to it soon,” called Ben, encouragingly.

They got a glimpse of the cabin through the smoke, and cried out with delight. In the doorway stood Bill, the trapper, and down the trail came old Moze. They were compelled to laugh when every few feet the hound was obliged to stop and sneeze.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Ben, greeting the trapper.

“Well, you see, there’s a nasty fire coming this way, and I knew you’d be glad to have help to save the shack before morning; so I hustled over.”

“If the wind would only shift around, we’d be all right,” said Ben, gloomily.

“There’s not much wind to shift,” the trapper replied, shaking his head.

The boys sat listening while the two experienced woodsmen consulted as to the best way of keeping the fire off. They finally agreed that the safest course would be to back-fire the woods on all four sides of the cabin. It would be dangerous, for the dry forest, when once kindled, would burn like tinder. The fighters would have to work hard to prevent their fire from turning back and consuming the cabin. To make matters worse, the wind was momentarily strengthening, so that on two sides at least they would be obliged to drive their back-fire into the face of it. But nothing was to be gained by delay, and they began the fight at once.

Ed and George were sent to the lake for pails of water, while Ben and the trapper cut a supply of white-pine boughs for use as beaters. When the boys returned they were each given one of these pine branches and told to wet them and beat out any encroaching patch of flame. Ed was then detailed to the roof to beat out any sparks that might light there. George was ordered to follow along the line of fire started by the men, and told to keep it away from the dry log walls.

FIGHTING A FOREST FIRE

By this time the smoke was so dense that they could not see one another, and Ben cautioned George against wandering away. Great black cinders and bits of charred wood were flying through the woods and dropping all about them. Birds and animals, fleeing from the fire, went by within easy reach. A deer, in its wild panic, almost ran into the cabin, and they heard the frightened creature jump into the lake a few seconds later. Grouse whizzed past close to their heads, and rabbits and smaller things scurried by almost beneath their feet.

Then they heard the roar of the fire, the crackling of undergrowth, and the crash of falling timber as the great wall of flame drew nearer. Twilight fell early, on account of the smoke, and it was soon quite dark. The roar of the approaching flames sounded like the noise of an express-train. The smoke grew still thicker, and they gasped for breath, as scorching heat-waves, like blasts from an open furnace, swept over them.

They had started their back-fire, and George and the woodsmen were compelled to work like demons to keep it from blowing back toward the cabin. The wind blew the smoke and flames full into their faces as they pounded and stamped to force the lengthening line of flame on its windward course to grapple with the onrushing flames of the forest fire.

Ed, too, was soon in the thick of the fight, for in beating at the fire below, the fighters on the ground sent aloft a constant shower of sparks which found their way to the dry log roof on which he crouched. Staggering about through the choking smoke, he beat out several patches of fire which had started from the glowing cinders. Fiery embers seemed to fill the air. They lit on his face and hands, and burned their way into the flesh before he could brush them off. He was unable to see his comrades below, and so loud had the roar of the fire become that he did not even hear their voices. Several times he found himself on the very edge of the roof, and he barely escaped falling off, for, blinded as he was by the smoke, he could not see where he was.

Suddenly he felt a hand clutch his arm, and turned abruptly to find George beside him. His eyebrows were singed, and his face streaked and sooty.

“I’ve been calling you till I’m hoarse,” he gasped. “Thought you might have smothered up here. Ben says the forest fire will be over that hill in a few minutes. Say, isn’t this an experience and a half?” he chuckled, wiping his inflamed eyes.

“What about the cabin?” Ed inquired, anxiously.

“Ben thinks it’s safe, except for the sparks and embers which he says will be dropping like hail when the real fire goes by. He and Bill will watch the walls, and you and I are to guard the roof. You see, our back-fire has burned everything off around the cabin, so the forest fire will have nothing to feed on and must go round us. Ben thinks it will travel around the lake. Say, it’s fierce work holding that back-fire.”

Then the woods were lighted as vividly as if thousands of great electric lights had been suddenly turned on. The boys looked toward the distant pine ridge in alarm, and saw a great barrier of leaping, red-tongued flame rushing toward the little cabin, whose sole protection was the thin line of wavering fire they had sent up the hill to meet and combat the destroying furnace bearing down upon them.

The roar of the flames through the trees and the crackling of burning brush echoed in their ears. Then the awful heat swept over them and stifled their very breath as they groped their way uncertainly about through the yellow pall of smoke.

“Here she is—lie low!” yelled Ben, from somewhere below them; but the rest of his orders were drowned by the noise.

A host of burning embers came glowing through the smoke and alighted on the cabin. A jet of flame started up near the peak of the roof, and the boys dashed water on the spot. Birds struck against them, cinders lit in their hair, and their heads reeled from the intense heat and suffocating smoke.

“Look! Oh, look!” screamed George, hysterically, as a solid sheet of flame flew from the top of a pitch-pine and caught again in a neighboring tree, which it consumed with a sullen roar.

Smoke began to twist up over the edge of the roof, and they realized that the cabin was on fire. With blanched faces and set teeth they crawled to the spot, but were driven back by a tongue of flame which leaped in their faces.

“She’s going, sure!” cried George, in dismay.

“Water, quick!” gasped Ed.

“The roof is on fire, too,” warned George, as he made his way boldly toward the tiny flame that showed redly through the smoke.

“Watch the top, boys; we’ve put the fire out down here,” cried Ben.

The boys went to work with the energy of desperation, and after much effort finally subdued the flames on the roof.

Then the two fires met, and the forest fire was checked, but in no wise conquered. Since nothing was left to burn in front, the fire ran around the blackened circle which protected the cabin, and went roaring and crackling through the woods. It burned down to the water’s edge, and they could hear it hissing with baffled rage at the shore of the lake.

When it had passed, the sparks ceased; and the boys, thoroughly exhausted, dropped on the hot roof of the cabin, thankful for their deliverance.

Ben crawled up and helped them down, and they staggered feebly into the smoke-filled room below. Neither could see, and Bill and the guide brought fresh cold water and put wet cloths over their aching eyes. They could still hear the fire raging in the distance, and weakly asked if it might come back. Ben hastily assured them that this was impossible. Gradually they were able to open their eyes, and the woodsman led them to the lake, where the air was somewhat clearer. The ground felt hot to their feet, and on every side were black, charred tree-trunks and glowing stumps.

Ben and the trapper were also burned and blistered, but made slight of their ills; and, following their splendid example, the boys soon declared that they, too, were all right.

The fire burned fiercely around the shores of the lake, and the weary group of fighters sat in awesome silence and watched it vent its wrath. The flames were reflected in the water, and George declared it looked as if the whole world was afire, water and all. They saw great flame-wrapped trees topple and fall hissing into the lake.

A deer, driven out by the approaching flames, jumped into the lake from the opposite shore and swam directly toward them. The boys wondered if it was the same one they had seen during the fire. The startled creature emerged within a rod of them and staggered away in the blackness.

They remained there until the fire, having completely circled the lake, came together at the lower end. Joining forces, it swept up the side and over the top of an adjoining ridge.

“Nothing to stop it for a hundred miles,” said Bill, sadly.

“Nothing,” added Ben, stooping to cool his fevered face in the water at his feet.

They went solemnly back to the cabin, where they found Moze sound asleep under one of the bunks.

“Don’t seem to bother him much,” laughed Bill.

The air was still densely laden with smoke, but it began to clear when the wind freshened. Ben said they had better go to bed. The boys tossed about for a long time, unable to close their eyes without causing severe pain. Ben and Bill were equally restless, and only Moze seemed able to slumber peacefully.

VI
AN INTERESTING AFTERNOON

The boys slept late the next morning. When they did finally open their smarting eyes, the sunlight was streaming through the cabin windows. They ate a tardy breakfast which the guide had saved for them, and then went outside to see the damage done by the fire.

Everything was black—tree-trunks, stumps, even the ground. Sticks and twigs lying among the rocks the day before were now rows of gray ashes. The rocks themselves were seamed and cracked from the terrific heat that had passed over them. The foliage of the evergreens was seared and brown. Altogether, it was a scene of desolation.

“Might have been worse,” Bill declared, after he had carefully inspected many of the scorched tree-trunks.

“Yes, I don’t believe it hurt the big timber much,” replied Ben; “it went through too fast.”

The boys thought that for this very reason the fire should have been the more destructive. Ben then carefully explained that the slow-traveling fire, working its way tediously against the wind, or along some sheltered valley, invariably did the most damage. He said that, on account of its very slowness, that type of fire burned everything in its path. On the other hand, the wind-swept flames traveling through at railroad speed very often only scorched the foliage, and were driven on before they had a chance to eat their way into the trees.

Toward noon a fresh breeze came down out of the northwest and drove away most of the smoke. A flock of ducks came with it and alighted in the lake; but it was Sunday, and the lads were not hunting.

At dinner the boys were much pleased when Ben promised to take them on a canoe trip the following day. He said they would go to the beaver-dam, where they might see some of those wonderful animals at work. They listened eagerly while he told how the beavers felled trees, which they cut into proper lengths and floated to the spot chosen for their dam. Ben also promised that they might do some shooting on the way.

Later in the day the boys accompanied Bill down to the shore of the lake. There they saw the flock of ducks floating quietly on the water in a sunny cove some little distance away.

The trapper asked Ed if he would like to try a snap-shot at them, and Ed ran to the cabin for his camera.

While he was gone Bill and George began to cut branches with which to trim and conceal the canoe.

These branches were skilfully piled in bow and stern, and draped over each side of the little craft, until it resembled a floating tree-top, or pile of brush. Once in their places, the occupants would be cleverly hidden from the wary birds.

By the time Ed returned, the job was completed, and Bill bade him take a position in the bow, where he could use the camera to best advantage. George was placed amidships, and the trapper knelt in the stern and paddled them toward the ducks. He sent the canoe gliding forward without once taking his paddle from the water, and the boys marveled at his skill.

As the mass of floating greens slowly approached them, the ducks seemed to become a bit uneasy. The stragglers at once swam in to join the balance of the flock, and soon the birds were compactly bunched. Gazing at the approaching object suspiciously, the leaders swam nervously about in contracted circles. Then the entire flock moved slowly away in advance of the canoe.

“Do you think they will fly?” whispered George, turning his face cautiously toward Bill.

The trapper shook his head negatively, and placed a finger across his lips as a warning to be still.

The flock was far out of camera-shot, and as they swam along, the drakes called querulously. To the surprise and delight of his companions, Bill immediately replied with a perfect imitation of their calls.

Somewhat reassured by his answer, the ducks halted and began to swim uncertainly to and fro, as they endeavored to identify the mysterious object which was bearing down upon them.

After a time, as Bill ceased paddling and allowed the canoe to drift toward them, urged on by the slight breeze, the birds became less apprehensive. They began plunging their heads beneath the water and splashing it over their backs. And from time to time, as their suspicions became allayed, they lifted their bodies from the water and flapped their wings like a barnyard rooster about to crow.

As the canoe came closer and closer to the unsuspecting flock the boys became impatient. Peering between the branches which shielded them, they could distinctly see the sheen on the plumage of the nearer drakes. With eager, trembling fingers Ed placed his camera in readiness for quick focusing.

At last he could see the birds like tiny specks in the finder, and he was relieved to know that he was actually within focusing range. He kept his gaze riveted on the little square of frosted glass, determined to push the lever and make the exposure, should the ducks rise.

Bill approached still closer. One or two stealthy paddle-strokes, and then he allowed the canoe to drift. So slowly and cautiously was his advance made that the ducks seemed to have lost all fear. No doubt they had mistaken the canoe for part of a floating tree-top. At any rate, Bill soon came within perfect focusing distance. Then, when Ed saw the entire flock plainly outlined in the center of the finder, he pressed the lever of his camera, and the exposure was made.

The click of the shutter was slight, but it had been sufficient to alarm the ducks. With loud, frightened calls they rose from the water, and Ed snapped an exposure of them in flight. Then, on whistling wings, they wheeled over the canoe and, towering higher and higher as they circled the lake, flew rapidly from sight over the distant tree-tops.

“Well, you got them without harming a feather,” laughed Bill, well pleased with his work.

“Yes, and I must thank you,” said Ed, gratefully. “It was wonderful—the way you worked up to them. I shall have some enlargements made from that negative and will send you one, if they’re good, Bill.”

“All right, my son, I’ll be glad to have it,” declared Bill. “Guess we won’t need all this browse around us any longer.” And he and the boys began throwing the branches overboard.

“What kind of ducks were they?” inquired George.

“Wood-ducks, the prettiest little ducks that swim,” replied Bill. “Funny, too; they usually build their nest in a hollow tree, and when the ducklings are hatched, carry them to the water in their bills.”

When the canoe was at last clear of branches the trapper paddled slowly up the lake, his keen eyes constantly alert for something interesting.

Suddenly he brought the canoe to a stop and nodded toward the forest.

“Look half-way up that hemlock, over in that open space,” he said, softly.

The boys heeded his warning, and saw a small black animal on one of the limbs. It seemed to be gnawing the bark, and was evidently entirely unaware of their approach.

“What is it?” asked Ed.

“Porcupine,” explained Bill.

“Can’t we go over to it?” pleaded George.

“We’ll try; I’d like you to see one close by,” and the trapper urged the canoe shoreward.

“‘What funny things you see when you haven’t got a gun,’” quoted Ed, laughing.

“And usually on Sunday,” added George, “when you couldn’t shoot if you had one.”

Bill handled the canoe carefully until he got it in line with a large tree, which shielded them from the sight of the porcupine. Then he dug his paddle hard into the water and sent the light craft toward the bank at top speed.

As the boys were scrambling hastily ashore, they heard a scratching of bark, followed by a peculiar, complaining sort of grunt, which apparently came from the direction of the hemlock.

“He’s climbing down! Hurry after him, he can’t run fast!” shouted Bill, as he jumped from the canoe.

When they came in sight of the tree, the boys saw the porcupine shuffling awkwardly along some distance ahead of them. Instantly they gave chase, with Bill close at their heels. When they overtook their quarry the lads suddenly halted and broke out into peals of laughter at the antics of the stupid creature before them. Finding itself unable to escape by direct flight, the clumsy animal had deliberately rolled itself into a sort of ball. And, as it lay helpless in the very path of its pursuers, there rose from its body a mass of sharply pointed yellow-tipped quills, or spines.

“Look out! Don’t touch it!” warned Bill.

“Why, what a strange-looking beast it is!” cried Ed, instantly focusing his camera.

“Looks like it was stuck full of hat-pins,” laughed George.

“It is, and you’ll be, too, if you touch it!” declared the trapper.

Then he began to prod it gently with his paddle. Quickly it straightened out and made a vicious swing at the ashen blade with its quill-filled tail.

“That’s the way he drives the darts into you. See them fall out each time he strikes the paddle?” said Bill.

The boys saw several quills fall to the ground every time the porcupine struck the paddle-blade with its tail.

Bill declared the creature a nuisance on account of its habit of stripping trees of their bark, which seemed to be its principal article of diet. And with this he began to look for a club; but the boys begged for mercy, and the porcupine’s life was spared him.

They remained for some time watching the queer creature, which turned its head slyly in their direction and blinked at them with little stupid eyes. Then, when they had withdrawn a few yards, the porcupine rose to its feet and resumed its laughable attempt at flight. The boys at once ran to the spot where it had been and gathered up the shed quills, which, after carefully examining, they fastened in their caps.

When they were again in the canoe, Bill told them that the porcupine would often come boldly into camp and destroy every piece of hide or leather it could find, as well as anything, even wood, on which there chanced to be a bit of grease. He added that few animals in the woods cared to attack the porcupine, unless forced to do so by a scarcity of food-supply and the pangs of hunger.

“You see, the quills get into their mouths and work down into their throats and stomachs. I’ve found lynxes which had starved to death on account of having their throats full of porcupine quills,” explained the trapper.

“Served them right for attacking so peaceful a citizen,” declared Ed, in defense of this abused animal.

“Not so fast, son, not so fast!” laughed Bill. “Now, just suppose you were on some island where you were starving. Then, suppose a miserable little mite of a fish came close to shore and stranded before your famished eyes. You’d be glad enough to grab him and eat him raw. Well, suppose after you’d swallowed him you found a hundred burning, piercing needles in your throat and tongue. Finally, suppose you staggered around for days in agony, trying to get them out, till you dropped and died in torture. Think you’d have deserved such an end just because you tried to keep the breath of life in your body?”

The boys were silent and thoughtful as Bill ceased speaking and paddled them slowly toward the cabin. They had changed their opinions of the starving lynxes.

When they landed at the little log dock, the lads turned and gazed for a long time out across the placid water at the beauty of the sunset scene.

In the west hung a mass of pearl-colored clouds whose ragged edges were tinged with shining gold. The upper rim of the setting sun was barely visible above a ridge of distant pines. The hush of closing day had fallen on the wilderness. Smooth and unruffled, like a mirror, the lake caught and reflected the changing tints of the evening sky. Then a thin, steam-like mist began to rise along its borders.

“Come on; time to go home,” called Bill.

That night the boys expressed a wish to go with the trapper on one of his expeditions. To their great joy Bill promptly agreed to take them before spring. He said he would show them how to set all kinds of traps and how to cure pelts.

Ben reminded them that Sunday was the proper day for letter-writing, and said it would be a fine chance to send word home, as Bill expected to start for town at daylight. The boys wrote enthusiastic accounts of their experiences since coming to the woods. Then they gave the letters to the care of the trapper, to be mailed at the far-off settlement. They thought it a very long walk for Bill to undertake, and told him so. He only laughed and replied that such distances were nothing “when your legs once get tuned to the trail.”

They turned in early, and, for the first time since their arrival, the boys failed to hear the flying squirrels scampering about above them. They spoke to Ben about it, and he said it had become too cold for the little night prowlers.

VII
A VISIT TO THE BEAVERS

The boys were up early; but Bill and Moze had already gone. They ate breakfast by lamplight, a new experience. The guide explained that they had a long journey to make.

Daylight was just dawning when they took their places in the canoe and pushed from shore. Ben paddled leisurely down the lake, with Ed in the bow and George amidships. Ed had his shotgun across his knees, and George sat with his rifle by his side. They were armed for any sort of game. Ben paddled noiselessly. The young hunters sat quietly in their places, their eyes riveted on the shadowy shore-line, eager to see big game. Once a flock of crows flew noisily overhead. Again some squirrels barked far back in the forest. Otherwise all was still.

By the time the sun had climbed over the mountains, they had reached the end of the lake. Here they were obliged to make a portage to another body of water about a mile distant. They landed, pulled the canoe up on shore, and unloaded the guns and a few cooking utensils. George also carried the camera slung on a strap from his shoulder.

MAKING A PORTAGE (By courtesy of the Outing Publishing Co.)

To the surprise of the boys, Ben hoisted the canoe on his shoulders and walked off with it. They fell in behind him in single file. Ed carried the two guns, and George the cooking things in a bag on his back.

There was a well-marked trail extending from the water, and Ben followed slowly along its winding course. He pointed to little square patches on the tree-trunks, from which the bark had been peeled. He said they were “blazes,” made to show the trail, especially in winter when the snow was deep.

A grouse rose and thundered away through the woods. Ben stopped and told Ed to put down the rifle and go ahead with the shotgun, for he believed other birds were hiding close by. He cautioned him to aim well in front if the birds flew crosswise, and several inches over the middle of their bodies if they went straight away.

Ed had barely taken five steps when another grouse rose, and flew directly from him. It was his first experience with these difficult targets, and he was rattled. Although he fired both barrels the bird went safely on its way.

“That’s all right,” laughed the guide; “put in two new shells quick.”

Ed slipped the shells into his gun and walked a few steps farther on, determined to make a better showing.

Whirr! A third grouse rose and chose the same course as the first.

“Now!” cried Ben, when the bird was in the proper alignment.

Bang! bang! went both shells, and Ed whooped triumphantly, for the grouse turned a somersault in the air and landed with a thud in the center of the trail lifeless.

“That’s better,” said Ben, encouragingly. “You’ll soon do as well with the gun as you do with the rifle.”

The boys ran forward eagerly and picked up the dead bird. They stroked its plumage admiringly, and Ed put it in the large rear pocket of his hunting-coat.

“Never mind, George, you’ll get a chance later on,” the guide promised.

They started on, and before they had gone far George evened the score by shooting a rabbit. Then they came out on the shore of a sparkling sheet of water which the boys thought too large to be called a pond. It spread out on either side to far-off wooded shores, and in front apparently stretched away for miles toward a range of purple mountains. Ben said that distance judged over water was very deceptive, and that it was not nearly so far to the end of the lake as it seemed. He added that he did not intend going that far, for they would turn aside to a brook which flowed through some swampy meadows where there was a beaver settlement.

They had hardly launched the canoe when Ed spied a great, dark bird with a white head and tail sitting on the naked limb of a dead pine. Ben declared it a bald eagle, and then he pointed overhead to another bird, somewhat smaller, soaring about in wide, swinging circles above the lake. He called it an osprey or fish-hawk. He said, if they sat motionless and watched closely, they might see the eagle rob it of its dinner. For some time they drifted quietly along while the osprey sailed about on motionless wings. Occasionally it uttered a shrill cry, which the guide explained was its hunting-call.

The eagle sat gloomily on its lofty perch, with feathers ruffled and head drawn down between its shoulders. The boys thought it showed little interest in the fish-hawk; but Ben assured them it was watching every move the latter made. He said it was just pretending to be half asleep.

Then the osprey, with folded wings, dove straight as an arrow to the water below, and disappeared with a loud splash which sent a cloud of spray into the air. A few seconds elapsed before the tips of its wings reappeared, and its body, wet and shining, came into view. It flapped and struggled furiously to rise. The guide thought it had fastened its claws in a monster fish.

After much effort it finally rose heavily from the lake, and they saw a large fish twisting about in the merciless grip of its talons. Slowly it mounted upward and flew laboriously toward the distant shore.

“Look at ‘Old Sleepy Head’ now!” laughed Ben, pointing at the eagle.

It had risen to its full height, stretched its neck, and spread its wings. Then with a wild scream it launched into space and flew at the osprey. The latter immediately turned and began to tower frantically skyward. The eagle, screaming fiercely, was close behind it. They circled higher and higher, while the little party in the canoe looked on.

At length the eagle made a savage swoop toward its victim, and the osprey dropped its finny prize and darted out of harm’s way. Like a thunderbolt from the sky the eagle pitched headlong after the falling fish, which it secured before it reached the water, and bore it proudly away.

“What do you think of that?” asked Ben.

“I feel sorry for the poor fish-hawk; but I wouldn’t have missed seeing the trick turned for anything,” Ed replied.

Farther on the boys saw what they believed to be a pair of ducks on the water. They asked Ben to turn the canoe so they might get a shot. He promptly did so, and Ed handed the shotgun to George. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger, and at the same instant, as it seemed, the birds vanished under water. Ben laughed heartily while they watched for the “ducks” to come up.

After some moments they reappeared, and Ben worked the canoe carefully toward them, that Ed might try a shot. He, too, took deliberate aim; but again the uncanny birds disappeared before the shot reached them. The guide, unable to control himself, shrieked with laughter.

The shooters, somewhat bewildered, asked what was the matter. He said they had been shooting at “hell-divers” or grebes, and declared they might shoot all day without hitting them. Ben told the boys that these little birds had deceived the best of shots.

The young marksmen were surprised to learn that grebes sometimes swim with only the tip of the bill above water. Also, they were told that the surest way to get one was to paddle after it when it came to the surface and force it to dive again. By repeatedly doing this they might finally “wind” the swimmer and get an easy shot. The guide added that it was not worth the trouble, as the flesh of the grebes was unfit to eat, being strongly impregnated with fish, which formed their sole diet. Consequently, the boys went on their way and left the grebes swimming serenely about in bold defiance of their marksmanship.

Ben later offered to show them an otter-slide, and turned the bow of the canoe toward land. He paddled silently along the near shore, which at this point rose to form a steep, moss-grown bank. Finally he stopped and pointed to a shallow gully, or chute, which extended from the top of the bank to the edge of the water. Close beside it, and parallel to it, was a narrow, winding trail. Ben explained that the larger depression was an otter-slide, which the makers used like a toboggan-run. The otters, lying on their stomachs, slid head foremost down the chute and into the water. The boys were told that the path at the side had been made by otters emerging from the lake and climbing the bank for another “header.”

Ed and George decided to get out and investigate. Ben beached the canoe and accompanied them. While they were examining the slide, he called, and they made their way to him, a short distance back in the woods.

“There’s a bear track, and a big one,” he said, pointing to a huge paw-mark in the soft ground.

It looked as though some giant had walked there barefooted.

“We’ll just keep tab on that fellow till he dens up, and then we ought to be able to get him,” said Ben, following the trail into the woods.

“Do you think he is around now?” inquired Ed, anxiously.

“Bless you, no; he’d have heard us long ago and—” began the guide; but he did not finish.

Just then there was a loud, startled “woof,” and a great crashing of dried twigs, and to their amazement a big black shape rose from the thicket and lumbered away.

The guide doubled up with laughter, for at sound and sight of the bear his companions had bolted and fled for the canoe. In their frantic haste to escape, the boys lost their footing at the top of the bank and went rolling down to the water’s edge. It was a funny sight.

“The bear was ’most as frightened as you were,” chuckled Ben. “Too bad you didn’t have your rifle, Ed, you might have had a nice shot.”

“I don’t believe I would have stayed to shoot,” Ed confessed. “But we won’t run next time—will we, George?”

“Not on your life!”

They paddled to the mouth of the brook, which flowed sluggishly into the deep, silent woods. Ben turned the canoe into it, and they were soon skimming along between rows of willows and birches which lined the shores. The stream brought them to a wide marsh, where the guide hoped to see a moose on their return toward evening.

From beneath some bushes which overhung the water a flock of ducks rose compactly bunched. George, who was in the bow with the shotgun across his knees, quickly brought it to his shoulder and fired two shots in rapid succession. Two plump ducks came tumbling down to float lifeless on the water. Another dropped slightly farther on; but it was only wounded, and it at once began flapping its way awkwardly toward shore.

“Quick, George; give him another charge, or he’ll get away!” warned Ben, swinging the canoe broadside of the stream.

Even while George hurriedly pushed the shells into the breech of his gun the rifle cracked, and Ed had severed the head of the duck from its body.

“Good boy!” cried Ben, enthusiastically. “That’s shooting.”

Ed called it a good-luck shot, but his comrades called it skill. They gathered the ducks and started for the beaver lodges and dam, which were still some distance away.

The brook widened and became deeper. They saw a muskrat house, and one of the small, brown inmates swimming close by. Ben said that these little creatures were near cousins to the beavers. He restrained the lads from shooting, since the fur was not yet prime, and promised that there would be plenty of opportunity to hunt and trap the “rats” later.

The stream at length led into what appeared to be a mill-pond. In the center they saw a large, dome-shaped mass of mud and sticks raised above the water. This was the beaver house or lodge. Ben pointed to the long, curving dam across the head of the pond. He explained how, when the current of a brook was strong, the beavers curved their dam upstream to withstand the surge of the water.

BEAVER HOUSES

They paddled to the house, and the boys were astonished to find it so large. Near it was a pile of short, green logs and sticks, a supply of winter food. They observed that the smaller end of each stick was thrust into the mud to prevent it from floating away.

They were puzzled at not finding any doorway in the house; but Ben explained that the entrance was under water, and he told them how the beavers traveled about beneath the ice. The muskrats, he added, built their houses in much the same way, except that instead of small logs and large sticks they made use of grasses and weed-stalks.

Then he paddled to the shore, and they alighted. Here they saw the round, blunt-pointed stumps and tree-butts chiseled by the beavers’ sharp teeth, and Ben explained how they cut the trees. He said, when beavers find a suitable tree they sit up on their haunches and gnaw away the bark, working slowly about the trunk in a circle. Then they go around again and chisel out pieces of the wood itself. This they continue to do until they penetrate to the heart of the tree, and presently it falls. Then they gnaw off the smaller limbs and branches, which are collected and floated to the dam or lodge.

Ben added, some people claim that the beavers always cut a tree so that it will fall in any desired direction. But he said he did not believe this, for he had seen hundreds of trees which the beavers had felled in the most inconvenient places, and others that, through careless cutting, had lodged against adjacent trunks and failed to come to the ground at all.

Then the guide led the boys to the dam. They walked along the top, where the sticks were all pointed lengthwise of the stream. There was more beaver talk from Ben, who surprised the boys by telling them that the beaver’s tail, properly prepared, made delicious soup.

Anxious to get a glimpse of the clever creatures, Ben decided to wait close to the dam. However, he was not hopeful, for, he said, the beavers usually worked after dark, or between daylight and sunrise; but, he added, they were occasionally seen abroad in the daytime, and on the chance the boys were eager to wait.

They returned to the canoe, and presently there was a crackling fire, and appetizing smells soon drifted off through the woods. When they had finished eating they went into hiding behind some willows at the edge of the pond, and Ben told them that when an old bachelor beaver became quarrelsome the beavers drove him from the village and compelled him to live alone; also, when the beavers were obliged to go some distance into the forest for the trees they required, they sometimes dug regular little canals down which they floated the sticks and logs to their pond.

Suddenly a loud whack came from the water, and, cautioning his companions to keep still, the guide peeped between the branches. Quietly he pointed toward the lodge, and the boys saw a dark-brown animal swimming leisurely along near the foot of the dam. Ben whispered that the noise had been made by the beaver striking the water with its tail.

The animal soon reached the base of the dam and crawled from the water. It walked carefully along the whole length of the dam, apparently on a tour of inspection. At one place a stick had become dislodged, and the beaver skilfully put it back.

Then it entered the pond and, to their delight, started directly toward their place of concealment. Ben warned them to remain absolutely motionless, and Ed stealthily placed his camera within reach, in the hope of getting a snap-shot.

The beaver swam to a log within fifteen feet of them, and there emerged and sat up in plain view. Ed hastily focused the camera and pressed the bulb, with an involuntary exclamation of delight. At the sound the beaver dove beneath the water.

“Well, my boy, you’re certainly in luck,” laughed Ben, as Ed wound off the film. “I guess he just came over to have his picture taken.”

“That will make a fine enlargement!” cried George.

“It’s better than shooting him,” Ben declared. “Anybody can wait around and get a pot-shot, but it’s not every one that can get close enough to take a good picture. Of course, he helped considerable by saving us the trouble of sneaking up on him; but nobody knows that,” he added, mischievously.

Ed took several pictures of the dam and the gnawed stumps. Then they entered the canoe and paddled upstream toward the lake. The weather was becoming colder, and a raw, piercing wind had come down out of the north. Ben thought it might snow before many hours, and the boys, eager for their first experience with snowshoes, hoped it would.

When they turned from the stream the shadows of early twilight had crept through the woods, and were reaching over the water. Ben paddled rapidly, and they were soon at the end of the lake, where the dim trail led away toward the little cabin.

Ben had lifted the canoe on his shoulders and was starting along the trail when an alarming sound came over the water from the swamp.

The guide instantly set the canoe down and straightened to listen, and the boys instinctively moved closer to his side. As they stood there the wild call was repeated. It echoed weirdly over the water, and consisted of a deep, cow-like bellow followed by several low, rumbling grunts.

“That’s a bull moose calling,” declared Ben. Then he lifted the canoe and continued into the black woods.

The lads followed closely, unable to keep from glancing over their shoulders apprehensively each time the cry was repeated. They asked Ben about the noise, and they were quite excited to learn that with a roll of birch-bark he could imitate the sound and call a moose. He promised to do this for them, and they determined to hold him to his promise.

As they stumbled along in the wake of the guide, Ed and George several times heard animals running away through the dark. They thought it wonderful that Ben was able to find and follow the trail in such darkness, and finally asked him how he did it. He laughed and declared he just followed his feet.

It was late when they eventually reached the cabin. Ben cooked a splendid supper, and they ate with the appetite of the woods. Then came the comfort of their blankets and sound sleep.

VIII
A BULL MOOSE AND A NARROW ESCAPE

Next morning the bushes about the edge of the shore were silvered with frost, and a thin, crinkling scum of ice covered the little pools in the marsh. The air was sharp and crisp, and it nipped viciously at the boys’ fingers and ears. Before it was light they left the cabin and took their stand beside Ben in the timber at the border of the swamp.

For some time they stood there shivering from cold and excitement. Then, as the first gray hint of approaching day came from the east, Ben raised a cone-shaped roll of birch-bark to his lips and blew the wild, sonorous challenge of the bull moose. It rose and fell on the frosty air until all the woods resounded, and then died away in the distance.

Somewhere about, within hearing distance he hoped, was the moose they had heard on their return from the beaver-dam. Ben felt sure it would eagerly accept this defiant challenge. If it did, he knew it would soon come crashing noisily toward them, and he hoped to entice it out upon the open marsh.

Having given the call, the guide lowered the birch-bark horn and sat down to wait, while the boys stared eagerly across the marsh.

Time passed, but there was no response. At last Ben rose and sent forth another strange cry. This time he substituted the call of the cow moose. Then he again sat down to wait.

Daylight dawned, and a white, curling mist rose and drifted away above the marsh. Something snapped a twig at the border of the woods. The boys looked expectantly at Ben and shifted their rifles. He smiled and shook his head, and their tense nerves relaxed.

Then the summons was answered, and Ben glanced at them and winked encouragingly. From far to the right came the challenging reply, and the very sound of it set the hearts of the young hunters to thumping, while they thrilled with excitement. What they would do when the moose really made its appearance they did not know, except that they determined to stand their ground manfully.

Ben once more placed the roll of bark to his lips and sent forth another call—a repetition of the first defiant challenge. A minute or so passed, and then the reply came, clearer and more distinct than before.

“We’ve got him coming, boys,” said Ben, confidently. “When he gets close, and you hear him crashing through the woods, you fellows must keep as still as mice, or we’ll lose him. If I can coax him into the center of the marsh, cover him close behind the shoulder; and when you hear me hiss, let him have it.”

“What will he do when he gets here?” asked George.

“Look around for trouble, I guess,” Ben answered.

“And he’ll find it, too!” said Ed.

Again the guide called, and an answer came back immediately. Then, to their great surprise, another call sounded from the opposite side of the swamp. The boys stared at Ben in wide-eyed astonishment.

“Well, I’ll be blamed!” he chuckled. “We’ve got two of them coming; and, unless I’m mistaken, we’re going to see something mighty interesting. I wouldn’t wonder but what there’s likely to be the liveliest kind of a scrap around here before long.”

For some minutes they were kept in a high state of excitement and suspense, as the calls and challenges of the rival bulls sounded back and forth across the marsh.

“There’s no use calling any more,” said Ben, laying aside the birch roll. “They’ll call each other, and meet right here in front of us.”

At last they heard the moose which had answered first crashing his way through the undergrowth. At the same time they heard the second one approaching from the opposite side.

“Don’t shoot till I tell you,” whispered Ben, as they crouched behind the bushes.

Both bulls had become suspicious, and they were using every precaution before exposing themselves. The boys could see the tops of small trees shake as the moose lunged savagely at them with their antlers. The enraged beasts were evidently pawing and stamping, for there was a constant snapping and crackling of dried twigs. Then silence reigned supreme while the animals stood listening for a warning of danger.

At last, after what seemed a very long time to the impatient watchers, one of the great beasts, the one they had heard first, left the timber and strode defiantly out upon the marsh. The hair on his neck was raised in anger as he stood with his massive antlers held high, endeavoring to obtain some sign or scent of his rival.

The boys raised their rifles and took accurate aim. Their hearts thumped wildly, and their breath came hard and fast. Much to their disgust, however, Ben motioned for them to lower the weapons. He pointed mysteriously in the direction from whence he expected the second bull. The one they had so eagerly covered was not as large a specimen as the guide had expected to see. He was prudently holding the impatient lads in check, in the hope that the second moose would prove to be a finer animal.

Then there was a savage grunt, and with lowered head the expected arrival charged into the open and drove straight at its enemy. The latter, although surprised by the suddenness of the attack, instantly wheeled and braced himself to withstand the charge.

There was a terrific crash as the two sets of antlers met. Then began a battle the like of which none of the spellbound onlookers would probably ever see again. Head against head, the two big brutes pushed and shoved each other about the marsh. Great pieces of mossy turf were torn loose and flung high in air by their sharp hoofs; bushes were broken and trampled down as the combatants struggled through them; and the noise of hoarse breathing, as the bulls strained and labored against each other, could be distinctly heard.

The last arrival was the larger and heavier animal of the two. In spite of this, its younger and smaller adversary was giving a splendid account of himself. Twice he sent his larger antagonist to its knees by the force of his rushes, and he speedily won the sympathy of his unseen audience by his courage. Several times, when he had gained a temporary advantage, the boys were on the point of cheering. In their struggle the infuriated animals approached close to the hiding-place of the hunters, and the latter could see the fierce eyes blazing with the light of battle.

Finally the strength of the heavier animal began to assert itself, and the younger moose, gashed and gored, began to give way. Slowly it retreated before the furious onslaughts of its aggressive antagonist. Then, finding itself unable to stop them, it turned in panic and fled with its conqueror in triumphant pursuit.

As the bulls galloped across the marsh Ben called to the boys to shoot. Nothing could have tempted them to fire at the smaller animal, which had so completely won their hearts by its gallant conduct. They had no such consideration for its rival, however, and they quickly brought their rifles up and fired at his retreating form.

When the shots rang out the rear moose fell to its knees, but was up in an instant and into the woods.

“Well, you hit him,” said Ben, as he rose to his feet. “Why didn’t you each pick one of them?”

“We couldn’t kill the smaller one after seeing the fight he made,” declared Ed. “At least, that was the way I felt about it.”

“Same here,” George seconded.

Ben laughed, but did not reply. He led them over the marsh to where the moose had fallen. They closely examined the small bushes in the immediate vicinity. A few splashes showed on some of the leaves, and the guide declared the moose was only slightly wounded.

“Of course, I may be wrong,” he added, noting the look of disappointment on their faces. “Anyhow, we’ll have to follow him up. Nobody but a rank ‘tenderfoot’ or a quitter would leave a wounded animal to suffer and die in misery.”

They started at once to follow the moose.

“Will he be apt to go far?” Ed inquired.

“Judging by the sign, he’ll go a long ways,” Ben prophesied, “unless he’s bleeding inside.”

The boys wished they had not shot, for the idea of the wounded moose, perhaps in mortal agony, fleeing before them caused severe pangs of conscience. They determined, therefore, to follow on the trail until they found their victim and mercifully ended his sufferings.

Headed by the guide, whose keen eyes never for an instant lost the indistinct trail, they toiled through the wilderness for several hours. Twice they were obliged to ford streams, and the icy water chilled their legs. They flushed grouse, which, as usual at such times, flew stupidly into trees and offered all sorts of easy shots. But Ben, fully determined to kill the moose, forbade them to use the rifles on anything except the wounded bull. They had an excellent chance at a buck which leaped from cover beside them and bounded up an exposed hillside. Even then the lads dutifully obeyed instructions and refrained from shooting.

While they were crossing a dangerous strip of floating bog George lagged behind to lace his moccasins. Then, in his eagerness to overtake his companions, he started recklessly across the treacherous swamp, stepped upon a piece of floating bog, and disappeared into a deep water-hole.

When his head reappeared above the surface, George grasped desperately at the moss and bushes fringing the edge of the pool. He was dismayed to find that the bog all around him was afloat. He called to his comrades for help. But they, supposing he had followed them, had disappeared into the timber.

The water was several feet over his depth, and George was compelled to “tread,” a trick he had learned in the school swimming-tank, in order to keep his head above the surface. He realized that he could not continue it very long before he would become exhausted. Already the icy water was cramping his legs and sending sharp, stinging pains through his body. Again and again he clutched at the edge of the floating marsh and tried to drag himself upon it. Each time it sank with his weight and sent him diving beneath the water. He clung valiantly to his rifle, and at last decided to fire it in the hope of attracting the attention of his companions. Then he thought of the moose, and refrained.

Finally his legs stiffened and refused to work, and, feeling himself sinking, George clutched frantically at a bush and held to it with a grip of despair. It was anchored to a large piece of floating bog. Although the insecure platform would not support him, it kept the lad from sinking into the depths of the pool.

For what seemed hours George hung suspended in the water-hole. His calls brought no response, and he determined to fire the danger-signal.

He listened fearfully as the reports thundered across the marsh, for he believed he had spoiled all chance of getting the moose. But, as the wind blew from the wrong direction to carry the sound to his friends, George doubted if either they or the moose had heard his desperate appeal.

Then the alarming possibility that perhaps Ben and Ed had also fallen into the bog presented itself. The mere suggestion of such a catastrophe sickened him. He realized that unless help came soon it would be too late. The water was benumbing his entire body, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he retained his death-like hold on the saving bush. With all the power of his lungs he gave a last despairing cry. Then he felt himself slowly sinking into the icy water.

But suddenly there was an answering yell from Ben, and, rousing himself, George saw the guide leaping over the marsh with a long pole on his shoulder. Behind him came Ed, also carrying a pole.

When he arrived at the edge of the treacherous bog, Ben reached forward with the extended pole, while he held fast to the other pole which Ed, his feet braced against a tree, clung to with all his might. The end of the sapling just came within reach, and George grasped it with stiffened fingers and endeavored to aid Ben, who was struggling desperately to drag him from the water. The guide put all of his strength into the effort, and George rose slowly from the hole and was dragged over, under, and through the wet mass beneath him to firm ground.

His rescuers at once set to work rubbing and kneading his cramped muscles, until they had partially restored circulation. Then they led him rapidly over the marsh and into the shelter of the woods. Ben quickly kindled a fire, and compelled George to sit near it until he was well dried and thoroughly warmed.

When the lad had fully recovered, the guide congratulated him on his narrow escape, and commended him for his presence of mind in keeping possession of his rifle.

George apologized for having fired the shots, and said he supposed he had ruined all chances of getting the moose.

Ben and Ed looked at each other, and laughed heartily. Then they rose and asked him to follow them into the woods. There before him was the body of the moose. George, delighted, looked from one to the other for an explanation. Ben told him that both bullets had taken deadly effect, and the bull had succumbed to internal wounds.

The boys helped him skin the carcass and cut out the choice parts of the meat. Then they left the head and horns until later, made convenient packs, and started for the canoe. They were careful to go around the swamp instead of crossing it again.

Once they had reached the canoe, they started directly for the cabin. The first real touch of winter was in the air, and as they paddled along Ben told them if the wind went down at dark they could expect to find ice in the morning.

When they reached the cabin he prepared a cup of hot ginger tea, which he made George drink to offset any ill effects from his exposure in the marsh. Then he cooked a delicious stew from the game they had procured in the past few days, and, as they were all extremely hungry, they ate supper early.

As Ben had prophesied, the wind died down with the sun, and a keen, biting frost descended over the wilderness. They made a roaring fire in the little stove, and drew their stools close up to it while Ben told several stories before they climbed into their bunks.

IX
FISHING THROUGH THE ICE

For a week the cold weather continued, and the lakes and ponds became covered with smooth, glistening sheets of ice. The boys, who had brought their skates, enjoyed great sport. Never before had they seen such excellent skating, and Ben advised them to make the most of it before the snow came and spoiled their fun.

One day they spied a fox crossing the lake, and they promptly skated after it. The fleet-footed animal was unable to make speed on the ice, and the boys gained rapidly. The panic-stricken fox slid about and fell constantly in its efforts to dodge its pursuers. Once it ran directly in front of Ed, and sent him sprawling—much to the delight of Ben and George. The guide, who watched the sport from shore, cautioned them against catching the animal with their hands. Therefore they were obliged to content themselves with chasing it to the edge of the woods, where, finding firm footing at last, it jumped into the bushes and sped away in safety.

Several days later the sun came out bright and warm, and Ben declared it a splendid day to fish through the ice. He promised the boys great sport, should the fish happen to be hungry. He went to a near-by spring and dipped some minnows from a supply stored there. Then he took ten or twelve pieces of lath from a shelf. Each piece was about three feet long, and had a small, round hole bored through its center, near one end. Fastened to this end was a heavy braided fish-line, from the end of which dangled a businesslike-looking hook. Provided with these, the pail of minnows, and two axes, Ben led the way over the lake to a sheltered cove. There he halted at some distance from the shore, for he explained that with the coming of cold weather the fish retired to deeper water.

While he chopped the first hole the guide set the boys at work cutting a number of sticks, about three feet long, small enough to fit loosely through the holes in the pieces of lath. By the time they had cut enough Ben had chopped several holes. The lads were anxious to help, and he surrendered the ax and told them to begin.

They began by chipping small pieces of ice, haphazard, from the center of a tiny circle. The guide instantly stopped them and declared such work would not do. He showed how to cut a circular groove through the ice, keeping all sides of the circle at an even depth until they were on the point of reaching the water; then a clean-cut disk of ice floated free and was pushed back out of the way.

“There’s a knack in everything, boys,” laughed Ben, straightening after he had cut the twelfth and last hole.

They unwound the fish-lines, placed a minnow on each hook, and dropped it into the water. At the same time Ben pushed a stick through the lath and placed it across the opening. Each end of the stick rested on the ice. The lath had its longer half resting on the ice, and its shorter end, from which dangled the line and hook, directly over the water.

Ben explained that when a fish jerked on the line it would pull the short end of the lath down and cause the other end to rise and give warning of a strike. He said such an arrangement was known as a “tip-up.” When the last hole had been baited and set, the anglers went ashore to wait. When one of the “tip-ups” bobbed into the air they were all to rush for it. The one who got there first and jerked out the fish would win that “heat.”

Suddenly Ben shouted, “There goes number three!” and off he started, with the boys in hot pursuit.

It was no easy matter to keep their feet while dashing at full speed over the glassy surface of the lake. Ed fell flat and slid along with his arms and legs outspread. By the time George reached the hole he was going so fast that he could not stop, and he slid past, vainly endeavoring to turn without falling. When Ed and George had recovered themselves, Ben had reached the opening and tossed a splendid pickerel on the ice.

“You fellows looked like spiders trying to run over a window-pane,” he laughed, as the boys came up puffing.

“Just wait until the next one!” George panted.

“There she goes!” cried Ed; and he made a wild dash for another hole.

George and Ben were right behind him, yelling at the top of their voices. When near the opening Ed thought the best way to stop would be to sit down and slide the remainder of the distance. He did so, but was unaware that his comrades were close behind him; and he was somewhat surprised when Ben went sailing over his head and George landed astride his back. There was a grand mix-up of arms and legs, as all of them tried to scramble to the hole. Finally Ed managed to crawl to the opening, where he jerked another pickerel from the water.

When they rose to their feet, they saw three “tip-ups” on end, and this time each ran to a different one. Much to the delight of the boys, Ben slipped, and to save himself from plunging into the hole jumped over it at top speed. His feet hit the ice on the other side and instantly shot out from under him, and he slid along on his back, while his young companions whooped.

“Another spider!” cried Ed.

Ben laughed good-naturedly, and, spying another “tip-up” raised, started for it at break-neck speed. Away went the boys at the same instant. In vain they tried to head him off from the side. Again a desperate mix-up ensued, and this time it was George who first got hold of the line. He gave a violent tug. Then the others laughed boisterously, for nothing but the bare hook shot into the air.

After a while it began to cloud over and grow cold and raw. Ben looked at the sky and prophesied snow before dark. They spent the remainder of the morning on the ice; but with the disappearance of the sun and the coming of the cold wind, the fish ceased biting. They caught only one or two more before they took up the “tip-ups” at noon and returned to the cabin.

During the afternoon it continued to grow colder. Several times little flurries of snow passed, swirling out across the lake. Ben busied himself in overhauling several pairs of snowshoes, which he said they might soon have need of.

All at once a most unearthly noise sounded from the opposite side of the lake. Ben dropped the snowshoe he was fixing, and listened. It was a combination of howls, whines, yelps, and barks mingled in one great bedlam of sound that greeted their ears.

The guide rushed from the cabin with his rifle, and ran for the shore, the boys close behind him. Whatever made the noise was evidently headed for the lake, with the intention of crossing on the ice.

“They’ve turned!” said Ben, disgustedly.

“What is it?” inquired Ed.

“Wild dogs,” said Ben. “They’re running a deer—bad luck to them! If the deer had only come out on the ice, as it intended, I’d have dropped a few of the rascals before they got out of range.”

“Wild dogs?” repeated the lads, incredulously.

“Yes, there’s been a pack of them down in the country around Big Otter Pond for several years. Now that they’ve driven most of the game out of there, they’ve moved up into this country. We’ll make it too all-fired hot for them! Wait till Bill hears of it, then you’ll smell gunpowder,” Ben declared, angrily.

The babel from the outlaw pack grew gradually fainter, till at last it ceased, for they had chased their doomed victim out of ear-shot.

“Will they get the deer?” George asked.

“Yes, they’ll get it, all right,” replied Ben. “Nothing escapes them when once they’re hot on the trail. They’re as savage as wolves, and a lot more cunning. That’s why nobody can kill them off.”

When they reached the cabin the guide began the story of the four-footed renegades.

“Some few years ago there was an old half-breed trapper who came down into this country from somewhere up in Canada. With him he brought three dogs which he used on bear. Two of them were great long-eared hounds—mostly bloodhound stock, I guess, savage as lions. The other was a three-quarter Eskimo dog which looked for all the world like a big gray timber-wolf.

“Jean Beaupoy—that was the name of the old trapper—kept the dogs tied to stout posts near his cabin. He could do anything he pleased with them, but no one else dared go near where they were. I’ve heard men who chanced to pass say that the dogs would growl and bark long before any one could get near the place. Then old Jean would run out, rifle in hand, and ask who was coming and what they wanted. We sort of got suspicious of the old fellow, and thought maybe he’d run away from the law, and had brought the three half-wild dogs to give him warning and protection.

“Well, one day early in the spring the queer old man was drowned. He had tried to come down through ‘Crazy Man Riffs’ in his canoe. We found the canoe turned bottom side up in the pool at the end of the rapids, but we never found old Jean.

“First we thought his dogs had been drowned with him, ’cause we knew he had them along. But several weeks later a trapper saw them chase a buck deer into a pond. He called them; but at the sound of his voice they snarled like wolves and bounded away before he thought of shooting.

“A year or so after this, reports began to come in about them from all around the county. They’d gathered up other stray dogs by that time and made them cunning, blood-thirsty outlaws like themselves. The big, half-wolf Eskimo dog appeared to be their leader, and some used to say he had found two or three timber-wolves and got them to join his band. But there aren’t any wolves in Maine.

“Finally people began to hunt them; and when they failed to get near enough to shoot, they set poison traps. In that way they managed to kill one or two, and then the pack refused to touch any more of the poisoned bait.

“One winter the trappers organized a hunt to run them down on snowshoes. Although the best men in the county took part, they only succeeded in killing two out of the pack, which by that time had increased considerably.

“Each year they grew bolder and killed more game, till the county offered a reward for killing them, and men went to work to hunt them. But it was no use.

“Perhaps somebody kills one, or maybe two, now and then, but they have increased till there are probably twenty or thirty in the pack. They’ve chased or killed off all the game around Big Otter Pond way, and now they’ve come yelping and raving up here like a pack of devils.”

“Do they ever attack people?” asked Ed, when the unusual story was finished.

Ben resumed work on the snowshoes, and did not reply.

Ed repeated his query, and the guide was forced into an answer.

“Oh, they’re not dangerous,” he laughed, evading the direct question, and the boys knew he was not so sure of it.

They spent the balance of the day skating on the lake. Toward evening they thought they heard the wild pack again, and they felt that the cabin was the place for them.

Just as they were turning in for the night it began to snow. It came down in little round, stinging pellets, and Ben said this was the sign of a big storm.

Later, when they were warmly blanketed in the bunk, Ed turned to George and said: “I believe we shall be mixed up with that band of wild dogs before we leave here.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” said George.

X
WINTER SETTLES DOWN

When the storm ceased two days later the lads looked out on a new landscape. The glistening white mantle of winter covered the earth. The evergreens were decorated with little puffs of snow, and the cabin itself was half buried in a huge drift. Everything was white and dazzling—lake, mountains, trees, and cabin. It seemed to the boys that they had stepped into fairyland. They might have easily imagined themselves in the Arctic.

THE WHITE MANTLE OF WINTER COVERED THE EARTH

Ben brought forth two pairs of snowshoes and explained how to fasten them on. Then he donned a pair himself and tramped slowly back and forth, so the boys could see how he used his feet and legs to manipulate the awkward “webs.”

Ed and George started bravely out over the deep snow; but, unused to the queer shoes as they were, they quickly placed one foot on top of the other and went head first into the soft, powdery drifts. Ben shook with laughter as they floundered about in their efforts to rise. They soon learned to keep their feet far apart, and before long they were running over the snow like old-timers.

Later in the day they again put on the snowshoes and made their way out on the lake. Suddenly George called to Ed and pointed excitedly to a tall pine that leaned out from the shore. Looking up into the branches, Ed saw a large white bird sitting stationary on its perch.

Ed volunteered to go to the cabin for a gun, and started for the shore at full speed. In his excitement he forgot all about keeping his feet apart, and before he had gone far he overlapped the toes of his snowshoes and took a “header.” But he quickly regained his feet and continued.

The big bird in the top of the tree began to twist its head uneasily, and George was disgusted when it finally spread its wings and sailed out over the lake and back toward the woods again. He instantly gave chase, and kept it in sight until it alighted in another tree some distance farther on.

When Ed returned to the border of the lake with the gun, he was surprised to find George nowhere in sight. But he followed the snowshoe trail around a projecting point of land. There he found George hidden in the bushes. Ed told him that Ben thought the bird might be a snowy owl.

Delighted at the prospect of procuring so rare a prize, they began a stealthy advance through the woods. They found traveling in the timber far more difficult than they had imagined. The snowshoes caught under logs and in bushes continually, and their progress was slow. After much labor they finally arrived at the base of the pine.

They looked for some time before they were able to discover the owl high above them. At last George pointed it out to Ed, who had the gun. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger. With the report, down came a shower of snow that almost blinded them. Then they saw the bird come flapping awkwardly to earth, and land, as they supposed, some distance away in the soft snow.

They at once hurried to the spot, but found no trace of the owl. They hunted diligently, and Ed, in disgust, declared the bird was no doubt lying in plain sight, but could not be seen against the white background of snow. They searched carefully through a fallen tree-top, beneath bushes, and behind rocks, but all in vain.

“I wish I hadn’t shot it,” Ed said, remorsefully, as he sat down to cool himself.

“We’ll find it about here somewhere,” replied George, hopefully.

Just then another mass of loosened snow came tumbling down on Ed, as the object of their search flapped helplessly to the ground from the forks of a small evergreen. With one wing dragging, it tumbled along over the snow and made away into the woods.

“Don’t shoot!” cried George, excitedly, as Ed brought the gun to his shoulder. “We’ll get him alive,” and he bounded off in pursuit of the escaping bird.

They soon saw that it was only wounded slightly, and could make excellent speed through the tangled undergrowth. Indeed, it was only by the greatest efforts that they were able to keep it in sight. But it was leaving a broad trail, and they knew they would be able to track it to its hiding-place.

The bird finally sought refuge under a log. The boys whooped delightedly, for they knew it could not escape them. Being entirely unfamiliar with the danger from the powerful beak and talons of this bird, George stooped down and reached recklessly beneath the log. He instantly withdrew his hand and gave utterance to a howl of pain as he hopped about holding to one of his fingers, which was bleeding freely.

“What happened?” asked Ed, in surprise.

“Gee whiz, the blamed thing has teeth!” declared George. “He bit me!”

They put snow on the injured finger and bound it with a handkerchief. Then they sat down to determine how to get the strange bird without risking more fingers. The boys at last decided to poke it out with a stick; but were at a loss to know how to capture it when it came from beneath the log.

“I have it,” declared George. “When it comes out, I’ll throw my coat over it, and we can wrap it up and carry it home.”

For a long time, however, the bird refused to leave its shelter, and bit and struck at the stick with its powerful beak and great curved claws. Noticing the way it attacked the pole, Ed decided to try an experiment.

He fastened his handkerchief to the end of the stick, and pushed it before the enraged bird. Hissing angrily, the owl snapped viciously at the lure. Before it could release its hold, Ed gave a quick pull which brought the bird from beneath the log.

Once in the open, it turned over on its back and clawed at the air. The boys made many attempts to throw the coat over it, but each time it either kicked it off or scrambled from beneath.

“Fights almost as hard as a bob-cat,” laughed Ed.

“Worse,” declared George, shaking his wounded finger as proof.

The lads eventually got the savage bird wrapped in the garment, but not until Ed had received a nasty scratch from its sharp talons. Using the sleeves of the coat, they managed to tie their struggling captive securely in its folds. Slinging it from the end of a small pole, they set off for the cabin in high spirits.

When they arrived there, they made Ben close the door, and with a shout of triumph they released their prisoner in the center of the room.

“Snowy owl, sure as you’re born,” said Ben, when the bird stood before him.

At his near approach it backed away into a corner, beneath a lower bunk, and he bade them get it out to see if it was badly wounded.

“Not as badly as we are,” laughed George, as he unbound his throbbing finger.

Ed rolled up his sleeve and exhibited the long, red scratch on his arm.

“Heigh!” cried Ben. “Got you, did he?” And he ordered them to wash their wounds with hot water from the kettle.

With the aid of a fish-net he finally got the owl in his grasp, and tenderly examined its wounded wing.

“Just one little shot-pellet tipped him on the joint there,” he said. “He’ll be as good as ever in a few days.”

“May we keep him?” pleaded the lads.

“Yes, I guess so; but you’ll have to be careful or some one may get hurt.”

They promised to build a cage, and said they would tame and make a pet of their captive. They asked Ben what to feed it, and were much relieved when told it would eat anything in the way of meat.

“He’s a rascal, anyway, and a little term in prison won’t hurt him,” laughed the guide.

Then he told them that this species of owl murders and eats great numbers of rabbits, grouse, and smaller birds and animals. He declared that by jailing the individual in their possession they would no doubt save the lives of many little forest folks in the vicinity.

That afternoon, aided by Ben, they built a large rustic crate, or cage, with a log perch extending from end to end. They managed to get the owl inside, and when they had supplied him with some deer meat they pushed the crate against the wall and left the surly prisoner to his meditations.

Ben said they would undoubtedly see many strange tracks recorded in the snow on the following day. He explained how the various animals had remained close in their shelter during the fury of the storm; but, now it was over, they would venture forth in search of food.

After supper Ed and George dragged the crate into the center of the room. They sat down before it to study the fascinating white bird, which sat stolidly on its perch and gazed at them with its great, yellow eyes. They were amused and surprised to learn that it could turn its head almost in a complete circle without moving its body. After watching it do this for some time, Ed declared it must surely twist its own neck if it continued.

They learned from their books and from Ben that the snowy owl was an inhabitant of the far-off Arctic regions, and that it came down into this country in the winter, when it was driven south by snow, cold, and lack of food. Ben told them how it sailed through the forest and pounced upon a sleeping grouse or luckless rabbit before they were aware of its presence.

Later in the evening the moon came up big and bright and flooded the snow-covered country with its light. The boys asked Ben if they might take some meat down to the edge of the lake for a bait to entice whatever wild creatures might be abroad. They explained that they wished to hide near-by, to watch, in the hope of getting a shot. The guide smilingly gave consent, with the understanding that they would return promptly when he called.

Armed with a lantern, the bait, and their guns, the boys followed their own snowshoe trail to the edge of the ice. They threw the meat a short distance out from shore, and it instantly sank from sight in the snow. They recovered it, and moved farther along. Next time the bait was placed carefully on a log. Then they concealed themselves and waited anxiously for some forest prowler to make its appearance.

The moonlight shining on the snow made the lake and surrounding wilderness weird and ghostly. Not a sound disturbed the stillness except the thumping of their own hearts. Somehow the forest seemed bigger and wilder, and they were glad to know that the cabin was not far away. There was little wind astir, but the still cold stung their noses and fingers and forced its way through their clothes and made them shiver. The lads crouched side by side, with their guns held in readiness and their eyes fixed intently on the log, where the bait showed distinctly against the snow.

Something was moving in the woods close beside them. A twig snapped loudly in the frosty air. The boys felt thrills of excitement.

“Suppose it’s a bear!” whispered George.

“We’ll both fire at once and then run for the cabin,” replied Ed.

Although they listened for some minutes, the alarming sounds were not repeated. A bit relieved, they began swinging their arms to warm themselves.

“I don’t believe anything will come around while we’re standing here,” declared Ed, a little later.

George was about to reply when they were startled by some unknown beast, which began growling fiercely within a few yards of their hiding-place.

Almost at the same instant a big black animal walked into the circle of moonlight! Both of them fired at it. A terrifying roar came in response to the shots, and the clumsy creature lumbered away in the direction of the cabin.

“Are you fellows all right?” called Ben.

“Yes, and we’ve shot a bear, I guess; he’s gone up that way, somewhere!” Ed shouted, excitedly.

“It’s a bear, all right enough,” Ben assured them.

Then another roar, louder and more terrifying than the first, echoed through the forest. The young hunters began to wish themselves up in the cabin with Ben.

“You stung him pretty hard, and he’s mad clear through,” warned the guide. “Stay where you are, and I’ll come down there. I don’t believe he’ll travel far. We’ll hunt him out with the light.”

The boys were relieved to know that Ben was coming to reinforce them. From what he and Bill had told them of bears, they believed they had a dangerous customer to deal with. However, neither of them was willing to act the part of coward, and they decided, if the wounded and enraged creature charged them, to hold their ground and fire another broadside.

For several minutes, which seemed hours to the boys, all was quiet. Then a low, ugly snarl sounded forth, and they heard Ben shoot.

“Look out, he’s headed your way!” cried the guide.

“There he goes! Fire!” yelled Ed, as an indistinct black form galloped awkwardly across the open space in front of them.

Their guns roared in unison; but they were several seconds too slow, and the bear, in full flight, went crashing away through the undergrowth.

Ben came running down, rifle in hand, and quickly lighted the lantern, which they had prudently extinguished when they took their stand. Calling to them to follow, he dashed off on the trail of the wounded bear.

“He’s hard hit; you must have been pretty close,” he declared, when they had gone some distance, and he stooped to examine the tracks. “See how he’s dragging one leg?” And he held the lantern so they could see the telltale mark on the snow.

In spite of its injuries, the animal was galloping along in a series of short jumps. Should he hold to his pace it would be impossible for the trailers to overtake him.

After they had tracked the bear some distance and noted that he was continuing the pace, Ben declared it useless to try to come up with him before morning. He said they would start at daylight and track the bear to its den.

“He’s a big one; and unless he’s dead by the time we come up with him, there’ll likely be some fun,” he promised.

When they reached the cabin, the boys told how the unwelcome visitor had almost run into them. Ben laughed when they acknowledged how startled they had been, and said they had done well to shoot, but declared that shotguns were not appropriate weapons for such large game.

Once during the night the lads awakened and thought they again heard the savage roar of the wounded bear. They called to Ben, who sat up in his bunk and listened drowsily for some minutes. Finally he laughed and said they must have been dreaming. He advised them to go to sleep, so as to be in good shape for the hunt on the morrow.

XI
AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR

Next morning the two eager young hunters were awake and up long before daylight. They carefully oiled and inspected their rifles, while Ben cooked breakfast. The boys were too excited to eat, but each put a substantial lunch in the rear pocket of his hunting-coat.

The air was keen and frosty, and the snow crunched and squeaked under their snowshoes. The lads had become so expert in the use of the “webs” that they found little difficulty in holding the stiff pace set by the guide. They soon came to the place where they had deserted the tracks the night before, and, eager and impatient, they sped along on the trail.

“Say, he can certainly go some,” said George, looking at the great tracks in the snow.

“I should say so,” added Ed.

“Yes, and remember he’s not traveling like he could if he didn’t have that bad leg,” Ben reminded them.

The trail led along the edge of the lake for some distance, then it turned abruptly to the right and crossed a ridge of heavy timber. Still the bear had continued his pace, and the boys marveled at his strength and agility.

After a time the tracks changed, and the trailers saw that the bear had settled into a walk. Ben pointed out the drag of the damaged limb, which he thought was one of the fore paws. Farther back on the trail he had drawn their attention to marks which showed that several times one of the animal’s front legs had doubled under him.

“He certainly is giving us a run,” Ben declared, when they had gone several miles.

The trail zigzagged down the side of an almost perpendicular hill, and entered the confines of a small swamp. Here they followed it over a bit of partly frozen marsh which vividly recalled to George his experience in that other swamp. He was more careful this time, though there was slight danger of a repetition, for the bog was solid, and consequently less dangerous to walk over. The trail led them out on the opposite side and up over a rough, rock-strewn grade to higher ground. Noting this, Ben ordered a halt.

“He’s going to his den, boys, and we may as well take it easy, for we’re not likely to overtake him before he gets there.”

“Where do you suppose the den is?” asked Ed.

“Haven’t the faintest idea. Over in the next county, maybe; these fellows are powerful travelers.”

“Well, we’ll keep on till we find him, if we have to walk to the north pole,” laughed George.

“You bet,” said Ed.

They scraped the snow from the top of a flat rock and sat down to rest. While they sat there a flock of blue-jays discovered them and began scolding furiously. Ben explained that these noisy birds invariably discover woods travelers, either men or beasts, and by their incessant calling give notice of all advances through the wilderness. He warned the boys to be on the watch for game of some sort whenever they heard the blue-jays. After a time the birds departed, and the hunters rose and toiled laboriously up the ascent.

They found, when they reached the crest, that the trail turned to the left and continued along the top of a low divide. They also noticed that there were fewer blood spots beside it, and Ben said the wounds were not serious. Judging by the manner in which the animal was covering ground, the boys agreed with him. They had already followed its trail a long distance, and the end of the chase was apparently as far off as ever.

The drag of the snowshoes began to tire the lads, but neither would confess it even to himself. They were too anxious to win the coveted trophy ahead of them.

At length, after several more miles had been covered, the guide told the boys that he guessed they would be obliged to make good their boast regarding the north pole. He saw nothing to indicate any ending place this side of it. They laughed and asked him to lead the way; and he smiled, well pleased with their gameness.

By noon the trailers found themselves at the base of a high, granite-capped mountain. Ben decided to stop here for luncheon. He declared that he believed they would find the bear holed up among the ledges which extended along the towering summit above them. An icy stream tumbled noisily down the mountain-side, and beside it they kicked off their snowshoes and prepared to eat their midday meal.

The boys’ legs were stiff and sore from the unusual exercise, but the idea of being near their quarry, at last, kept them from becoming tired. When Ben had made a small fire and prepared some steaming coffee, they did ample justice to their luncheon.

The great gray ledges on the mountain top had a peculiar fascination for the young hunters. They were constantly looking at them. Somewhere up among the gloomy caverns was hidden the savage creature which they pursued. Several times they imagined they actually saw it moving clumsily about among the rocks. They were anxious to begin the long, slippery climb up the mountain. Eager and impatient, they began to fasten on their snowshoes before Ben had finished his after-dinner pipe.

Finally they started slowly on the wearisome climb. In many places the side of the mountain was so steep that the climbers were compelled to lift one snowshoe over the other. At first Ed and George scrambled along in front of Ben. But after several tumbles and a few wild, toboggan-like slides they were content to go more slowly, and they remained behind the guide.

Up and up they climbed, until their hearts pumped wildly, their temples throbbed, and perspiration trickled down their faces. Often they were forced to stop for breath. Then they hurried nervously after Ben, fearful lest he should arrive at the summit before them and get first shot at the bear.

Here and there he showed them where the heavy beast had lost its footing in the slippery snow. It had slid for some distance down the steep incline. Then it had recovered, and in a few desperate bounds regained the lost ground and proceeded on its way.

Finally they arrived at the foot of the big ledges, and they faced more trouble. The passes to the top were difficult and dangerous. And as the boys were entirely inexperienced in the sort of work before them, Ben halted and spent some time studying out a safe way to the summit.

He concluded that the bear itself had chosen the best route. Ordering the lads to remove their snowshoes and sling them over their backs, he led the way cautiously up the face of the cliff, along the narrow, uncertain trail marked out by the bear.

At some spots the ledge on which they walked was less than a foot wide. The boys had many misgivings for their safety as they worked their way gingerly along. They tried to imagine what might happen should they suddenly come face to face with the wounded bear in so perilous a place. The idea was far from pleasant, and they grasped their rifles more tightly.

“There he is!” Ben cried, suddenly, pointing indefinitely to the jumble of loose rock above.

The lads started in spite of themselves, and Ed, in his excitement, barely escaped a tumble from the narrow trail.

“Where is he?” they inquired, their eyes staring wildly at the rocks.

“Don’t you see where his trail turns here and goes into the opening under that big leaning rock?” inquired Ben.

The boys said they saw it; but they had been expecting to see the animal itself.

“You’ll not see him till we poke him out,” laughed Ben, “and then, maybe, you’ll see too much of him. But come on, we may as well begin the festivities.” And, followed by the lads, he began a cautious advance toward the den.

In front of the dark hole beneath the rocks was a level platform several feet wide. The snow all about was trampled down, and Ben thought the animal had taken up its winter quarters there. How to get it out was the question, and he longed for the help of old Moze.

But wishing would do no good, and he looked for something with which to poke out the bear. Seeing a small sapling which had fallen from the top of the ledge and lodged among the rocks, he climbed nimbly up and brought it down.

Suddenly one deep growl after another echoed from the den. Ben dropped the pole and stood back, with rifle cocked, watching for the bear.

“Guess we won’t have to stir him up after all, boys; like as not he’s heard us moseying around out here, and he’s coming outside to investigate. You want to shoot as soon as you see him, and then watch out, ’cause he’s liable to be a mite peevish.”

The boys were trembling with excitement. There was no chance for a retreat. Gripping their rifles and setting their teeth, they made up their minds to give a good account of themselves, whatever happened.

The growling continued, but the bear refused to come out. After waiting some minutes in keen suspense, Ben picked up a small rock and hurled it into the den. An angry snarl followed, and the sound of scuffling, as though the brute had struck savagely at the missile. They waited a few moments longer, hoping that it would appear. Then Ben tossed another stone.

This time a louder roar came from the den, and with startled eyes the boys saw the snarling face of the bear before them.

“Shoot!” yelled Ben.

Before they could obey, the wounded animal rushed from the cave. Straight at them it came, with flashing eyes and snapping jaws. In an effort to stop its murderous charge, the guide, with no time to bring his rifle to shoulder, fired with the weapon held at his hip.

At his warning cry the boys sprang aside. Then, as it rushed past, the bear struck out with one huge paw and sent George over backward and off the narrow ledge. Struggling for a hold with feet or hands, he went sliding down the steep face of the icy cliff. Luckily, he fell on his back, and the snowshoes strapped to his shoulders served for a toboggan. Down he went bumping along at railroad speed. Rocks followed, bounding behind him, and several narrowly missed his head. At last he brought up with a shock against a projecting boulder half-way down the long, steep slope. Dazed and dizzy, the lad threw his arms about it and held on for life.

THE BEAR STRUCK OUT WITH ONE HUGE PAW AND SENT GEORGE OVER BACKWARD

High above him he heard two shots ring out in rapid succession. He was taking some consolation in the thought that Ben and Ed had killed the bear when a great sliding of rocks caused him to look up. Then his heart almost ceased beating, for there was the enraged brute coming down the slide directly upon him. His rifle was at the den; and, scared and helpless, he crouched there on the snow-covered incline, entirely at the mercy of the bear.

A hoarse shout sounded from above, and a shot quickly followed. George instinctively dodged behind a rock as he heard the bullet sing past his head. Another report sounded from the summit. The bear half turned, rose unsteadily on its hind legs, clawed the air wildly, and rolled down to within a few feet of George.

After a few spasmodic twitches of its powerful muscles, the great creature became motionless. Then George noted that it bled from three distinct wounds, and he wondered if there had been a serious mix-up, and how his friends had fared in the encounter. The slope on which he found himself was very steep, and offered few footholds. He dared not move from his cramped position for fear of plunging to destruction on the sharp rocks far below. How he was to get out of this he did not know, but he felt sure that Ben would find a way.

Finally he saw the head and shoulders of the guide leaning over the edge of the rock platform. Then Ed appeared, and George felt relieved to know that neither had been seriously mauled by the bear.

Ben studied the angle of the slide for some time, and realized that the position of his young charge was a precarious one. The unfortunate lad had lodged at about the steepest place of the rocky descent. He was in the middle of the long slope. The distance to be traversed was equally long and hazardous, whether he chose to climb up or slide down, in his effort to escape. Ben pondered the situation calmly. He finally decided that it would be easier for the boy to make his way carefully to the bottom than it would be to risk a climb toward the rocky rim from which he had fallen.

Under Ben’s guidance George worked his way, an inch at a time, toward a mass of small boulders to his left. It was slow, dangerous work. Had it not been that the guide constantly shouted encouragement, it is doubtful if he could have accomplished the difficult feat.

The cold perspiration came out on his brow, and his knees grew weak when he foolishly disobeyed instructions and glanced into the depths below. One such look was sufficient, and after that he kept his eyes fixed on his goal. At last he reached the boulders and sank down among them to rest.

“Fine! You’re all right,” Ben called down, cheerfully. “Why, you’re a born mountaineer. Now work down between those rocks, and after you leave them keep in a line with that small tree by the side of that big rock. If you slip, flop over on your back and use your feet for brakes. Remember, slow and easy, and keep behind the tree. Now then, go ahead!” he commanded.

Once more George moved along on his perilous journey, slipping and sliding down from one boulder to another. Finally he reached the last and halted. He dreaded to venture across the almost perpendicular face of slippery rock which he must cross to gain the shelter of the tree. For an instant George hesitated, and regretted that he had come on the trip at all. In another second he was laughing at himself for being afraid; and, setting his teeth, he started cautiously down the incline.

“Look out! Look out!” warned Ben; but it was too late. “Use your feet! Use your feet!”

George had lost his footing! With a wild yell he went speeding down the long, smooth slope of rock. By clever work with his legs and feet he managed to steer his body out of the way of the rocks in his path. The shouts from Ben and Ed grew fainter. He saw the little tree flash past him, and reached forth to grasp it. Then it seemed as though he had thrust his face into a mammoth pincushion.

When he opened his eyes some time later, he found himself in the top of a fallen spruce at the bottom of the slide. His clothes were almost torn from his body, and he was cut and bruised about the face, arms, and limbs. Freeing himself from the entangling branches, George, though stiff and sore, felt quite happy when he found that no bones had been broken.

His alarmed companions watched him go sliding down to what seemed certain injury or possible death. They ran hurriedly back over the trail they had toiled up a few hours earlier, and by the time George had clambered from the tree-top they were working their way rapidly along the base of the mountain in search of him.

“Do you think he’s badly hurt?” called Ed, as they hurried along.

“Wouldn’t wonder,” replied Ben, grimly.

When they finally reached him, George was calmly picking splinters from his hands and arms.

“Are you badly done for?” cried Ed, making his way to the side of his friend.

“No, indeed,” George assured him, and he tried to coax a smile to his pallid face. “I’m only scraped a little and pretty sore. But say, I’m glad it’s all over!”

“Come over here and let me feel you,” Ben commanded.

He proceeded to examine him carefully for broken bones or dislocations, and, failing to find evidences of either, the guide gave a loud whoop of delight.

“You’re tough as nails, young fellow; I wouldn’t care about taking that slide myself.”

“But look at the snowshoes!” said George, sadly, as he exhibited the mass of dangling thongs.

“We’ll patch them up all right,” Ben promised.

“And where is my rifle?” asked the shaken young hunter.

“Right here,” said Ed, handing it to him.

“And the bear-skin; what about that?” inquired George, looking up the steep grade down which he had so lately tumbled.

“Guess we’ll have to leave him there to decorate the landscape,” answered Ben. “That is, unless Ed wishes to climb up after him.” And he winked at George. “But I’m sorry to kill anything and not use it.”

“No, thank you. Anyhow, he doesn’t belong to me. I didn’t shoot him.” Ed laughed.

“Then you shot him, Ben,” said George, extending his hand to the guide.

“Yes; you see, Ben wouldn’t allow me to shoot because you were directly in line with the bear,” Ed explained.

When he heard this George decided to say nothing about the first bullet, which had passed so near his head.

“Well, it was certainly great work, and I’m very much obliged to you fellows for saving me the trouble of killing the bear with my fist,” he laughed.

Realizing that George was in poor shape for the long journey to the cabin, Ben proposed that they look around for a suitable camping-site, build a lean-to, and remain where they were until next day.

George promptly declared that he was perfectly able to stand the trip, and said he would much prefer returning to the cabin. He accepted Ben’s snowshoes only after much persuasion, and, with the guide ahead carrying the broken ones, they started forth on the exhausting journey to camp.

It was a party of tired hunters that stumbled through the doorway of the little cabin long after dark. Ben dropped his pack to the floor and pulled the wet, snow-laden moccasins from his tired feet. He had tramped the entire distance through three or more feet of half-frozen snow, and the steel-like muscles of his sturdy legs were stiff and sore. The boys were thoroughly exhausted and much disappointed at losing the bear-skin.

XII
LOST!

There had been a light snowfall, and this fresh covering recorded the tracks of the wild things of the woods. The old snow beneath was frozen hard, and walking was possible without snowshoes. The clear, cold air was fragrant with the perfume of the pines. It was a day for outdoor work, and the boys determined to follow up some of the freshly made tracks. Ben was busy about the cabin, and they decided to start alone. They felt confident they could find their way back by simply returning on their own trail.

Provided with a lunch and armed with rifle and shotgun, they made their way to the lake and walked slowly along its border, on the alert for the first fresh trail. Ben had given them matches and a small camp ax, and had cautioned them to choose a familiar landmark and fix it in their minds, so they would have no trouble in finding camp. Also he told them to remember how many hills, or ridges, they ascended and crossed, that they might know how many to descend and recross on the return journey; he bade them note the position of the sun when starting, and carefully explained the use and importance of the compass, and compelled them to take their exact bearings before they left. Then, bidding the lads return before dark and telling them to fire the distress signal if they got into trouble, he said good-by.

“Here’s a track, and it’s a fresh one, too! It goes right across the lake, I guess,” cried Ed, after they had traveled quite a distance.

“What made it?” inquired George, stooping to examine the clear-cut footprints.

“I’m not sure, but I’d say a fox,” replied Ed, with the manner of an expert.

“Well, we can easily find out by following it far enough,” declared George. “Let’s start after it and see what we can learn.”

They followed the trail, which led them in a straight line out across the middle of the lake toward the opposite shore. At one place they saw where the animal had dug down through the thin coating of snow to drink from a small air-hole beneath.

“How did he know it was there?” asked Ed, in wonder.

“I’m sure I don’t know; smelled it, maybe.”

When the trail reached the other side, it did not enter the timber, as the boys supposed it would; it turned and continued closely along the edge of the ice toward the swamp at the head of the lake. They hurried on eagerly, watching far ahead for a sign of the animal itself. Several times it had stopped to overturn small logs in its search for prey. From what Ben had told them of the fox, they felt they were on the trail of that wily creature. When they reached the swamp they became quite sure. They saw that the tracks led up to, around, and over each snow-covered muskrat house. They knew that the fox hunted those little brown animals during the winter. Then, after hovering about the borders of the swamp, the trail turned at a sharp angle and plunged into the shadows of the morass beneath the giant pines and hemlocks.

While on the lake the boys had not looked at the compass. But now that the trail was taking them from the familiar home ground, Ed took their bearings. The tracks led off almost due north, and, noting the fact, he replaced the compass in his pocket and bade George follow him into the gloomy swamp.

It was difficult trailing in there, and many times they broke through the half-frozen footing and sank into icy water up to their knees. The trail doubled and circled and wound in and out among the bushes and small evergreens, till the compass was of little use. They were changing their course every few yards. Ed thought if they kept the direction of the lake in their minds they would have no trouble getting out.

At one spot a crimson place on the snow and some small bits of rabbit fur told the story of a woodland tragedy. The boys saw where the fox had stolen upon an unsuspecting rabbit which had been huddled at the foot of a weed-stalk eating the dried seeds. A sudden spring by the agile stalker, and the doom of the rabbit had been sealed.

Then, after eating in haste, the sly red hunter had left the scene of his crime. His trail stretched away in a straight line till the border of the swamp was crossed, and then it continued up the side of a brier-covered incline. Arriving at the top, the trailers saw prints in the snow marking the spot where the fox had rested on his haunches to gain breath after the climb.

Again Ed read the compass, and noted that they were headed east from the edge of the swamp. They had entered an area of wild and unfamiliar country, and they were careful to take precautions against becoming lost.

“This is the real thing!” George declared, gazing about him in admiration.

“It certainly is; I—” began Ed.

“What’s that?” George interrupted, inclining his head to listen.

From somewhere a long distance off to the right sounded the yelps, howls, and whines of a baying pack. Weird and unnatural, the noise rang through the wilderness, and the boys looked at each other in alarm.

“The wild dogs!” Ed gasped, inspecting the breach of his rifle.

“Wonder if they’re coming this way?” said George, uneasily.

For some seconds the lads sat listening to the music of the outlaws, and they were thankful when it finally grew faint and died away.

“Maybe they’re after our fox,” laughed George, as they started along the trail.

“More likely some poor deer,” replied Ed, again consulting the compass, when the tracks veered sharply in the direction of the fierce baying.

“Wonder if that fool fox has gone over there and stirred up trouble?” grumbled Ed.

“Well, if he has, we’re in for another experience, and a real one, I’ll bet,” declared George.

Presently the trail brought them to a stretch of rocky ground from which most of the snow had melted. Tracking became more difficult, and they finally lost the trail. They seated themselves on a boulder and spoke in uncomplimentary terms of the animal that had enticed them all that distance, to leave them baffled on a desolate rock-strewn hillside.

“There’s only one thing to do,” said Ed, as he placed the compass on a flat rock.

“What?” demanded George.

“Why, go to the edge of this rocky strip and work around it till we strike his tracks in the snow along its border. He must have gone out somewhere; and if he didn’t, we know he’s hiding in here among some of these rocks.”

“That’s a good idea; we’ll try it,” George agreed.

“Look at the rabbit; there it goes!” cried Ed, and he hurried toward a big rock, George stumbling along behind him.

There were many scattered boulders, all very similar in appearance. When the boys reached the one where they thought the rabbit was hiding they saw the little creature jump from behind a rock farther on and go leaping away into a wooded ravine.

“We’ll get him, just for luck,” cried George; and, holding his shotgun ready, he led the way down into the swale where the rabbit had disappeared.

They ran upon a covey of grouse, and George killed one on the first rise. Highly elated, they followed the birds. The next time they thundered into flight, Ed, who had taken the shotgun, shot another.

“This beats tracking foxes and rabbits,” declared George.

Urged on by their enthusiasm, the boys rashly entered the confines of an unknown swamp into which the covey had flown. Another rise, and a miss. Then two of the birds flew into a tree and perched with their necks stretched, motionless as the limb on which they stood. It was a chance for Ed with his rifle, and he killed one by shooting off its head. George got the other with the shotgun as it flew from the branch.

Well satisfied with their luck, they continued into the swamp; but, though they hunted everywhere, they were unable to find the balance of the covey. In their search they twisted and turned in an uncertain course, until they arrived in the very center of a marshy strip where they had left no trail.

“I never thought of taking the direction when we came in here,” said Ed, suddenly feeling in his pocket for the compass. He stopped, and a look of alarm flashed into his face.

“What’s the matter?” asked George.

“I’ve left the compass back on the rock.”

For a moment neither spoke, though each was doing a large amount of thinking. The seriousness of the situation dawned upon them, and they realized that they must think calmly, and not become frightened and confused.

“That’s all right,” laughed George; “we’ll get out of here and go back and look for it.” And he started splashing his way through the marsh.

“Hold on!” commanded Ed. “Which side did we come in at? You know we’ve done a lot of turning and changing of direction, and I’m a bit mixed.”

“I’m not. Come on, I’ll show you exactly where we came in. It’s right over here a little ways,” declared George, confidently.

Ed followed him with many misgivings. They waded through cold, ice-coated pools, stumbled over great fallen logs, tore their way through thorny thickets, and with all their exertions only seemed to get deeper into the swamp.

“We’re wrong,” declared Ed, when they had gone some distance in that uncertain manner. “If we had been traveling in the proper direction we’d have come to the base of that rocky hillside long ago.”

“I guess you’re right; seems to me we’ve walked a mile or more, and still there’s no sign of our getting out.”

“Well, there’s no use rushing about this way,” said Ed, glancing at his watch. “It’s past noon now; here is a little spring; let’s sit down beside it and eat our lunch and try to figure where we are.”

They sat down and brought out the lunch. Somehow the idea of their imprisonment in this big, dimly lighted place affected their appetites, and neither ate much. To make matters worse, the sun disappeared behind a mass of cold, gray clouds, and a chill wind gave promise of snow.

“Come on, let’s get out of here; we can eat when we get home,” urged George, springing to his feet and starting off.

“Won’t you wait a second?” Ed called after him, a bit impatiently. “There is only one way to get out of here quickly, and that is for us to try and think which side we came in. We’ve been getting deeper into this mess, and if we just rush around we’ll be lost more than ever.”

“Right you are, Ed,” agreed George, for he readily saw the wisdom of this. “We’ll sit down again and try to remember how we got here.”

They sat for a long time endeavoring to trace their journey back, step by step, to the place where they had first entered the swamp. At last they agreed on a general direction, and, rising, they started off.

“We’ll keep walking until we come to the edge of it, no matter which side we come out on,” declared Ed, after they had toiled along for some distance.

Then it began to snow, and with the falling of the first flakes the spirits of the boys began to sink. They realized that the new fall would obliterate their back-track. With no compass to guide them, and their old trail gone, they felt that their chance of reaching the cabin was slim indeed. As the snow came down thicker and faster, they redoubled their speed in response to a wild desire to get out of the swamp before the full force of the storm broke upon them.

“I guess we’re in for it,” cried Ed, as he hurried on.

“Looks bad,” George confessed, grimly.

They soon found themselves blinded and bewildered by the swirling flakes which beat in their faces. Valiantly they staggered along for some distance. Then Ed, who was leading, called a halt.

“George, we’re only tiring ourselves completely out and getting no nearer the edge of the swamp than before. I believe we’re traveling in a circle; you know they say all people do that when they become lost. I suggest that we chop down some small evergreens and build what Ben calls a lean-to for shelter until the storm blows over. We can build a fire and cook these grouse, and I’m sure that sooner or later Ben will find us. Once it stops snowing we’ll travel around and make a lot of tracks, and he’ll be pretty sure to stumble across some of them and come to us. We can’t be such a terrible distance from the lake, and by firing a few shots we may be heard at the cabin. What do you say?”

“I guess it’s about all we can do, Ed; we don’t seem to be getting any nearer home by this crazy traveling. Let’s look around for a dry place for our camp. Looks as if we’re in for an all-night job.”

Slightly farther on they came to a stretch of higher ground. And there in the shelter of a hemlock grove they decided to make camp. With the little ax they felled and trimmed several small trees, and, recalling what Ben had done, they began to fashion a lean-to. They were surprised to see what a good job they made of it; and, encouraged, they went searching about for dry wood with which to start a fire.

The lads found an old stump, and by splitting it open, they secured plenty of dry kindlings. These they carefully piled up before the shelter, and after many attempts and the loss of countless matches they finally nursed them into a tiny flame. This strengthened and grew, under their painstaking labors, into a big, cheerful, crackling fire, and soon its merry, leaping flames gave forth comfort and cheer.

“This isn’t so bad,” laughed Ed, holding his wet feet toward the blaze.

“It’s great!” replied George.

They plucked a grouse, and Ed opened and cleaned it. When it had been thoroughly washed he ran a sharpened stick through its body, and placed it before the fire. The lads had seen pictures of Indian hunters doing this, and, as they possessed no cooking utensils, they decided to try this primitive method. Being amateurs, they never thought to turn the bird, and it began to burn and crust on the side nearest the coals. Then they quickly exposed the other side to the fire, and waited impatiently for it to brown. The delicious odor instantly coaxed back the appetites which had fled at sight of the noonday meal. The grouse was no sooner done than the boys took it from the spit and divided it between them.

“How is it?” inquired Ed, between mouthfuls.

“Great!” was all George took time to reply; he was too busy to waste any time in idle words.

They still had three grouse left, besides the remains of their lunch, and had little to fear from starvation, even though the storm continued for several days and prevented Ben from finding them.

The one thing that troubled them was the knowledge that the guide would worry. They knew that with the closing of day and rising of the storm his anxiety would increase. They were fearful that their failure to appear by the time darkness descended might cause him to venture forth in search of them. If he should, they realized full well the hardships he would have to endure. It was still some time to twilight, and they were a bit undecided as to just what to do.

“He couldn’t reach us before dark, anyway,” declared Ed.

“I know; but I think we ought to shoot, just to let him know we are all right,” George argued.

“But that signal really means that we are all wrong, and it would make him come to us as soon as possible. Besides, I don’t think he could hear us in all this wind. We are all right here till morning, and then, if we can’t find our way out and the storm continues, we’ll signal.”

“Well, all right,” said George, “only remember, we have no blankets, and it’s going to be mighty cold before daylight.” And he rose to replenish the fire.

“We can take turns at sleeping. The one on watch will have to keep up a big blaze, and we can huddle close to it and pass the night without freezing,” said Ed.

They sat in the protection of their lean-to while the twilight stole slowly into the swamp and the storm raged with unabated fury. As it became darker the fire illuminated and warmed the little shelter behind it, and the boys began to understand why Ben always spoke so affectionately of his camp-fires. The fire was the one thing of cheer and light and life in all that black desolation of storm-rent wilderness. Sitting in the grateful warmth of its presence, the isolated young hunters came to look upon it as a friend, an ally, and a guardian whose very presence brought hope and cheer to their downcast hearts. They got in a fresh supply of wood, which was coated with snow. But they placed it near the flames to dry out, so that it would be ready for instant use any time in the night.

At last blackness engulfed them, and the boys huddled closer to the fire and conversed in low, guarded tones. They believed that outside in the open woods the snow must be quite deep, for even in the swamp it had piled up to a depth of many inches since the storm began. They sat idly speculating as to the proper direction to take them out of the gloomy confines into which they had blundered. George declared they could tell nothing about it until they had traveled an equal distance toward every point of the compass. Then he bade Ed go to sleep while he kept watch for two hours, when he promised to wake him.

The first hour dragged slowly away, and George caught himself nodding more than once. Ed was slumbering soundly a few feet from the fire. The storm had abated, and George hoped it would soon die out. It was lonely work sitting there by the fire with no one to speak to, and the time passed tediously. He consulted his watch constantly, and was much surprised to find that what he supposed to be a long half-hour was really only ten minutes.

Suddenly he sat up straight as the same wild baying they had heard earlier in the day echoed through the woods. This time it seemed nearer at hand, and George listened anxiously for many minutes before he decided to awaken Ed. At last, convinced that the sound was actually coming closer, he reached in and grasped the sleeper by the foot.

“What is it?” inquired Ed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Listen!” whispered George. “They’re coming this way—don’t you hear them?”

“Who’s coming? Hear what?” began Ed. “Great Scott! It’s the wild dogs!” he cried, excitedly, springing to his feet and seizing his rifle.

Nearer and nearer came the wolfish pack, and louder and louder their baying rang through the woods. As nearly as the boys could judge, they were headed directly for the lean-to.

“Quick! Pile wood on the fire!” shouted Ed, throwing on several armfuls of dried twigs.

“Let’s climb a tree,” George suggested, when it seemed certain that the pack was really coming for them.

They scrambled out of the lean-to, and each sought shelter by the side of a near-by tree, ready to swing themselves up into the branches at the first sign of real danger.

“Hold to your gun and we’ll bowl a few of them over!” said Ed.

Then they heard the crashing of brush, and they pulled themselves aloft into the branches. Hardly had the lads reached their places of concealment before a large animal dashed past just beyond the light of the fire. For some moments afterward there was absolute silence. Then the excited yelps of the pursuing pack broke forth close at hand. They heard the dogs tearing madly through the undergrowth, but were unable to see them.

“They’re going by!” yelled George.

“Keep quiet!” Ed cautioned, in a lower tone.

One of the brutes either heard or scented them, for the boys saw a big, wolfish-looking animal sneak forward into the firelight. Before they could shoot, it vanished into the blackness. The savage baying gradually sounded fainter as the dogs sped away on the trail of some unfortunate victim.

“Say, that was a close call!” said Ed, soberly.

“I should say it was, and I’m not so sure we’re rid of them. I have an idea that they may come back this way,” replied George, a bit nervously.

“Well, we’ll be ready for them if they do.”

They remained in the trees for some time, and finally, when the fire began to die down, the lads slid to the ground and hastily piled on more brush. The storm had about ceased, but a piercing cold wind had come up. It moaned mournfully through the tops of the trees. All about them was inky blackness. The fire threw weird, fantastic shadows against the neighboring tree-trunks. George consulted his watch, and found the time to be an hour past midnight. An owl hooted dismally, and the boys drew near the flames.

“Isn’t this a ‘spooky’ place?” inquired George.

“All big swamps are, I imagine,” laughed Ed, trying to appear cheerful.

They remained close by the fire and talked in subdued tones. Since the visit of the wild dogs neither cared to sleep. The snow stopped and the wind increased to a gale. They heard the snap of breaking branches and the crash of falling trees in various parts of the swamp. Once they thought they heard the cries of the returning pack; but after listening intently they heard nothing more, and decided they had been mistaken.

At last daylight came, much to their relief, and the boys cleaned and cooked another grouse for breakfast. Then, as they talked over their experience of the night before, they walked to the pathway of the dogs and saw many large paw-marks in the snow.

“There must be a lot of them in that band,” declared Ed.

“Too many to be around loose; we ought to tell the dog-catchers,” laughed George.

“I’ve a hunch that we’ll have a fight with them some day,” prophesied Ed.

“Well, I hope it will come off in daylight,” said George, emphatically.

Then they sat down to plan a way out of the swamp. It was finally agreed that they would walk a certain distance, when, if they did not find the border, they would return. Then they would try the opposite direction for a like distance; and so on until they had tried every point of the compass. With the rising of the sun they were enabled to get the cardinal points of direction, and they traced them on the snow in front of the lean-to.

As George believed they had entered the swamp from the north, they started on their first trip in that direction. They found the snowfall quite deep, and knew it must be deeper in the woods outside. The lads were anxious to make their own way from the swamp if possible, and they determined not to fire the distress-signal until they had spent the morning in an effort to find themselves.

“I had no idea this swamp was so big,” declared Ed, after they had traveled for some time.

“Seems to stretch out in front of us as if it was made of elastic,” laughed George.

They halted abruptly and listened when the report of a gun broke the stillness. It was far off in the opposite direction. A minute passed, and then another shot was heard.

“Wonder if that is Ben signaling us?” said Ed.

“I rather think so. Shall we reply?”

Once again they heard the welcome sound, and, raising his rifle, Ed fired two shots in response. The boys stood listening as the reports thundered through the swamp. Then they got an answer, and uttered a delighted cheer at the prospect of early rescue.

The lads turned eagerly and hurried toward the distant signals. They continued to shoot in reply to the guiding shots. When they had gone some distance in the new direction they began to recall certain trees and marks which they had made note of the day before.

“We’re on the right track now,” George called out, cheerily, as he recognized the fallen tree-trunk where he had killed the grouse.

The shots ahead became more distinct, until they sounded loudly close before them. George, who was leading, suddenly drew back in alarm and hastily brought up his gun.

“Look out!” he warned, when a big, rangy hound came bounding toward him. “Here they are—the pack!”

Then he lowered his weapon and laughed loudly, for he recognized the “wild dog” as old Moze.

“Well, Moze, you old rascal, you certainly gave me a scare. Where on earth did you come from?” he inquired.

“You fellows are a fine lot!” sang out Bill, the veteran trapper, a moment later.

“Helloa, Bill!” cried the boys, rushing forward to grasp their friend by the hand.

They all sat down and exchanged experiences. Bill told them he had stopped at the cabin the day before to stay until the storm passed, and Ben had told him they were lost. When they failed to appear that night, the two woodsmen became much worried, but decided they could do nothing until daylight.

He and Ben had been out since the first hint of dawn. Bill complimented the lads for their good sense displayed in building the lean-to and camping for the night.

The trapper signaled Ben, and finally got an answer. Then they rose and set out for the cabin. The snow was not so deep as the boys expected to find it, and they had no difficulty in traveling through it without snowshoes.

They reached the cabin, to find Ben awaiting them with a good hot meal already prepared. The guide, like Bill, seemed much pleased with the conduct of the boys in taking care of themselves, and, much to their delight, declared them full-fledged woodsmen.

Bill and Ben sat up until late that night talking of the arrival of the wild dogs. The lads were eager listeners, and when the two old hunters declared they would run down and destroy the outlaw pack, Ed and George determined to be in the hunting party.

XIII
ON THE TRAP LINE WITH BILL

Bill delighted the boys by inviting them to his cabin to spend a few weeks on the trap line. They promptly accepted. They bade Ben farewell, and cautioned him to take good care of the owl, which they had christened “Old Snowball.” Then they fastened on their snowshoes, shouldered their packs, and started off with their rifles in quest of new adventures.

They followed the trapper over several miles of trail before he called a halt for the noonday meal. He made a fire and boiled some coffee, which accompanied crisp bacon from the little frying-pan and home-made biscuits.

Then they went on. It was not long before Moze dashed away noisily on the trail of a fox. The boys were for following him. Bill laughed and told them to wait until they reached his trapping-grounds, when they would have many such chances to stretch their legs.

Toward the close of day the lads found themselves in an entirely new country. Great forests of pine, balsam, hemlock, and spruce clothed the mountains and valleys. The sullen roar of hidden waterfalls reached their ears. The stand of timber was so high and thick that perpetual twilight reigned beneath it. The air was heavy with the resinous perfume of the evergreens. The setting sun gilded the western side of massive tree-trunks, and in the golden glow they saw the outlines of a tiny cabin.

“Here we are, boys; it’s not so powerful much to brag about in the way of a building, but it wasn’t put up for show. And when you have to cut, peel, and tote the logs to make it, single handed, you don’t care to lay on more than you need,” said Bill.

“I think it’s great,” said Ed, as he slipped off his pack before the door.

“So do I,” declared George.

“Well, come in and make yourselves right to home,” the trapper invited, leading the way into a cozy little room.

There were two bunks across the room, against the rear wall, one small window with a southern exposure, and the low door through which they had entered. A round, home-made pine table and several stools completed the furniture. In a corner stood a small cook-stove. On wooden pegs driven into the logs hung the few simple cooking utensils. Two large deer-skins covered one side of the room. Over each bunk was thrown a great bear-skin robe. Many smaller furs were tacked against the log walls. In another corner was a pile of rusty traps and chains. The snug little abode was home-like and scrupulously clean, and the boys were enthusiastic.

“Well, think you can stand it for a while?” asked Bill, as he busied himself about the stove.

“You bet!” they assured him. “It’s the real thing.”

The trapper went outside to what he called his “meat-house.” The boys followed, expecting to see some sort of a building. Instead, they saw him go to a near-by tree and lower a heavy white sack. Opening it, he showed them the haunch of a deer. When he had cut sufficient meat for their immediate needs, he hoisted the balance high into the tree again, where it swung safe from animals.

Bill provided a great supper, for he declared they must be hungry after their long trip. First they had oatmeal and maple syrup; next came fried deer steak with hot biscuit and tea; and then their host won them completely by cooking all the flapjacks they could eat. Moze sat by and helped consume several platefuls, which the lads slyly slipped to him beneath the table. Finally Bill discovered the trick and shut down on it. Moze had work to do, and must not be overfed.

That night they sat near the stove, for it was bitter-cold outside, while Bill entertained them with yarns of hunting and trapping.

“Which is the hardest animal to catch?” inquired Ed.

“The fox,” Bill declared.

Then he explained how the fox cleverly overturned and sprang traps, helped himself to the bait, and went on unharmed. Bill said he had set a circle of traps around a bait, only to find each of them sprung and the bait gone when he visited the spot next morning.

He laughingly told of the time when he was a boy, and how he and a young friend had tried to bait and shoot a lynx. They took some meat to the foot of a tall hemlock-tree, near which neighbors said they had seen the lynx. It was a bright moonlight night, and the lads climbed into the tree to await their victim. They sat on a stout limb, shivering with excitement and jumping at every sound.

Suddenly clouds smothered the moon, and the watchers found themselves aloft in inky blackness. They had about decided to descend and hurry home when the worst racket they ever heard broke out below them. Yowls, hisses, and snarls filled the air and caused the hair of the frightened youngsters in the tree to stand on end.

“Hey, Bill, there are two of them, and they’re fighting!” cried his friend, in great alarm.

At that moment they heard something clawing its way frantically up the tree. A minute later two shining green eyes were peering into their own. It was too much for the startled hunters. Bill slid down the rough trunk and left the seat of his trousers on a stub, and his friend dropped through the branches.

Bruised and jarred, they scrambled to their feet. They were on the point of dashing home with a wild tale of adventure when their own house cat brushed lovingly against their shaking legs. Then a plaintive meow sounded from the tree-top as the second pussy hailed them.

The boys laughed at Bill’s story, and said it made them think of the night they climbed the tree in the swamp.

The trapper fixed the stove for the night, and Moze stretched out behind it and was soon snoring loudly. Bill said they would have a hard trip on the morrow, and advised them to go to bed. He promised to awaken them at daylight.

True to his promise, Bill had them up and out with the first ray of light. Much against his wishes, Moze was left behind securely locked in the cabin. The boys carried their rifles, and Bill carried a stout hickory club.

They traveled through the fragrant evergreen forest for about an hour. Then they came to the head of the trap line in a shallow ravine. Bill had two traps set there about a spring-hole. He hoped to capture a mink whose tracks he had seen in the mud earlier in the season, and more recently in the first fall of snow.

The traps were unsprung and the bait undisturbed, and Bill thought the mink had wandered off to other hunting-grounds for a few days. He said it would probably return, and left some fresh bait. Then he started for his next trap.

Before they came to it, the trapper called attention to the trail of a large lynx. Bill explained the difference between its tracks and those of the fox and the dog.

“The lynx’s tracks differ from both the others’ by showing broader, more rounded impressions in the snow. Its trail is wider and indicates a shorter stride than that of the fox, when both animals are walking. The fox and the dog tracks are quite similar in form, especially when the animals are of the same size. But the tracks of both are more pointed than those of the lynx. The dog trail, more particularly when the animal is walking, can always be distinguished by noting the position of the paw-marks. At such a time they are seen one behind the other in an oblique line. Neither of the other trails shows such an angle.”

Bill thought the lynx, whose trail crossed their path, was hunting through a neighboring swamp in search of the large hare, or “snowshoe rabbit.” The boys were surprised to learn that this hare could jump ten or more feet when going at top speed, and that while running before hounds it would travel almost as fast and as far as a deer. They learned, too, that, like the weasel, its fur was brown in summer and white in winter. The lads were anxious to get one of these hares, and Bill promised some day to take them into its haunts.

As they drew near the place where he had his next trap, the boys saw some kind of an animal plunging about among the bushes.

“Hurrah! We’ve got something!” cried Ed.

“What is it?” inquired George, running ahead to obtain a better view.

“Fox,” said Bill.

The trapper walked forward, club in hand, and leaned over and dealt the animal a blow across the nose. Then he stooped and released the jaws of the trap. Rising, he held up the rich, glossy body of a red fox.

“Don’t you shoot them?” asked Ed, in some surprise.

“No, indeed; that would injure the fur and lose me many dollars,” replied the trapper. “Of course, in the case of a bear, or extra big lynx, I am obliged to put a rifle-ball between the eyes.”

Bill wedged a stick between two adjacent trees and hung the body of the fox from it. Then he cut a slit down the inside of each hind leg to the base of the tail. Next he inserted the knife-blade beneath the cartilage of the tail and severed it from the body. He peeled the skin over the carcass toward the neck and on over the head, first carefully pushing through the bones of the front legs and skinning them down to the paws, which he cut off. Bill was very particular to cut around the eyelids and nostrils. The boys marveled at the skill displayed in removing the pelt. The trapper said that method was known as “boxing” a pelt, and was used in skinning everything except racoons, beavers, and bears. These, he explained, were cut open down the front from chin to tail in what was called the “open” style.

Having finished his task, Bill rolled the pelt into a small bundle and placed it in his pack. After disposing of the body and resetting the trap, he carefully obliterated his tracks by brushing snow over them. Then he uncorked a small bottle and sprinkled a yellow essence, which he called fox scent, over the snow near the trap.

Again they resumed the trail and started for the third set, which was not far from the one they had tended. When they arrived there they found the trap sprung and the bait gone. All about were evidences of a fierce struggle—pieces of broken sticks, patches of gray fur, and the marks of a bloody footprint.

“Been a lynx in there,” declared Bill; “but it just nipped him by the toe, and he thrashed around till he tore loose.”

“Gracious, I’ll bet he was mad!” said George, looking about at the bark-stripped bushes on which the captive had vented its wrath.

Bill carefully reset the trap but said that particular lynx had probably grown wise by its experience, and would no doubt avoid the locality in the future.

They started for the next trap, and this time the trail took them through the middle of another large swamp, which recalled unpleasant memories of the boys’ late experience, and they half expected to hear the weird baying of the wild dogs. Many grouse were flushed, and Ed shot at one with the rifle, but missed. But they soon passed through the wild strip of soggy woodland and came out into the sunshine.

On they went through a stretch of open country, which ended at the border of a woodland pond. Bill pointed out many snow-covered muskrat houses, which had given to the small sheet of water the name of Muskrat Pond.

Bill had opened some of the houses and set his traps inside, and he now visited them to ascertain his luck. The boys were much interested in examining the interiors. They found them very similar to the abodes of the beavers. There was the same comfortable grass-lined living-chamber, the same underground tunnels into deep water, and much the same style of architecture and workmanship.

Some odd features of muskrat life were made known to the boys. They found that, when muskrats travel beneath the frozen surface of the pond in winter, they frequently rise and expel their breath against the ice. Then, after this bubble of air has been purified, the muskrat sucks it back into his lungs and proceeds on its journey, until compelled by shortness of breath to do the same thing again.

They were told, also, that muskrats have a very noticeable odor of musk about them, especially in early spring, which may have given them their name, although the Indian name was musquash; and learned that muskrats warn each other of danger by slapping the water with their tails, like the beavers.

A round of the traps yielded eight prime pelts. When Bill had finished with them, the journey was continued. He said he might easily trap many more muskrats than he did, but he had no desire to exterminate them or seriously decrease their numbers. He took as many as he believed he was entitled to each season, and no more.

The next leg of their circuit led them into a dense hemlock forest, where they found the trail of another lynx. Judged from the size of the footprints, this animal was larger than the one whose tracks they had crossed a short time before. The boys noticed that Bill was following the new trail with keen interest.

“I believe that fellow is going to get mixed up with one of our traps,” he prophesied.

“I guess we’ll have some fun, if he does,” said Ed.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Bill, leading off into a group of small evergreens into which the tracks disappeared.

Hardly had they worked their way into this tangle of forest growth when a wild commotion took place some little distance ahead of them. The trapper turned toward them, laughing.

“He’s here all right, and mad clear through!”

Hurrying to his side, the boys saw a powerful gray animal tugging violently at the trap-chain and tumbling about over the ground. Then it crouched, and they saw the ugly, broad face with its long side-whiskers, and the ears tipped with black-pointed tufts of fur. Snarling and spitting, the lynx sprang forward to the full extent of the steel chain which connected the trap with a heavy log.

“I’ve an order to ship one of these fellows to a menagerie down in Boston. What do you say to taking this one alive?” asked Bill, smiling mischievously at his young companions, who stood aghast at the proposition.

“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Ed, looking at him in amazement.

“How on earth can we do it?” asked George.

“It’s going to be something of a job, but we’ll tackle it, anyway,” declared Bill, putting down the club and removing his pack and coat.

The lynx, as though endeavoring to frighten them, was making frantic efforts to break its bonds. Finding itself unable to do so, it finally squatted down behind the log, growling sullenly whenever they moved.

“Just let him tire himself out; it will make our job all the easier,” said Bill.

He produced several pieces of buckskin from the pockets of his corduroy coat, and two lengths of stout rope, and as many light chains from the pack. Then he took the ax and cut and trimmed a long, straight sapling. Joining the bits of buckskin, he made a slip-noose and fastened it to the end of the pole.

“We’ve got to get this over his head, and then we’ll stretch him out and tie him up,” he said, calmly.

Pole in hand, he made his way slowly toward the lynx, and it immediately jumped at him. When it struck the ground, scarcely two feet away, Bill made an attempt to shoot the noose over its head, but the agile creature sprang aside. For some time these manœuvers continued, and Bill was unable to get the loop over the head of the lynx. Once the encircling loop fell about its neck, and he instantly pulled the circle taut and snared one ear and half the face. Before he could stretch out the powerful body, the lynx tore the noose free with one of its paws.

“He’s sure foxy!” laughed the trapper, pausing to rest a moment.

The lynx again crouched behind the log, and peered over at them with savage eyes. It seemed to be resting and holding in reserve for the next attack.

“We’ll mix him up a little, now,” said Bill. “You fellows get poles and begin to poke at him in front, and I’ll sneak around behind him and try to slip the noose over his head.”

Armed with long poles, the boys advanced and took part in the fray. They made passes at the lynx, which instantly struck aside the saplings and sprang savagely at its tormentors.

Meanwhile Bill had worked his way up behind the animal, and while it fought the boys in front, he made several ineffectual attempts to snare it. But the wily creature, having felt the tickle of the buckskin noose, knew that the trapper was the enemy to be feared most, and it was on its guard.

At last it made a mistake, and, with a yell of triumph, Bill shot the noose over its head and drew it tight.

“We’ve got him now!” he cried.

The boys cheered enthusiastically as the lynx, coughing and snarling, was pulled over on its back and straightened out with its free legs clawing the air. Bill ordered the lads to hold the pole, and keep the lynx prostrate until he inserted a gag between its jaws and tied its feet. He warned them against giving any slack, and said he might be seriously clawed should they make the slightest blunder.

Stretched out with one foot fast in the trap and the choking circle of buckskin about its neck, the lynx was prevented from rising by the boys, who pulled vigorously on the pole. All the while the lynx was thrashing about madly in a useless struggle to free itself.

Working with lightning-like rapidity, Bill soon had the thick, muscular legs tied and drawn securely together. Then, having cut a hardwood gag, two inches thick and four or five inches long, he waited his chance, and slipped it between the jaws of his snapping captive. Next he took a piece of buckskin and passed it about the gag and around the head and jaws of the helpless lynx.

Having rendered the creature harmless, Bill cut two long, heavy poles. These he placed on the ground parallel to each other and about three feet apart. Across them he lashed shorter poles, close together, to form a platform.

Releasing the trap from its leg, Bill and the boys dragged their still defiant prisoner to the rough stretcher, and soon had him securely bound in place.

Then they shouldered the poles, and, carrying the captive between them, they started for the cabin. The lynx was heavy and the country rough, and before they had gone far the lads began to realize that they had a hard job on their hands. But they stuck to it, and finally, with aching shoulders, they arrived before the door of the little shack and set down their burden with a sigh of relief.

“We’ll have to build a good, stout crate to ship him in, and, meantime, we’ll leave ‘his royal highness’ tied up so he’ll do no harm,” said Bill, opening the door.

Moze instantly rushed out and hurled himself upon the prostrate lynx before any one could stop him. The trapper seized him by the neck and pulled him off, else he would surely have killed the helpless animal, which was entirely at his mercy.

“I’m afraid we’ll have our own troubles before we get that gray villain off our hands,” laughed Bill.

XIV
A LYNX MAKES TROUBLE

A day was spent building a substantial cage of heavy logs. With some difficulty the lynx was placed inside it, to wait until Bill could borrow a team and haul it to the railroad.

Meantime a three-inch fall of snow had made ideal tracking conditions. As the boys were anxious to follow the fresh trails of the various animals, they determined to take advantage of it, and decided to remain at home while Bill made the round of his traps. They told him they would travel about in the neighborhood of the cabin and see what they could find. The trapper gave them permission to do so, and carefully explained the lay of the land near-by.

When he had gone the boys started out, accompanied by Moze. They carried their rifles, a supply of matches, and a substantial lunch. Choosing a prominent landmark for their goal, they trained their compass on it, and entered the inviting confines of the great white wilderness.

They had not gone far when they came to three piles of grouse feathers beneath a towering hemlock. They stooped down to examine them in the hope of finding a clue to the murderer. There were no footprints near these mute evidences of crime; but George discovered some faint, indistinct tracings across the snow. He and Ed studied them for some time, at a loss to know what had made them.

“I have it!” cried Ed, straightening.

“Have what?” queried George, doubtfully.

“Why, those marks have been made by wing-beats. The murderer is some pirate of the air—a hawk, or near relative of ‘Old Snowball,’ I’ll bet!”

“I believe you’re right,” agreed George, looking up into the tree-tops, as though he expected to see the bold marauder still about.

Just then they heard the noisy commotion of a flock of jays, and they instantly made their way in that direction. They recalled the advice of Ben regarding these birds, and stole noiselessly toward the calls, confident of finding game at the end of their stalk. The jays did not appear to be moving, for their cries came continually from the same place. Stealing cautiously along from tree to tree, the lads at length came in sight of them. Standing motionless, they saw the jays flying angrily about some large, dark-colored object in the top of a tree.

“Look! It has ears!” whispered Ed, excitedly, as an erect tuft appeared on each side of the broad, flat head.

“It’s an owl of some sort; and see—it’s holding a grouse,” said George.

The jays made many vicious swoops; but the owl always turned its head in time to meet them, and the boys distinctly heard the angry snap of its powerful beak.

“Well, here goes for the murderer!” declared Ed, raising his rifle. “If he had taken one grouse we might have let him off; but three are too many for one meal. He’s a ‘tenderfoot’ and a ‘game-hog,’ and, according to Ben, either charge is enough.”

But the owl evidently had other ideas. Just as Ed pulled the trigger it flew, and his bullet cut the branch directly behind where it had perched. It sailed swiftly away among the trees, with the jays in close pursuit.

“Shoot first and talk afterward,” cautioned George, laughing at the discomfiture of his friend.

Moze was baying somewhere off to the right of them. They left the owl to the tender mercies of the jays, and turned toward the hound. They went down into a rocky ravine, across a little brook, and up a hill. Then they heard Moze coming up the other side. Hiding themselves in some bushes, they waited for the appearance of the hound and his quarry, which he seemed to be driving directly toward them. His voice rang out clearly in the frosty air, and the blood of the young hunters tingled. What he was running they did not know, and they waited in suspense.

Suddenly a red streak flashed across the opening in front of them and immediately disappeared into the brush again. The boys grinned sheepishly at each other.

Moze followed a minute later, and, glancing at them from the corner of his eye, he raced on in pursuit of the fox.

“Say, we’re getting pretty bad,” declared Ed, lowering his rifle.

“That’s all right, I didn’t guarantee to hit a streak of lightning,” replied George, looking after the fox. “It’s no use waiting for Moze; he’ll be on the other side of the world by night if he keeps up that pace.”

They resumed their journey through the woods, and near the border of a small swale they jumped a “snowshoe rabbit.”

“There goes just the fellow we have been looking for!” shouted Ed, as the nimble hare bounded away.

“Let’s follow him up,” urged George.

“No, thanks; no more swamps for me!” said Ed, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on; this is a tiny one—you can almost see across it. We can’t possibly get lost,” persisted George, eager to follow the hare.

He finally won Ed’s consent, and together they plunged into the swale. This time they prudently chopped small squares from the tree-trunks to serve as sign-posts when they wished to return.

“We’ll never come up with him. Just look at those leaps,” said Ed, hopelessly.

“He may get tired, and perhaps he’ll squat down somewhere,” suggested George.

Much to their satisfaction, they quickly crossed the narrow bit of marshy forest and came out at a sunny slope along its border. Here George spied the hare squatting under a low bush. Taking careful aim, he killed it with the first shot.

They were delighted with their trophy, and George tucked it into the pocket of his coat with much pride. They had no trouble retracing their course, and, once out of the swamp, sat down to enjoy their lunch. They had seen or heard nothing of Moze, and George laughingly declared he would soon be around the earth on the same trail.

After lunch it began to grow cold, and they decided to return to the cabin and await Bill with his spoils from the traps. The lads followed their back-trail, and were soon in sight of the little log shelter.

They went at once to the cage containing the lynx, and when they reached it, drew back in alarm. The savage inmate had chewed and clawed two bars of his prison until they were all but in half. The merest push or jump of the lynx would snap them asunder and gain him his freedom.

“Great Scott! What shall we do?” cried Ed.

“Don’t go in front of it,” advised George. “If you do, he’ll jump; and then, out he comes! We’ll sneak up from the side, throw our coats over the front of the cage and run into the cabin with it.”

“Hurry! He’s getting ready to spring!” warned Ed.

Creeping up to it from the sides, the boys each grabbed an end of the heavy crate. Pulling and tugging with all their might, they managed to drag it into the cabin.

Hardly were they over the threshold, with the door securely fastened behind them, when the lynx did the very thing they feared it might do—it jumped against the front of the cage! There was an ugly snarl, a snapping of weakened logs, and the released captive bounded into the center of the room and faced them.

The boys made record time out through the doorway. Once outside, they slammed the door shut and stood looking at each other with troubled faces.

“The window, quick!” screamed Ed.

George immediately ran to it and hung his coat over the outside, in the hope of preventing the lynx from jumping through the sash. Then he hastily rejoined his friend, who stood braced against the door, anxiously awaiting some sound from within.

“Well, this is a pretty mess!” he declared, when George came up.

“Yes, but it’s lucky we got here when we did,” said George.

“Maybe not so lucky as we imagine. I’ve an idea there’s going to be considerable of a ‘rough-house’ before things become settled. Besides, there are plenty of lynxes in the woods, and perhaps it might have been better to have killed this one when he jumped from the crate.”

“But he doesn’t belong to us,” George reminded him, “and you know the trouble Bill took to capture him. I’m sure he wouldn’t thank us for shooting it in his absence.”

So far the lynx had remained passive, and the boys were at a loss to know just what it was doing. At last curiosity got the better of them, and Ed tiptoed to the window and peered in. With a startled yell he jumped away, stumbled, and fell in a heap. He had gazed directly into the snarling face of the lynx, which was crouched on the narrow window-sill.

Luckily, the animal was as much surprised and frightened as the boy, and instead of crashing through the glass it sprang away from it.

Then pandemonium broke loose, and by the noise that came from inside the boys knew the lynx was making sad havoc of the few furnishings. Pans clattered and clanged to the floor; the table went over with a bang; and in dismay they heard various pieces of crockery tumble from the shelves as the lynx leaped wildly about the little room. At one time he must have alighted on the hot stove, and he gave evidence of the fact by a scream of pain. Then he crashed against the door, and the boys threw their combined weight against it. Then he quieted down. Ed and George were anxious to see the damage he had done, but dared not peer through the window, lest they invite an attack.

It grew bitterly cold, and they were obliged to stamp their feet and swing their arms to keep their blood circulating. Several long hours dragged by, and the short winter day came to a close. Still they kept vigil on the outside of the cabin. Again and again the lynx stirred things up, and once their hearts almost stopped, when they heard him strike against the window. It was evidently a glancing blow, for it did not break the glass, and the lads breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wish Bill would show up,” said Ed, swinging his arms and blowing on his benumbed finger-tips.

“Say, suppose he doesn’t come until to-morrow; you know he said he sometimes stayed overnight at a lean-to.”

“Gee whiz, I never thought of that!” cried Ed, in alarm. “We can’t spend the night out here without freezing, and we can’t go inside without killing the lynx! We’re in a bad fix anyway you look at it.”

As darkness gradually settled over the silent white forest the hearts of the boys became heavy. With the fading of daylight the imprisoned lynx became more active, and once more wild riot raged within the dark room. The temperature dropped steadily, and the shivering young guards were at a loss to know what to do. Even if they decided to take possession of the cabin by killing its dangerous occupant, their chances of doing so were now poor.

“We’ve got to do something—I’m actually freezing to death; and, besides, it seems ridiculous to be turned out of our own home by a great big bully of a cat,” said Ed, through chattering teeth.

“It is pretty tough; but what are we going to do?” asked George. “We haven’t even a lantern, and it’s no place in there to go poking around with a flickering little match.”

Just then they heard the crunch of footsteps on the dry snow, and a moment later Bill stood beside them, a big bundle of furs strapped to his back.

“What’s the matter?” he inquired, anxiously. “I missed the light, and was afraid something must be wrong. Thought maybe you were lost again. Come in. What on earth are you shivering out here for?” And he started to open the door.

“Wait!” cried Ed, excitedly grasping him by the arm.

“Hold on!” warned George, barring his way.

“What in blazes—” began the bewildered trapper; but the boys interrupted him with a hurried recital of facts.

A council of war was immediately held, and Bill was forced to admit that things looked bad. He said he had little hope of retaking the lynx alive, and he seemed much cast down at the idea of killing it.

Then he unslung his pack and drew a keen-bladed ax from it. He made known his intention of entering the cabin, and told the boys, who were eager to accompany him, that they would be in the way and might get hurt. Bill eased their minds by promising to call them if he got into serious trouble.

They opened the door just wide enough for the trapper to squeeze through. When he had entered, they slammed it shut and waited nervously for sounds of the fierce battle they felt sure would immediately begin. They heard Bill strike a match, and for a second a bright flicker of light showed through the cracks in the door. Then it passed, and all was dark. The lynx began growling fiercely as Bill moved about the room in search of the lantern. At last a steady, bright glare lighted up the interior of the cabin, and they knew he had found it.

Instantly the battle started, and, judging by the noise of combat, the listeners believed it was a deadly one. They heard the lynx spring times without number, and each time they heard Bill jump out of its way. He was no doubt trying to stun it with the ax, so that he could again take it alive.

Unable to restrain their impatient curiosity longer, the lads made their way to the window. Cautiously they rose on tiptoe and peeped into the cabin. They saw Bill partly crouched, with the ax in his hands. One sleeve of his hunting-shirt was ripped and torn, where the sharp claws of the lynx had fastened in it. Following the fierce, steady gaze of the trapper, the boys saw the lynx squatting behind an overturned stool.

It had made a sad wreck of the place. All about lay the results of its vengeance. Pots and pans were scattered in wild disorder over the floor, the table had been overturned on top of its contents, and even the personal belongings of the rightful occupants had been ripped from their places and strewn about promiscuously.

Bill slowly approached the crouching lynx, and the boys heard it growl like a big, angry cat. Cautiously the trapper advanced, and they saw him turn the ax in his hand, as though to strike with the blunt end.

CAUTIOUSLY THE TRAPPER ADVANCED

Suddenly the lynx sprang at him, and he stepped aside and swung his weapon, but missed. Landing in the center of the room with all four feet beneath it, the snarling creature instantly rebounded, and Bill had barely time to whirl and face the attack. He knocked the determined animal from him with a powerful blow of his ax. It slunk back into a corner, apparently unhurt, and again crouched, with fangs exposed and eyes blazing.

Then something unexpected happened, as a new combatant took a hand in the fray. The door suddenly swung in, and Moze rushed into the room and jumped for the throat of the lynx. He had arrived home from his long chase, and had heard the savage snarls inside the cabin, and, entering, had bounded joyously into the fight.

As the surprised trapper ran to close the door the hound and its adversary came together; Bill, unable to use his ax for fear of killing Moze, hopped out of the way of the fighters.

The boys, proud of the courage displayed by Moze, cheered him on.

The two powerful animals were well matched, and the battle was a hard one. They fought all over the room, first one gaining the advantage, then the other. Gouging, snapping, clawing, and snarling, they kept on mauling each other. Once the lynx got Moze beneath it, and would no doubt have speedily ended his career had not Bill aimed a savage kick at its ribs. His action diverted the animal’s attention for an instant and gave the hound a chance to regain his feet. Both combatants were torn and bleeding. Again and again the trapper sought to deal the lynx a fatal blow with the sharp edge of the ax, but Moze was always directly in the way.

At last they drew apart for a moment, and Bill seized the opportunity and rushed upon the great snarling cat with his ax raised. He was unwilling to see Moze further punished in the terrific fighting, and he determined to end it and save his faithful old hound.

When he came within a few feet of it, the lynx jumped directly at his throat. This time, however, Bill did not miss, and his powerful blow buried the blade of the ax deep in the brain of the savage cat, which crashed to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Then the shaking, half-frozen boys rushed in and ran to Moze as he stretched out close to the stove to lick a score of painful wounds.

“Well, old boy, he came near doing you,” said Bill, tenderly, as he knelt to examine the injuries of the brave old fighter.

“Wouldn’t there have been fun if we had gone in before you arrived,” laughed Ed, as he huddled over the stove, trying to thaw out.

“Fun and scratches, likely,” laughed Bill. “These big lynxes are just about as mean a proposition as roams the woods—that is, when you get them cornered for a fight.”

“It’s too bad you were obliged to kill him after all the work of taking him alive,” said Ed, as he stooped down and ran his fingers through the long, soft fur.

“Well, it couldn’t be helped. You see, there are many more lynxes to be had, but there is only one Moze. One or the other had to go, and I guess we know whose side to fight on. Don’t we, ‘old spit-fire’?” and Bill patted Moze affectionately.

By the thumping of his tail on the floor, the boys knew the hound understood this compliment to his valor, and was well content with the way things had turned out.

XV
BILL CAPTURES A PRIZE

The boys had been with Bill for some weeks when George took out his diary. He was obliged to count back to learn the exact date; and when he had done so, he uttered a long whistle of astonishment.

“What is the matter?” inquired Ed.

“Why, we are due at Ben’s the day after to-morrow, and, by ginger, the day after that will be Christmas!”

“Good gracious, how the time has flown!” said Ed.

Bill was strangely silent, and the boys watched him as he sat playfully tickling Moze.

“Of course, if you can’t take us back then, why, I guess we could stay here another day; only we promised Ben,” explained Ed, thinking that perhaps their sudden decision had interfered with the plans of the old trapper.

“No; no, that’s all right. I’ve got to go out with these furs, anyway. I’ll get around to-morrow and spring my traps, and we can pull out early the next morning,” he said.

“And you and Moze must spend Christmas with us!” cried George, enthusiastically.

Again a strange silence came over the trapper, and he walked slowly away toward the door.

“Maybe you have other plans; and, of course—” began Ed; but Bill interrupted him.

“No, I’ve no plans, son; I never make them any more, ’cause, you see—” he paused and looked at them out of misty, troubled eyes, and they instantly understood. “But we’ll do it this time! Won’t we, Moze?” he laughed, suddenly, and the hound rose and wagged his tail.

The next day was to be a busy one, and with the first gray streak of dawn they were away on the trap line. About an inch of snow had fallen during the night, and the trapper pointed out many new tracks as he hurried along.

“Do you see that trail there, the little footprints, two by two?” he inquired.

The boys said they did.

“Well, that was made by a mink. See, here he’s stepped into one of his front tracks, and left only three footprints on the snow. That’s a great trail of his, always looks like he’d suddenly lost a leg.”

It was a glorious winter day, and Bill was in high spirits. Nothing escaped his wonderful eyes, and everything seemed to contain a message, which he gladly read to the boys. He showed them the delicate, lace-like trails of the little wood-mice, and pointed to where one had tunneled its way beneath the snow in search of hidden seeds.

Then he drew their attention to what looked like grains of pepper shaken over the snow. The boys were astounded when told that these minute black specks were tiny insects which woodsmen called “snow-fleas.” Bill said they lived in the moss, and could be seen with the naked eye only when they hopped about over a white background.

Farther along they came upon the tracks of a moose which, Bill declared, had gone by that very morning. George proposed that they follow after it, but the trapper refused for two reasons; first, because the law was on, and secondly, because it was a cow moose. The boys asked him how he knew it was a cow, and he proceeded to explain the difference between the track of the cow and that of the bull. Bill said that, like the buck deer, the bull moose usually left a larger, less pointed track than his mate. And he explained further that the “dew-claws” of the bull were set wider apart, and so registered in the snow.

The trapper declared that when the marks showed close together, as they did in the present instance, it was safe to presume that the tracks were those of a cow. Not wishing to break any game laws, the boys turned willingly from the tracks and continued on the trail to the traps.

They came at length to the spring-hole where Bill had been trying for so long to catch the mink. Once more he was doomed to disappointment, and, springing the trap, he hung it on a near-by sapling, until he might return, and started on.

Several times they crossed fox trails, which the lads had learned to distinguish at sight. Then they came upon a track that was entirely new to them. Bill laughed when they asked him to name it, and said it had been made by a skunk. The trail consisted of two continuous rows of footprints, one beside the other, and each print close up to the one before it. The trapper explained that this animal did not often venture forth in winter, except on warm, balmy days.

At one of the sets Bill captured another lynx; but, as it was not a particularly large one, he despatched it with his hickory club.

While they were eating their midday lunch a flock of sociable little chickadees gathered in the branches above, and, cocking their black-capped heads sideways, peered inquisitively down at them. The diners threw some crumbs and shreds of meat on the snow. Instantly the fearless chickadees accepted the invitation and dropped down to the feast. After a time, as the birds became bolder, the boys offered scraps of meat held between their fingers. They thrilled with pleasure when the confiding chickadees alighted trustfully on the outstretched hands and pecked energetically at the morsels offered them.

Having finished their meal, the three trappers rose and continued the circuit of their traps. Everywhere the forest shone forth resplendent in its mantle of glistening white, where, on the telltale surface, was scrawled and dotted a complete record of woodland happenings. Helped and encouraged by Bill, the lads were soon able to read and decipher these code-writings of nature. The tread of a cautious paw, the sweep of a fluttering wing, or the mark of the passing wind was instantly noted and recognized.

Thus the day wore on, and, though their toll of fur was not heavy, they had a goodly number of pelts by the time the shadows commenced to gather. There were still a number of traps to be examined, and in one of them Bill had hopes of finding the highest prize in the trapper’s lottery—a silver fox!

He had seen one in the vicinity several times during the summer, and again early in the autumn before he set his traps. As the fur of the beautiful creature was comparatively valueless at such times, Bill had wisely refrained from destroying it. With the coming of cold weather and the trapping season, however, he had set skilfully concealed traps about the locality of its wanderings. Several of them had been deftly sprung and robbed of their bait. Bill, of course, blamed the silver fox, and each time he reset them with greater care, hopeful that he would eventually capture the idol of his dreams.

Now, as they drew near the spot, the boys noticed that the old trapper unconsciously quickened his stride. He acknowledged that the fur of this fox would bring him in “quite a roll of money,” and the lads were most anxious for his success.

“Wouldn’t it be fine if you got him for a Christmas present?” laughed George, as they hustled along.

Bill smiled, but made no reply. Then he halted and, parting a fringe of bushes, stooped over and sprung an empty trap.

“Number one, and nothing,” he said, a bit disappointedly. “Well, I’ve four more set for that black rascal, and we can’t tell what we’ll find,” he added, hopefully.

“Black rascal? I thought you said it was a silver fox?” said Ed, somewhat puzzled.

“So it is,” responded Bill; “but it’s black just the same. You see, the fur is tipped with silver-gray at the end of each guard hair, though the pelt itself is rich, glossy black. Looks like a black fox that has been caught out in a heavy frost,” he explained.

Soon they came to the second trap, and their hearts beat hard with excitement when they heard some animal tumbling about in the bushes.

Bill ran eagerly forward, club in hand, and the boys saw him deliver the fatal blow. Then, in response to their inquiry, he reached down, and, when he straightened, held up a long, reddish-brown body, somewhat smaller and slimmer than that of a fox.

“What is it?” inquired the lads, though, of course, they knew it was not the hoped-for prize.

“Fisher,” replied Bill, a satisfied smile on his face, “and a nice one.”

While he proceeded to skin it the trapper explained the habits of the animal he had just caught. He said it was a skilled hunter, and that it was seemingly without fear, having been known to find and kill bear cubs larger and more powerful than itself. Bill pronounced it a great destroyer of game birds, rabbits, and small creatures in general.

“Looks almost like a cross between a fox and a mink, don’t it?” he inquired, shaking out the freshly skinned pelt.

The boys at once noted a certain resemblance to each of the creatures mentioned.

“Yes, and he’s got both dispositions, too,” he declared. “All the tricks of the fox, and all the fight of the mink. I’ve known one of these fellows to follow a line of traps all season and destroy hundreds of dollars’ worth of pelts, just out of pure cussedness.”

Then he told how the fisher would sometimes follow the trail of the trapper, until it had learned the round of his traps. Then it would make the circuit daily and destroy whatever it happened to find imprisoned in them.

“Well, we have two more chances for that Christmas present you were talking about, George,” said Bill, as they came near the third trap set for the silver fox.

“Yes, and I feel that you’ll get him,” replied George.

Twilight had fallen, and it was growing dark beneath the towering evergreens. Bill had thoughtfully brought a lantern, but as yet had not lighted it. Silently the three comrades trudged along in the gathering gloom. Each hoped with all his heart that somewhere ahead of them waited the prize which was to reward the veteran trapper for his long, hard work on the trap line.

The boys almost held their breath when he finally halted and then made his way, alone, to the last trap but one. Several moments went by while they waited anxiously for a shout that would proclaim the capture of the prize. None came, and their hearts sank.

“Nothing,” said Bill, at last, and he hung the sprung trap in the crotch of a sapling.

There was one more chance to catch the silver fox, and the trapper led them silently away in the direction of his last trap.

“This one is set where he usually crossed,” he observed, rather hopefully. “Don’t suppose there’s much chance, though,” he added, after a pause.

Not a word was spoken as they cautiously approached the last chance. The afterglow had long since faded from the western sky, and it was now dark in the woods. Bill stopped to light the lantern. Then he turned abruptly down into a dry brook-bed at his right.

“There’s something here!” he shouted.

The boys fairly trembled with excitement. With all their souls they hoped the trapper had won the prize he so justly deserved. Eager and anxious, they hurried down to him.

Suddenly they began to whoop like Indians, for Bill held up the smooth, black body of his silver fox.

“Got him at last,” he chuckled, delightedly, “and he’s sure a beauty.”

By the aid of the lantern they stretched the fox out to be admired. The lads stroked the valuable fur, and congratulated Bill warmly on his success.

“Guess we’ll carry him home as he is and skin him where we have better light,” he said. “We can’t afford to make a miss on this fellow.” And he shouldered the fox and led the way toward the cabin.

“How did you fool him?” inquired Ed, later, when the costly pelt had been removed and pulled on a stretching-board to dry.

“I fooled him with a mouse,” laughed the trapper.

“A mouse?” queried George, incredulously. “How?”

“Well, I smoked the trap over balsam boughs for several days. You see, the nose of a fox is powerful keen, and he can smell iron rust or man-scent every time. Of course, unless you can cover up such odors, there’s not much use making a set. Once a fox knows the trap is there, he’ll dig carefully around it till it’s all exposed to view. Then, like as not, he’ll put his paw underneath, turn the trap over, spring it, and walk off with the bait.

“There are several ways to fool him by destroying the scent. The two most used are smoking the trap thoroughly and setting it an inch or so under water. That’s what we call a ‘wet-set,’ and it usually fools the wisest of them. To make it, we place the trap just beneath the surface, at some still place of the lake, or stream, and float a piece of moss, or mass of leaves, directly over the pan, arranged in such a way as to protrude slightly out of water and give the impression of a dry foothold. You see, a fox doesn’t like to wet his feet if he can avoid it. Well, he comes to the edge of the water, sees that he must cross it to reach the bait, and, spying the dry footing above the trap, steps on it and is caught.

“But to get back to the mouse. You’ll remember that there was no water near where this fellow crossed, so I was obliged to make a ‘dry-set.’ As I’ve said, I smoked the trap thoroughly over balsam. Then I hunted around until I found a wood-mouse. Next I poured anise-seed oil over the soles of my moccasins, and also on the gloves I intended to wear. This destroyed the human scent about the trap and set. I carefully concealed the trap, sprinkled some weed seeds over the center of it, and placed my mouse, all huddled up in a heap, directly over the pan, as though he had squatted there to eat the seeds.

“Now then, what happened? Why, the fox came sneaking along on the scent of the anise, which he likes, saw the mouse crouching plumb before him, and, without waiting to ask any questions, pounced on it with his front paws and landed in the trap.”

XVI
A VISITOR

The next day the boys started early on the return trail to Ben, accompanied by Bill and Moze. They had long since learned to love the great silent forest, and as they went on they constantly called attention to some one of its manifold beauties.

Moze, now quite recovered from his honorable wounds, dashed on ahead as usual. His short, snappy bark echoed through the woods as he sped away on each fresh trail that crossed his path.

Realizing that they had a long trip before them, and anxious to reach the cabin in daylight, they paid no attention to his urgent appeals, but kept steadily to their course. Although quite deep in some places, the snow was dry and powdery, and the walking was easy.

Coming to an open spot in the woods where the snow had been piled into drifts by the wind, the boys saw something which greatly surprised them. A covey of grouse were flushed at the edge of the timber, and thundered away into the clearing. Like a meteor a feathered form dropped from the sky, and the grouse dove beneath the soft snow. The baffled hawk made a vicious sweep over the spot where they had disappeared, and then, rising, flew off above the tree-tops.

Bill led the lads to the place and pointed out the individual dents in the snow, beneath which the birds were buried. Stooping down, he spread his hands apart and, plunging them suddenly beneath the white surface, brought up a fine, plump grouse. He released it immediately, and said that none but a “pot-hunter” would take so noble a bird in that despicable manner. The boys had much sport grabbing beneath the snow for the balance of the covey, and refused to move on until they had each caught and released several of the struggling birds. Bill assured them this is a trick of the grouse when pursued by winged enemies where cover is scarce.

At another place they saw many moose tracks, some old, others quite fresh. Numerous young birch trees in the near vicinity were bowed to earth, and a few were broken off at greater or lesser distances from the ground. All of them had been stripped of their smaller branches and shoots. The boys were at a loss to account for it, until Bill said that the animals had been “riding down” the trees to browse on the tender branches and tops. He explained how a moose straddles such a tree with his fore legs and then proceeds to bend it earthward by walking along with the supple trunk beneath his heavy body.

When the sun was directly overhead they halted by the side of a woodland spring to eat their lunch. It was a warm spot, sheltered from the wind by tall trees. The sunlight found its way down between the branches and warmed a broad, flat rock on which they sat and ate. The brisk walk in the sharp air had put a keen edge to their appetites, and Bill laughed at the way the luncheon disappeared.

Moze came in panting and hot from an exhausting chase. He was speedily provided with his share of the food, which he gulped down with little attention to table manners.

Then they “hit the trail” again. Moze, evidently very tired, was content to follow slowly along at their heels. Suddenly he stopped, raised his head, and sniffed the air suspiciously. The hair along the back of his neck rose instantly, and he began to growl.

“He’s got wind of something,” declared Bill, halting and searching the forest with his eyes.

“What do you suppose it is?” asked Ed.

“Don’t know; I can’t see any tracks. What’s the matter, Moze?” inquired the trapper, addressing his hound.

For answer the dog uttered a long, dismal howl and dashed away into the woods, his nose held high against the wind. For some time his excited yelps could be heard ringing through the forest. Finally they died away in the distance as he ran out of hearing.

“Well, there’s no use waiting for him,” said Bill. “He’s gone the other way.”

Once more they resumed the journey, though the boys would have lingered there in the hope that Moze might drive something to them. Farther on they came to the fresh trail of what Bill declared was a large lynx. They wondered if it was this animal that had enticed Moze into a chase.

Just beyond, Bill was much surprised to find fresh moccasin tracks headed in the direction he and the boys were traveling. The unknown footprints soon branched off to follow some deer tracks, and the trapper wondered who the mysterious hunter might be.

Suddenly they heard a rifle-shot, far to the right, and a second one a moment afterward. They halted at once, and the boys turned to Bill for an explanation.

“Whoever that is has got his deer, I reckon,” he said, when the echo of the reports had subsided. “There’s nobody hunts this country except Ben and me; not unless it’s Indian Pete.”

“Indian Pete?” chorused the lads, thoroughly interested by the possibilities of such a name.

“Yes, he’s an old Indian trapper who wanders down here from the north. Pretty good old fellow, too. Did me a big favor once.”

“Are there Indians near here?” inquired George.

“No; he’s the last of a tribe that lived north of here a long time ago. Most of them died off, or went to a reservation, which is about the same thing; but Pete did some jobs for the State and stayed here. When he became too old to work he built himself a little shack, and lives by hunting and trapping. If it’s Pete, we’ll probably find him at the cabin, ’cause he and Ben are great friends.”

When the sun hung low and the early shadows of a winter afternoon began to gather, Bill halted and pointed to a spot far below them, where lay the lake in front of the cabin. The little log abode was not visible, but a thin, wavering column of blue smoke rose above the tops of the pines and showed them where it was. They knew that the guide was expecting them for supper.

“I can almost smell the biscuits,” laughed Ed.

“And the bacon, and beans, and coffee, and—” began George.

“Hold on there, son! You’ll get indigestion smelling so fast,” Bill laughed, as they hurried on down the mountain.

It was almost dark by the time they had crossed the lake. Their loud helloas brought Ben to meet them.

“Thought you fellows had deserted me,” he laughed, when they drew near. “Helloa, Bill, I’m powerful glad to see you; walk in. Hey, Moze, you old black rascal!”

A tall, straight figure in buckskin rose and greeted Bill. The boys gazed, fascinated, for it was none other than Indian Pete.

“Pete, these are the fellows I’ve been telling you about. Shake hands with Ed Williams and George Rand,” commanded the guide.

The lads beamed with pleasure when the long, bony hand of the Indian closed tightly over their own. For a moment or two he stood smiling down at them. Then he relaxed his friendly grasp and resumed his seat.

Bill learned that the tracks they had seen had been made by Pete. The two shots had sealed the doom of a noble five-prong buck, which now hung outside the cabin. While the Indian and the trapper conversed, Ben busied himself with the preparation of the evening meal.

The boys, left to themselves, noted Indian Pete’s well-proportioned athletic figure; his coarse, straight black hair, which fell below the square shoulders; his wrinkled, copper-colored face, with its prominent nose and cheek bones, and most particularly his penetrating black eyes, which looked directly into those of the listener.

Although Bill had told them that Pete was well over seventy years, they would not have judged him to be more than fifty-five or sixty. The lads looked on him admiringly as a superb specimen of well-preserved manhood. They were so much interested in the old Indian that for the time being they forgot all about “Snow Ball,” the captive owl.

They were soon reminded of his presence in a most startling manner. Moze, in wandering about the room, crawled inquisitively under one of the bunks. Instantly there was a terrific commotion, and the hound promptly bounded out with “Snow Ball” holding fast to his tail.

The poor dog raced twice around the room before the great white bird lost its grip. Then, finding himself free, Moze tried to retrieve his reputation. He dashed bravely at his new-found adversary. It instantly turned over on its back and scratched his nose with its sharp talons. The dog jumped away with a yelp of pain, and seemed content, thereafter, to stand out of harm’s way and express his opinion in a series of savage barks.

Laughing heartily, Bill took hold of him, and Ben caught up the owl and set it on a perch which he had made for it. The bird allowed itself to be freely handled by the guide, who promptly fastened a small chain about its leg and left it serenely preening its ruffled plumage and glaring fiercely at Moze.

“Those two will be enemies for life, I reckon,” prophesied Bill.

“How on earth did you ever make ‘Snow Ball’ so tame?” Ed inquired.

“Just fed and treated him well; which will bring ’most any wild creature around.”

They all gathered about the table to do full honor to the supper which Ben had prepared. He and Bill exchanged glances of amusement when the boys chose their seats, one on either side of Indian Pete.

“By gracious, to-morrow will be Christmas!” cried George, later, as they were sitting before the stove.

“Strange we’ve had no word from home,” said Ed, in a disappointed tone.

“Don’t let it worry you, son,” drawled Ben, rising and going to the book-shelf. “There are several letters and books here for you. Yes, and a big box, too, over beyond, under that robe; but it’s not to be opened until to-morrow.”

He handed the letters and magazines to Ed and George, winking at Bill as he resumed his seat.

“How did you get them?” asked Ed.

“Why, Tom Westbrook came over and took me to town.”

The boys read the letters from home with much enjoyment. When they had finished, they went over to the box and began raising the folds of the robe that hid it.

The guide playfully dragged them away. Then they promised that they would not open the box until the next morning if Indian Pete would tell a story, and his tale of a single-handed fight with a wolf closed the evening.

XVII
CHRISTMAS AT THE CABIN

“Merry Christmas, everybody!”

This from the boys as they slipped quietly from their bunk.

“Merry Christmas!” replied Bill, turning in his blankets.

“Merry Christmas, and many more of them!” added Ben, sitting up drowsily.

“Merry Christmas, Pete!” shouted George, determined that no one should be left out of the cordial greetings.

“Chrismus!” returned the Indian, his dark eyes twinkling kindly.

“Well, you fellows stole a march on us this time,” laughed Ben, as he rose and lighted the lamp—it was still dark outside.

“Now for the box!” cried Ed.

“Yes, let’s open it!” urged George.

They soon had the cover off, and were busily engaged taking out the contents. There was a deliciously roasted turkey with dressing such as they relished at home; a plum-pudding decorated with sprigs of holly; two great cakes, one filled with raisins, the other with nuts; besides many presents for the boys, and boxes of cigars, warm gloves and caps for Ben and the trapper. Then they found some tobacco and a pipe, and immediately presented them to Pete, who seemed much pleased. Nor was Moze forgotten, for lying in the very bottom of the box was a handsome collar with his name engraved on the metal plate.

When they had finished distributing the presents, Ben brought several bags and bundles from beneath his bunk. When he had opened them, he gave each of the boys a pair of moccasins and a serviceable bone-handle hunting-knife. He also produced a box of cigars for Bill, and a pair of fleece-lined mittens for Pete.

Then Bill opened his pack of pelts and gave George the lynx-skin and Ed a handsome fox-skin.

“This is the greatest Christmas ever!” declared Ed.

“You bet!” agreed George.

Indian Pete had gone outside during the presentation of gifts, and they were afraid he felt badly because he had nothing to offer. However, he soon returned with the deer on his shoulder. With great dignity he dropped it to the floor.

“Chrismus, all—everyone!” he said. “Plenty eat, all.” And he laughed and made them understand by gestures that they were to accept of the deer as his offering.

“That’s the best of the lot, Pete!” declared Ben, grasping the Indian by the hand. “We’ll have a big feast.”

Ben and Pete were greatly interested in the pelt of the silver fox, and they congratulated Bill on his good-fortune.

“This sure is a prosperous Christmas for you, Bill; that skin is worth a pile of money back in the settlement. When I was in I heard them telling that the price of fur had gone ’way up. I’m powerful glad you got it,” said the guide.

Bill made no reply, but looked much pleased as he fingered the valuable prize admiringly. He pulled his furs, flesh side out, on stretching-boards which Ben offered for his use.

After breakfast the boys cut a small balsam, which they set up in the cabin for a Christmas tree. Ben decorated the branches with popcorn, candies, and cakes which he had brought from town, and the lads added some fancy ornaments which had come in their gift-box.

“Snow Ball” was freed from his log cage and placed on his perch. Immediately he and Moze became eager to resume hostilities, but they were promptly warned that it was no day for ill feeling. Finally, to keep peace in the family, the hound was banished out-of-doors.

Later on the boys proposed a shooting contest in honor of the day. The others agreed, and Ben drew a target on a piece of white cardboard. He tacked it up on a near-by tree, and the shooters went outside to compete in the “championship” contest.

They drew to see who would shoot first. It happened that Ed drew first shot, Bill second, George third, Pete fourth, and Ben last. It was agreed that they would shoot three shots apiece at each of three different targets. The first was to be the nearer and larger, the second farther away and smaller, and the third some difficult fancy shot. Each contestant agreed to use his own rifle and fire without a rest or brace.

Ed led off and gained applause by scoring an outer “bull” and two inner circles. Bill followed with two “bulls,” a center and an outer, and an inner circle. The best George could do was three inner circles, close to the “bull.” Pete got three straight “bull’s-eyes”; and Ben tied his score.

The second target was half as large as the first, and twice as far away. Ed got two outer rings and a miss. Bill got two more “bulls” and an outer ring. George retrieved himself by getting a center “bull” and two ringers. Again Pete made three “bulls”; and again Ben equaled the score.

Then they cut circular bits of pasteboard the size of half-dollars, one for each shooter. Ed clipped the edge with one shot and missed with the others. Bill got a center and two edges. George tied Ed’s tally. Pete put three in the center of the little circle; and Ben did likewise.

“Well, I guess you and Pete can fight it out,” laughed Bill, turning to the guide.

“Yes, shoot it off!” urged the boys.

Ben fastened a card, edge toward him, in a seam of the bark. Then he looked smilingly at Pete. The latter at once signified his willingness to shoot at the difficult mark, and the contest began.

The guide’s first shot cut the card in two, and the boys cheered wildly. A new target was set in place, and he repeated the feat. A third card had the corner torn by his last bullet.

Then Pete stepped forward and drew careful aim on the edge of the tiny target. His first shot missed by the merest fraction, and he turned toward his audience and smiled. The second bullet cut the card squarely in the middle, and he was roundly cheered by the impartial company. His final shot clipped the top. Pete laughed and shook his head. Ben had bested him.

“Eyes too old, maybe,” he said, modestly, as victor and vanquished clasped hands.

“Not a bit of it,” said the guide, gallantly. “It just happened that I had a little better luck. It might come out just the other way another time.”

Ben then fastened one of the small bits of cardboard on a tree, and, placing his rifle upside down on top of his head, he sent a bullet through the center.

“You’ll have to join a show, if you keep that up,” Bill laughed.

The boys asked Pete to tell them more about the Indians, but could not induce him to talk. They finally appealed to Ben.

“Tell you what to do, Pete,” he said; “show these fellows how to build a wigwam.”

The old Indian smiled at his friend, and, taking up his ax strode from the cabin, followed by Ed and George. Once outside, he quickly selected and cut three straight saplings. Trimming off the branches, he placed the poles on the ground with their tops together. Deftly twisting a strip of bark, he made it into a rope and fastened the ends of the poles one to the other. Then he raised them. He stood other poles between, forcing the tops beneath the bark rope, and soon had the framework of the wigwam completed. The foot of each pole was thrust into the ground to prevent the abode from tumbling down in a high wind. Pete left an open space in front for a doorway. In place of the birch-bark, which he explained was generally used by his people for the same purpose, he took a blanket and wrapped it about the bare poles to make a shelter. At the top of the wigwam he left an opening to let the smoke out. He explained that a covering was always provided for this opening, to keep out rain or snow.

Indian Pete also showed them many simple signs used by his people to communicate with one another when traveling through the forest. He showed how to turn a twig, or branch, so that it would point in the direction taken by the one who had left the signal. The Indian also showed how, by breaking a stick into long or short pieces, he could advise his followers as to the length of journey he had undertaken. He cut a piece of bark from a tree-trunk and made many queer drawings on it. These were carefully explained to the boys, so that they could read the Indian message it contained. They also had explained to them the art of making bows and arrows, the scraping and tanning of furs and skins, and other bits of woodcraft, and half the day was gone before they realized it.

Ben had meanwhile placed the turkey in the oven to warm.

“Say, just smell that!” he cried, patting himself. Then, with a quick glance at Pete, he added: “We’ll have this bird for dinner, and a big stew of Pete’s deer-meat to top it off. My, I don’t believe I’ll be able to eat again for a week after we get through with this feast.”

Everybody seemed to be in high spirits as they took their places for the Christmas dinner. While they were eating it began to snow, and soon big, broad flakes were coming down in swirling thousands.

“This is a real Christmas,” declared Ed, looking out at the storm.

“Looks like we might be in for a big snow,” said Ben, pausing with a leg-bone of the turkey between his fingers.

“Let her come, we’re here first!” laughed Bill; and the boys were glad to see the trapper so jolly, for they feared that the day held gloomy memories for him.

When the meal was finally over, a large plate of food was given to Moze, and he promptly stretched out before the stove and proceeded to enjoy it.

In the afternoon Pete and Bill decided to go out in spite of the storm. Armed with their rifles, they left the cabin and disappeared in the woods.

This was what the boys had been waiting for. As soon as the trapper and the Indian had gone they asked Ben to tell them why Bill acted so strangely about Christmas.

For a time the guide looked at them in silence. Then he decided to tell the story.

“You see, several years ago Bill had a trapping partner by the name of Tom Welsh,” he began. “‘Big Tom,’ we called him, because of his size and strength. He and Bill trapped ’way up north of here, around what was then called Bad Pond. It got its name because it was usually rough and dangerous for a canoe in summer and full of treacherous, snow-covered air-holes in winter.

“One season Bill and ‘Big Tom’ built a little cabin near this pond, and decided to spend the winter trapping around the shores. There was a lot of fur to be taken there, and they figured on a great catch by the time spring came.

“Christmas day they were crossing on the ice, and they got to skylarking and fooling. Then they began to wrestle, and Bill tripped ‘Big Tom,’ and he lost his footing and plunged head first into an air-hole which neither of them had seen.

“Seeing that his friend didn’t come up, Bill lay down and peered into the opening, shouting and reaching into the cold, black water. You see, he knew ‘Big Tom’ had bobbed up under the edge of the ice and was probably swimming away from the opening.

“Well, poor Bill was near crazy, and in his excitement he went into the hole himself. He, too, came up under the ice, but near the edge of the hole, and was clutched by the collar and yanked out.

“When Bill blinked the water out of his eyes he saw Indian Pete. The Indian had been watching the trappers from shore. When Tom went down he started toward them on a run. Bill hadn’t noticed him coming over the ice, on account of his mind being on the fate of his friend. You see, if it hadn’t been for Pete, both partners would have drowned, ’cause Bill was dazed when he came up. Like as not he’d have swum back under the ice same as poor Tom did; but the Indian was watching and nabbed him quick as he appeared near the opening.” Ben finished amid an impressive silence.

“Did they get ‘Big Tom’—after awhile?” asked Ed, in a low tone.

“Yes,” replied Ben, soberly. “Listen! That’s Moze, all right; he’s got something started!” he cried, evidently glad at the opportunity of changing the subject.

Then for some time they heard the voice of the hound ringing through the forest. The flakes came down thicker and faster each succeeding hour, and a piercing northwest wind tore through the woods and piled the snow into huge drifts.

“Looks a little like the makings of a blizzard,” said Ben, going to the door.

“I hope they get back all right.” And George looked from the window a bit uneasily.

“Don’t you worry about them,” laughed the guide.

As the storm increased steadily in volume and the afternoon wore on, the boys went to the door many times to listen. They remembered what their own experience had been in a storm not half so bad; and, though they had implicit confidence in the ability of Bill and Pete to take care of themselves, they were anxious for them to return.

Hardly had they resumed their seats the last time when the door opened and Pete came into the room. He was covered with snow, and began shaking himself vigorously.

“See anything special?” inquired Ben.

“Plenty dog tracks. Run moose all time in big snow—bad!” said the Indian, shaking his head.

“That’s the pack of wild ones, I’ll bet!” declared Ben, straightening up with a show of interest.

Pete nodded in the affirmative.

“Well, we’ve got to go after them, or there won’t be any game left in this part of the country,” and the guide scowled.

Again Pete nodded solemnly.

It was almost dark, and still Bill and Moze did not make their appearance. Several times the boys caught Ben listening and glancing out of the window, they thought, a bit uneasily.

Then they heard Moze whining at the door, and a moment later Bill opened it and came in.

“Kind of dusty out,” he laughed, brushing the flakes from his broad shoulders.

“What did you see?” asked Ed, eagerly.

“The pack of wild dogs!” replied Bill, looking at Ben.

“Get a shot at them?” inquired the guide.

“No, they were too far away. I tell you, there’s a bunch of them. Must be twenty-five or thirty.”

“Tell us about them,” urged the boys.

“Wait till after supper; I’m hungry as a bear.”

“Well, sit down, then; it’s ready,” announced Ben.

Afterward Bill told how he had seen the wild pack racing along a valley, on the hot scent of some animal. He had worked his way down the mountain on which he had been hunting, and had followed the dog tracks for quite a distance. The trapper had learned that the wolf-like hunters were chasing a deer—a doe. As the trail gave every indication of a long chase, he left it and came back to the cabin.

“This storm will cover up their trail, so that I don’t suppose there’ll be any use looking for them to-morrow. When I hear them again, though, I’m going after them,” declared Ben. “They’ve got to be driven out of here, or they’ll kill everything in the woods.”

The boys renewed their pleas to be taken on the expedition, and were so persistent that Ben finally agreed to take them.

The balance of the evening was passed playing games and telling stories, till a glance at the clock showed the lateness of the hour.

Rising, Ben went to the door and looked out. Then he called for the others to join him. Standing there, the snow blowing into their faces, they heard the distant baying of the wild dogs.

“They’re like wolves,” declared Bill.

“Worse,” agreed Ben; and he closed and bolted the door.

XVIII
AN ENCOUNTER WITH WILD DOGS

“Snowshoes for a while,” prophesied Ben, looking out at the freshly whitened landscape next morning.

“I’m glad I brought mine,” said Bill.

“You and Pete had better stay here with us another day, and give the drifts a chance to settle some,” Ben invited.

The boys were equally anxious to have two such interesting characters remain, and they urgently seconded the invitation. Pete promptly declined it and made known his intention of departing immediately after breakfast. Bill said that he, too, would leave then. He was anxious to reach the settlement with his furs, and, as he had a long, hard trip before him, was eager to be off.

The morning meal was hurried, that they might make an early start. When it was finished, Bill and Pete began tying on the broad, round snowshoes. Each helped the other to get his pack on his back. Then they bade farewell to their host and the boys and departed on different routes. The Indian turned toward the north and his far-away cabin. The trapper started east toward the distant settlement, where he hoped to dispose of his furs and bank the proceeds.

Ed and George stood in the doorway and watched the two sturdy figures disappear. They hoped to see the trapper again, for he would stop on the return journey to his cabin. But Indian Pete they would probably never again meet, and it was with deep regret they watched his straight form vanish from sight among the trees. True to the custom of his race, he refrained from looking back, even though the lads called to him several times.

Moze returned for a final caress, and seemed greatly to enjoy plowing his way through the deep snow. Bill whistled to him, and then turned and waved his hand to the little group of friends in the doorway.

“Well, there’s one person glad they’re gone,” said Ben, when he and the boys had entered the cabin.

The lads looked at him in surprise and asked who it might be.

“Old ‘Snow Ball,’” he replied, as he released the owl from its cage.

It walked about the floor of the room, and constantly turned its head, as though fearful that Moze was still somewhere in the vicinity. Ben finally picked it up and put it on the perch, where it seemed more at ease.

“He’ll soon be able to fly, and then I’m afraid it will be good-by to us.”

“Suppose we let him go. We can keep him till spring, and then he’ll go north; so he won’t do much damage to the game about here. I just hate to think that he’s a prisoner. Since I’ve been here with you, Ben, I feel differently about all such things,” declared Ed.

“That’s exactly the way I feel,” added George, “and I would like to see him freed.”

“Well, boys, that’s my idea, too; so the jury will give old ‘Snow Ball’ a verdict in his favor, and turn him loose with the understanding that he’s to quit the country.”

The owl turned his big yellow eyes on them and gave himself one or two vigorous shakes, as though the matter was of little importance, since he had found so good a home.

“I would like to get some pictures before all the snow falls from the trees,” said Ed.

“All right, son; we’ll put on our webs”—Ben’s name for snowshoes—“and go out for a look around.”

“I wouldn’t wonder but what we might find a moose or a deer mired in one of the heavy drifts. If we do, you’ll get a picture worth having,” declared Ben, when they were traveling easily along on their snowshoes.

They saw few tracks, and the guide said the forest creatures had “lain low” during the storm, and would continue to do so until the snow settled or crusted over. Deer and moose, he explained, remained in their “yards” at such times—places similar to the one where the birches were stripped. In such spots, Ben said, these animals trod down and scraped away the snow to obtain the scant food-supply buried beneath. He told the boys that if the animals were driven from these shelters before the snow was sufficiently solid to support them, especially the moose, they would soon become exhausted by the heavy going and fall easy and helpless prey to whatever foe cared to pursue them.

“That’s the way the timber wolves used to kill off quantities of game. They would hunt up a yard of deer or moose, and dash in quickly and scatter them. Then it was an easy task for them to run down the heavier animals in the deep drifts. When they had overtaken a moose helpless in snow above its shoulders, they closed in and tore it to pieces.”

“Listen!” cried George. “What’s that?”

“There they are!” declared Ben. “Just what I expected. They’re doing exactly what I’ve told you about. Wait till we see which way they’re going.”

Standing beneath the snow-burdened evergreens, they heard the ringing cry of the wild hunting pack. It echoed through the woods, now clear and distinct, and again faint and far away, as the hounds topped a rise or descended into an intervening valley.

“Isn’t that the direction Pete went?” inquired Ed, rather uneasily.

“Yes; and if he hasn’t passed, they ought to run right across his trail,” replied Ben, listening intently.

Then the report of a rifle rang sharply through the forest. Another shot quickly followed, and then two more, with scarce a pause between them.

“Come on!” cried Ben, making off at top speed. “The fight’s on; Pete has run into them, sure!”

As they hurried along they noticed that the noise from the pack had subsided. Ben led them toward the spot where they had last heard the wild baying. Soon they came to Pete’s trail, and the guide at once turned into it.

Again the noise sounded forth, this time to the left of the trail they were following. Ben held to his course, however, believing it would bring them to Pete and the pack sooner than he could go by forsaking it.

Hot and panting in their rapid pace, they finally came to the spot where the Indian had his chance at the pack. The trailers saw where he had jumped behind a small hemlock, to hide, when he heard the outlaw band approaching. About fifty yards farther along the dogs had crossed, and two great black hounds lay dead on the snow.

Ben and the boys stopped for a moment to examine them, and were surprised at their resemblance to wolves. There was no evidence of a battle, and the guide thought Pete had despatched the dogs from ambush.

Carefully examining the trail of the fleeing pack, Ben learned they were in pursuit of a bull moose, a small one, probably a yearling. He found numerous red spots on the snow, and believed that Pete had hit others than the hounds whose bodies bore evidence of his prowess.

“We’ll follow them a ways,” he said. “Pete’s gone on their track, and maybe we’ll get a chance at them.”

The snow was not particularly deep, and the moose seemed well able to maintain a safe lead. But sooner or later it was certain to be forced into deeper going, and its doom would then be sealed.

They reached a spot where Pete had turned from the main tracks to follow a hound he had wounded. Its blood-stained trail showed plainly by the side of his snowshoe tracks.

They could hear the baying of the pack directly ahead, in the bottom of a wooded valley. Ben said they would follow on the original trail in the hope of catching up with the dogs, should the moose sink in the snow.

The boys’ legs commenced to ache, for they were straining them to the utmost in their endeavors to keep up with Ben. He seemed determined to come in sight of the pack at any cost, and hurried on at a heartbreaking pace.

“Wonder what will happen when we corner them?” inquired Ed, between gasps.

“Don’t know; but I’ll have to stay and see, ’cause I’m too blamed tired to run,” replied George.

“They’ve brought him to a stand!” yelled Ben, excitedly, at the same time quickening his gait. “Hear the way they’re howling and snarling down there! Come on, boys, let’s sail into them!” And the guide went racing down the hillside.

The lads followed as best they could, and took several “headers” in the course of their uncertain journey. They arrived in the ravine breathless and shaky. The snow was very deep, and they saw where the moose had floundered with difficulty through the mound-like drifts. At one place the pack had surrounded him, as could be seen by the tracks; but he had freed himself and staggered to the spot where they now appeared to have him at their mercy.

Then the boys saw Ben raise his rifle. He shot twice.

“Here they are!” he cried. “Look out! They’re going to show fight.”

The lads made their way quickly to his side, and before them saw the moose in snow to its withers. In a circle about it, on top of the light crust, sat twenty or more snapping, wolf-like hounds.

They had turned from their victim, and were boldly facing the hunters. Two of their number lay dead. They had started toward Ben, and met a swift and timely death at his hands. Their fate seemed to restrain the pack, for the moment at least, though the defiant brutes showed no desire to be gone.

“Oh, wait till I get a picture!” begged Ed; and he quickly unstrapped and focused his camera. With the click of the shutter things began to happen, and for the next few minutes the boys experienced all the thrills of a Siberian wolf-hunt.

The moose renewed its efforts to extricate itself, and immediately several of the hounds dashed forward to sink their fangs in its throat. Instantly Ben opened fire, at the same time calling on the lads to do likewise.

It was then that the savage, half-wild dogs seemed to realize their danger. As several of them writhed over the snow in their death-struggles the remainder of the band, under the leadership of a great gray animal, rushed at the hunters.

“Watch out; here they come!” warned the guide, firing as fast as he could work the lever of his rifle. “Stand close beside me and fire at the front ones!”

“WATCH OUT; HERE THEY COME!”

Snarling and snapping, the pack surrounded Ben and the boys. It was no simple task to kill the beasts, for they kept moving about in a circle, and, as the ravine was heavily timbered, the trees constantly interfered with the aim of the shooters. Sneaking and crouching, the dogs began to close in.

“Stand your ground if they try to rush us!” commanded Ben, dropping one of the leaders with a well-placed bullet.

Evidently the hounds had at last determined the sort of enemy confronting them, and, with lips drawn back and fangs exposed, they charged in a body.

The hunters met them with a deadly volley which stretched out several of their number. The gray leader, a big, wolf-like Eskimo dog, escaped the hail of lead and leaped straight at the throat of Ben. The guide had no chance to shoot, but quickly clubbed his rifle and brought the stock down with terrific force on the head of his assailant. The blow felled the creature, and it rolled away behind a massive tree-trunk and slunk off as three hastily aimed bullets whistled harmlessly past its head.

Suddenly Ed uttered a startled cry, and Ben turned quickly in his direction. A powerful hound had crept up behind him, and, leaping, had fastened its fangs in the shoulder of the lad’s heavy hunting-coat and borne him to the ground.

Ben sent a bullet into its body before it could release its grip to fasten a more deadly one on the throat of the startled young hunter.

“Jump up, quick!” yelled the guide.

Encouraged by the apparent success of one of their number, the pack again came on. Once more the fierce gray leader stole forward; but this time a ball from George’s rifle stretched him out dead, shot through his heart.

“Good boy!” shouted Ben. “You’ve got the prize.”

Then another rifle sounded close beside them, and, turning, they saw Indian Pete shooting into the hesitating, disorganized pack of bewildered dogs.

“That’s right, give it to them, Pete; let’s clean them all up at once!” cried Ben, savagely.

Lacking the encouragement of the gray leader, the pack turned and began a slow, sullen retreat. Pete and the guide instantly followed, determined to kill as many of its members as possible, now that they had the longed-for opportunity. But the survivors of the savage band, finding they were pursued, instantly lost confidence and, panic-stricken, dashed away, howling dismally.

When they had disappeared, the hunters took account of the casualties. They found, by adding the ones Pete had killed back on the trail, that they had despatched fourteen of the outlaws, including the leader. This was the big, wolf-like creature Ben had told of, and George was greatly elated at obtaining the chance to kill it.

“Well, we destroyed more than half the pack,” declared Ben, enthusiastically, “and I guess the rest of them will hike for a safer country.”

Meantime they had turned their attention to the moose, and the boys obtained many excellent photographs of it. Free from the attacks of the hounds, it began to force its way through the drift into which it had plunged in its wild panic.

“Can’t we help him any?” asked George.

“No, sir! Stay away from him and keep near me. He’s mad, and there’s no telling what may happen when he frees himself,” cautioned the guide.

When the moose finally emerged from the drift, Pete was the nearer to it. Without hesitating a moment, the excited animal lowered its head and charged the astounded Indian. He jumped nimbly from its path and sought shelter behind the first convenient tree.

Not satisfied to be off, the moose wheeled and came straight at Ben and the boys, who promptly scattered and ran, or tried to, through the deep snow. It missed George by a very narrow margin, and then turned and stood facing them with bristling mane, blazing eyes, and curled lip, ready for another charge. The unusual performance had ceased to be a joke, and, fearful that some one would be hurt, Ben fired two shots over its head. They had the effect of bringing the maddened creature to its senses, and with a loud snort it trotted heavily away, unharmed, for at that season these great beasts were protected by law.

“Say, we’ve had some little excitement,” laughed Ben, looking about for a place to sit down.

“I should say so,” agreed Ed, feeling the tear in his coat.

George went over to Indian Pete, who was examining the powerful, grizzled body of the dead leader. The young hunter was much pleased when Pete said he had done well to kill it.

“How many do you think were in the pack?” inquired Ben.

The Indian held up his ten fingers twice, and then five.

“Count them, plenty times,” he said.

“Did you get the one you left the trail for?” asked the guide.

Pete gave one of his customary nods in the affirmative.

“I thought so,” said Ben to the boys. “An Indian usually gets what he starts after.”

Pete soon left to resume the long journey to his cabin. They watched him climb the mountain, expecting that he might look back when he reached the summit. He did not turn, however, but went stolidly on, and disappeared from sight over the top.

“He’s a queer old fellow, but I like him,” said Ed.

“So do I,” declared George.

“He’s all right; a little peculiar, that’s all,” Ben assured them.

George wished the pelt of the Eskimo dog for a trophy, and when Ben started to skin it he had the boys help him. He said it would do them no harm to learn how. The job was quickly accomplished, and the pelt was rolled into a bundle and given to George. He slung it proudly on his back. Then they set out for the cabin, Ben in great spirits over his success in practically wiping out this band of outlaws.

That night they listened in vain for the noise of distant baying. Once they thought they heard it far to the south, but were unable to make sure.

Before they fell asleep, Ed poked George in the ribs and said: “I felt we were going to have trouble with that pack, all along. I’m glad it’s over now.”

“So am I,” replied George. “And to think I’ve actually killed the leader; and in a fight, too!” he added. “I believe they are all more wolf than dog.”

“I’m sure the one that knocked me down was,” said Ed.

XIX
AN INDIAN CAVE AND ITS OCCUPANTS

By January the boys had learned much about the woods and the wild creatures inhabiting them. They had also mastered most of the essential tricks of woodcraft, and Ben said they were graduated from the “tenderfoot” class with high honors. While there was no chance for any “official” examination, they were certainly qualified for “Boy Scout” honors by an actual experience in woodcraft, which few “scouts” can have.

They often made unaccompanied trips into the wilderness, and it was while on one of these journeys that they chanced to discover what seemed to be a large cave partly overgrown by bushes and completely blocked by drifted snow. Their attention was drawn to it by a tunnel-like hole through the drift. Poking into this with a long pole, they were surprised to find that the opening extended back some distance. They immediately scooped away the snow, and there, sure enough, was a great black hole—seemingly the entrance into the heart of the rocky cliff which towered above them.

They had never heard Ben speak of the place, and thought it strange, if a cave was really there, that he had not discovered it. Lighting a match—for Ben had long ago impressed upon them the necessity of always carrying several boxes when starting into the woods—Ed held it before him and crawled several feet into the opening. The match went out, and he lighted another and held it above his head, so that its light would not blind him. Taking advantage of the short-lived flame, he glanced quickly about. He saw that he was in a low, narrow passageway between two smooth walls of lichen-covered rock. This passageway apparently continued for some distance over a sort of loose shale-like trail. The young explorer wriggled a few feet farther in, but was at once urged to return by his anxious companion outside.

“I tell you this is a great find!” he cried, excitedly, when he had backed slowly out into daylight again. “We’ll explore it. I believe it runs ’way back into the mountain.”

“All right, only we must be careful,” warned George; “it may drop away into a pool or something. Say, suppose there’s a wildcat or a bear up in there!”

“So much the better,” laughed Ed. “We’ve met them both before, so they wouldn’t frighten us any. Tell you what we’ll do. When we go back we won’t say anything about it to Ben; we’ll keep it a secret. Then to-morrow we can bring a rope and some candles. I’ll tie the rope around my waist and crawl in. If I get stuck you can pull me out.”

“That’s a good idea; we’ll try it,” agreed George.

When they reached the cabin they said nothing about their find. They asked no questions which might betray their secret. When Ben said he might go over to see Tom Westbrook the following day, the boys looked at each other and winked. They politely refused an invitation to accompany him, on the plea that they had found something they wished to visit again. Ben smiled, but asked no questions.

Next morning, as soon as Ben had gone, they took a long length of rope, several candles, and a supply of matches, and started for the scene of their discovery. They also carried their rifles, for, as George had said, there was no telling what they might find at the end of the dark tunnel.

Eagerness gave speed to their feet, and they were soon before the entrance into the ledge. Ed shed his heavy hunting-coat, and tied the rope securely about his waist. Then he fastened one of the candles to the end of a long pole. He cautioned George to keep tight hold of the rope, and crawled boldly into the black opening.

Lest his friend might plunge over the edge of some hidden precipice and pull the rope out of his hands, George prudently took a turn of it around a near-by tree. Then, with a warning to be careful, he began letting out line, an inch at a time, as Ed wriggled into the inky depths of the unknown interior.

The rope went steadily into the hole, and George knew that his comrade was making easy progress. Then it stopped, and he became somewhat worried. Suppose it had become untied and had slipped from Ed’s waist!

George drew it gently toward him and, when he had taken up the slack, felt the weight of his friend at the other end. Then he slackened it, but the coil lay there, and the rope was motionless! Something was wrong! He waited a minute longer, and was about to pull with all his might in an effort to extricate Ed from any difficulty he might have got into, when again the rope began to slip forward into the cave.

Ed had found, as he advanced, that the passageway widened. He crawled slowly on, pausing now and then to hold the candle well out in front, so that he could see his path and safeguard himself against accident. The passage continued in a direct line; and, as he was already some distance in, Ed began to wonder if he would come to the end of his rope before he reached the end of the tunnel. If he did, he determined to cast loose and go on, for, now he had started, the lad made up his mind to find out where this dark alleyway led and what was at the end of it.

He was glad to find that the passage continued to broaden, for this promised him safe and easy return. Furthermore, should he suddenly find himself confronted by a wild beast, he would have room to use his rifle. Also he was able to make swifter progress, and he was anxious to reach the end of his journey and learn what awaited him there. The air began to grow close and stifling as he got farther in, and several times he felt a bit dizzy.

At last he came to the end of the rope, and felt it tighten and hold him back. Pushing the candle far in advance, he saw close at hand a circular cavern. Evidently the passage ended there. Ed determined to find out, and, reaching his arms around behind him, he untied the rope from his waist. Then, cautiously, he crawled forward toward the mysterious underground chamber.

When he finally crept into this large rock-bound room, Ed was surprised to find that he was able to stand erect. Even by raising himself on his toes and stretching his arms aloft he could not reach within several inches of the rocky ceiling. The place seemed to have no other occupant than himself; and, assured on that point, the lad set about to examine it carefully. Suddenly he exclaimed, for, as he turned, the light of his candle brought out some strange signs on the walls.

Chiseled, or nicked, into the solid rock were strange figures and hieroglyphics, or picture-writings. Ed began to trace them with the tips of his fingers in an endeavor to make them out. There were many drawings or tracings of arrows. Again there were rude sketches of hands and feet. Then there were figures presumably intended to represent different birds and animals. All these were separated one from another by a series of straight and wavy lines.

Most of the drawings were over to one side of the cavern. From what he had read, Ed believed them to be the work of long-departed tribes of Indians. No doubt they had made use of this cave, and to reach it had wormed their way, as he had just done, through the dark, narrow passageway. The thought of it thrilled him, and he gave a half-startled, involuntary glance about the dimly lighted chamber, as though fearful that some of the prehistoric picture-makers still lurked in its shadows.

What he saw caused him to cry out in horror. He staggered back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the gruesome object before him. There, on the ground and but a few feet away, sat a whitened human skeleton, its back against the rough wall.

For a moment the shock of his startling discovery completely unnerved him. He dropped the pole, and his candle went out. Even in the inky blackness which followed, the lad could see, all too vividly, a vision of that awful thing against the wall.

Panic-stricken, Ed sank to his knees and began to crawl frantically toward the passageway. His breath came in quick gasps, and the air of the place suddenly became suffocating. If only he could find the entrance to the tunnel and escape! That was his one thought as he scrambled hurriedly along in the darkness. It seemed as though he had gone a much longer distance than necessary, and he knew he must have passed by it. Suppose he had branched off into some other alcove of the cave and lost himself! The possibility sickened him, and he halted irresolutely.

Then the lad recalled that in his wild, unreasoning fright he had left his pole and candle somewhere behind him. He remembered the box of matches, and brought it from his pocket with violently trembling fingers and tried to light one. For some time he was unable to do so, owing to his excitement.

At last one of the sulphur-tipped slivers blazed up. Sheltering the tiny flame with his quaking palms, Ed endeavored to peer about by aid of its flickering glow. The match dropped from his nerveless fingers, and he uttered an agonized groan, for there, within arm’s reach of him, lay another appalling white specter!

For a minute or so he was unable to move, and he sat nervously wiping the perspiration from his brow. Then once more he made an effort to escape from the tomb-like prison. Lighting many matches, he at last found his way to a side wall. Keeping within touching distance, he began to follow it along, hopeful in that way sooner or later to find the mouth of the opening through which he had come.

After he had followed the smooth rock wall for a long time without coming to the outlet, Ed began to fear he had wandered from the original chamber. If he had, he realized the improbability of ever being able to find his way back. He used up many precious matches in a vain endeavor to locate himself. Then he decided to hoard the balance of his supply for use later on. Once his hand, stretched forth in the darkness, came in contact with something smooth and hard, and he drew back with a shudder—it felt like a human bone!

His knees and palms were scraped and bruised from contact with the hard floor of the cave, and several times he bumped his head against sharp, projecting points of rock. The air was dank and stuffy; but after his first wild panic had passed, Ed found that he could breathe with little real difficulty. This caused him to believe that the passageway fed a supply of air into the chamber. The belief encouraged him to hope he had not wandered far from it.

When the lad had first entered the cavern and surveyed it by the light of his candle, the place had not appeared so large. Now, as he crawled around it in the darkness, it seemed absolutely interminable.

Ed began to suspect that he had gone around it many times, and in some way had missed the outlet each time. He fastened his handkerchief in a seam of the wall, so that if he was doubling on his trail his hand would find it on the next circuit.

Many times, as he crawled along, he blamed himself for having dropped the pole. He felt some satisfaction in the knowledge that, oddly enough, he had retained possession of his rifle. For a long time he was unaware that he held it clutched in his hand; and when at last he became conscious of it, it greatly increased his confidence.

Suddenly he halted, listening intently. From the opposite side of the chamber he heard what sounded like a smothered ejaculation. He remained motionless, and, though he could not see a yard before his face, he grasped the rifle, his finger on the trigger.

Straining his ears, he thought he detected a peculiar scraping noise near the source of the first sound. Then it ceased, and, except for the noise of his own quick breathing and the pounding of his heart, all was still, and black, and gruesome.

After listening in vain for a repetition of the noise, Ed started to crawl slowly forward again. Instantly the indistinct, phantom-like voice halted him. He shuddered and sank back against the rocks. The sound subsided, and was followed by the same peculiar scraping.

He was wholly at a loss to account for it. He was certain of one thing, however, and that was that whatever made it must have just entered the cavern. He felt positive that, had there been any living thing in the cave at the time he entered, he would have seen it when his candle was lighted.

Again he reasoned that if something had just come in it must have come through the passageway, which must be, therefore, on the opposite side from him. He determined to crawl toward it and defend himself with his rifle if necessary. Anything was preferable to remaining imprisoned in this dungeon with its silent white inhabitants.

The sound was repeated more distinctly, and Ed started for it. All at once a weird, reddish glow shone forth. Involuntarily he drew back, for the light seemed ghostly and unreal.

“Ed! Oh, Ed!” came the muffled call, and he at once recognized the alarmed voice of his friend.

He uttered a cry of joy that made the cavern ring, and crawled rapidly toward the light, which he knew came from George’s candle.

“What on earth are you doing in here, and what sort of a place is it?” demanded George, when he had finally emerged from the passage.

“Wait! Put your candle right in the entrance,” urged Ed, anxiously. “I’ve been searching for that place for several hours. My, but I’m glad to see you! But say, let’s get out of here.”

“Why, what’s the matter? Now that I’m in I want to see what it’s like. Isn’t it a queer—What’s that?” shouted George, in an alarmed tone, when he spied one of the white forms.

“It’s a skeleton; there are several of them in here! Come on, let’s get out,” suggested Ed, crawling hastily into the tunnel.

“Hold on!” urged George. “They can’t hurt us.”

“I know it,” came back the stifled response from some distance up the passageway. “I’ve seen enough for me; you stay and look around.”

George held the candle high overhead and peered about the cave. He saw several bony white objects lying prostrate on the floor.

“Gee whiz, this is too blamed ‘spooky’ for me!” he cried, and quickly crawled into the tunnel after his friend.

When the lads emerged into the open air Ed told of his experience and what he had seen. For a long time they sat in front of the cave and speculated as to the fate of its silent tenants. Then they decided to hurry home and tell Ben about their discovery and ask him to accompany them on a second trip of exploration.

It was after dark when the guide returned from his visit to Westbrook. The boys showed by their manner that they had something of unusual interest to tell him. They waited impatiently while he drew off his heavy moccasins and mackinaw coat, and stood about restless and uneasy while he prepared for supper.

“Well, what is it, boys?” he laughed. “I know you have something to tell, so out with it.”

“We found a cave with a lot of skeletons in it!” George burst forth. “And Ed was in it, too; he got lost.”

For a moment Ben stood looking at them in silence. Then his eyes began to twinkle merrily, as though he suspected some sort of joke.

They noted his look of doubt, and at once hastened to reassure him.

“Honestly we did. It’s an awfully spooky sort of place, and there are a lot of figures and things carved in the rock.”

“And then those things on the floor,” added Ed.

Convinced by their earnestness, the guide frankly expressed his surprise at this unknown cave, and he asked many questions. He gave Ed a mild scolding for having ventured into such a place alone, but finally promised to go with them on the morrow.

Early next day they started for the cave. When they arrived before the entrance, Ben was puzzled to know how it could have existed for so long without his finding it. He said he had crossed over and by it many times but had never happened to notice the concealed opening.

Assured by his presence, the boys had left the rope behind as entirely unnecessary. Neither had Ben brought his rifle, for the lads declared they had seen no evidence of anything dangerous living there. The guide lighted a candle and crawled forward into the hole, closely followed by the boys.

When they reached the death-chamber, they arose and stood upright. They held aloft the lighted candles, and in the light from them were able to make out four white skeletons outlined against the gloom.

“Looks like there had been something going on here,” said Ben, as he made his way to the one propped against the wall. Ed and George did not follow him at once, and he stooped down and began examining the bony structure. “Yep, this poor fellow was plugged with three arrows,” he declared, holding up something between his fingers. “Two of them are in him, and here’s the other one on the ground.” And the guide exhibited a sharply pointed triangular-shaped piece of flint.

They examined the other forms and found evidences of wounds or arrows in each. By the side of the last they found part of a stone tomahawk, or battle-ax. Ben picked many arrow-tips from the floor of the cave and gave them to the boys for souvenirs. The boys showed him the picture writings on the wall, and he spent some time in studying them.

“Too bad we haven’t got Pete with us; he might be able to read them,” said Ben.

They found the pole and candle which George had dropped, and the guide laughed at him for having been badly frightened. Then they explored every nook and cranny. To the keen satisfaction of Ed, they found that there were no passages leading from the main room or chamber. His fears on the previous day had been groundless, had he but known it.

At last they crawled out and started for the cabin. On the way the boys plied Ben with all sorts of questions regarding the cave and the possible fate of its four occupants.

He declared that the picture-writings showed that the place had been used as a shelter by some unknown tribe of Indians many years ago. Ben thought that the four warriors whose skeletons rested in the cavern had been members of a hostile tribe. Having ventured within the borders of their enemies’ territory, they had no doubt been detected and pursued. In their flight they had accidentally come to the opening and crawled into the cave. Here, from all appearances, they had been followed and slain like rats in a trap. At least, this was Ben’s supposition, and the boys thought he was right.

The guide offered to report the find to the local paper. He promised that Ed and George should have full credit for their discovery, and declared it would probably be considered quite an important one by the State authorities.

XX
A FIGHT ON THE ICE

The boys were somewhat puzzled when, on a morning late in February, they heard all kinds of weird rumblings and groans coming from the lake.

“Sounds like an earthquake,” declared Ed.

“What is it?” inquired George, turning to Ben for some explanation.

“That’s the ice talking,” laughed the guide. “The backbone of winter is broken.”

“The ice talking?” And the lads looked at each other as though they suspected Ben was making sport of them.

“Yes; you see, before it breaks up in the spring air gets underneath and rumbles and makes a big noise as it rushes along in bubbles between the ice and the water. Then the ice expands and contracts, as it thaws during the day and freezes at night. That makes it snap and crack. We say it’s talking,” he explained.

The boys immediately went down to the shore, where they heard the sounds more distinctly. The winter had passed before they realized it. Soon it would be spring. Even now the sun was quite warm, and the snow had almost disappeared from the southern slopes of the mountains. They sat in the bright sunlight, listening to the loud booming of the ice—the guns of spring shattering the icy fortress of winter.

Suddenly George touched Ed on the arm and pointed to the center of the lake.

“Look!” he cried. “What’s that?”

Ed instantly turned his eyes in the direction indicated and saw a dark-colored animal with a low body about four feet long. It was making its way leisurely across the frozen surface of the lake, and it walked with a peculiar, waddling sort of gait.

They immediately started in pursuit, and the unknown creature broke into an awkward gallop. The boys ran at top speed to overtake it; but, since there were several inches of soft, slushy snow on the ice, they were unable to gain much. They were greatly astounded when the animal threw itself flat and apparently dove through the ice. On reaching the spot, however, they saw that it had disappeared into an air-hole.

“He’ll have to come out again,” declared Ed. “You stay here, and I’ll see if I can find any other opening where he might bob up.”

Then they saw the head of their quarry appear above the ice about two hundred feet farther on. They waited until the wet, glistening body emerged from the hole, when they again started in pursuit.

“Head him off before he gets to shore!” urged George, bounding recklessly along in the uncertain footing.

The next instant he slid forward on his face into the mushy, watery mass of melting snow which covered the ice. Soaked through, and almost blinded by the water in his eyes, he rose and ran after Ed, who was gaining somewhat on the animal in front.

Shorter and shorter grew the distance between pursuers and pursued. The latter did not seem fitted for fast work over the ice, and Ed finally came up with it. It turned on him threateningly and commenced to growl fiercely. Being unarmed, he jumped quickly to one side and called a timely warning to George.

“Be careful; he’s ugly!” cried Ed.

“What a funny-looking thing it is!” said George, suddenly halting.

Evidently satisfied that it had impressed the boys by its bold stand, the animal once more turned and started toward the shore. Ed ran forward instantly to intercept it, and this time it made a rush at him.

“Look out, there!” yelled George, running up behind it.

“It’s an otter!” declared Ed. “I’ve seen pictures of them, and I’ve read about them, too. They’re mighty savage customers when they get mad. Look out! He’s coming for you!”

Finding itself surrounded, the furious animal charged first one, then the other of its pursuers. The boys, with nothing to defend themselves, were obliged to retreat before each savage onslaught. When it had driven them back a few feet, the otter, for such it was, immediately turned and attempted to resume its flight. But each time it did so one of the lads invariably managed to intercept it.

“Tell you what we’ll do,” said Ed; “you stay here and prevent him from getting to shore, and I’ll run up and get the camera. We don’t wish to kill him, and if he should escape from you it won’t matter much.”

“He can’t get away,” declared George, confidently.

“All right; keep him here till I come back.” And Ed went away at a run.

No sooner had he disappeared than the otter started for the woods. George, yelling wildly and waving his arms, endeavored to head it off, but the determined creature refused to swerve from its course. When he jumped in its path it rushed angrily at his legs and drove him out of the way. He was fast losing his wind, and the otter was rapidly nearing the protection of the bushes at the edge of the ice. Once it gained them, George knew it would be safe from pursuit. He had boasted to Ed that the animal could not get away from him, and he determined to make good the promise at any cost.

Then an idea flashed into his mind, and, reckless of all consequences, he proceeded to act upon it. Holding his heavy cap in his hand, George ran close up beside the fleeing animal; and when it turned to charge, he threw himself fearlessly upon it. The weight of his body bore the otter flat to the ice. Instantly it twisted its powerful body, and the ugly seal-like head, with its open jaws and sharp teeth, darted forward to seize its adversary.

George muzzled it with his cap, and then the desperate struggle began. The active, sinewy creature twisted and turned about in an effort to escape from the grip of the boy on its back. George, however, had secured a wrestling hold, and was not to be easily shaken off. Now that he had the jaws of the animal effectually muzzled, the lad entertained little fear of severe injury.

The otter was using its peculiarly webbed feet to claw and scratch him; but, as he had on heavy hunting-clothes, it could do little damage. It was no easy task to hold his captive and at the same time keep the cap drawn down over its head. George wished Ed would hurry back, for he was becoming tired. Besides, he was soaked through from rolling around in the slush.

Then he heard his friend calling to him; and, looking from the corner of his eye, he saw Ed running madly across the ice. He soon drew near and began shouting excitedly.

“Hang on, George; I wish to take a picture of you!” he cried, hastily bringing forth the camera. “Hold him! Hold him!” he urged, as the otter began a desperate struggle to regain its freedom.

“Say—what do you—think this is—a circus?” panted George, indignantly, while he battled valiantly with the animal beneath him.

Ed made several exposures, and then, having brought a long pole with him, ran forward to aid his friend.

“Let him go now,” he ordered.

“That’s easier said than done,” puffed George. “If I do, he’ll turn and get me before I can jump out of the way.”

“No, he won’t. When you let go, I’ll keep him off with this pole.”

“Sounds—easy—but just look—what he’s—doing now!” gasped George, as the otter renewed its struggles. “Look out! He’s—getting—away—”

Ed rushed forward with the pole and made several vicious jabs into the side of the otter. It had gained its liberty, and turned savagely on George, who was endeavoring to roll out of its reach.

“Jump up!” screamed Ed, when he had succeeded in drawing the animal’s attention to himself. He might easily have killed it, but he did not care to commit the wanton murder. In fact, the boys were much impressed by the gameness of the otter and the splendid fight it had made against them.

Once George had gained his feet, they halted the baffled creature, and Ed took more snap-shots. Then they permitted it to travel, unmolested, to the shore, and watched it disappear into the bushes.

Ed turned to survey his friend, and immediately broke into peals of laughter.

“George, you are certainly a sight! Do hurry to the cabin and get some dry clothes on,” he urged, anxiously. “Are you hurt?”

“Not a bit,” laughed George. “And say, Ed, didn’t I tell you he wouldn’t get away from me?”

“You did, and you certainly made good. But let’s hurry—you must be shivering.”

While George was changing to dry clothes Ed told Ben about the thrilling experience. The guide listened quietly, a faint smile flitting about the corners of his mouth.

Then, turning to George, he said: “I suppose you fellows will keep on bumping into trouble till something comes along and takes a wallop out of you.”

After dinner they sat in the cabin talking, and Ben suddenly asked:

“What about ‘Snow Ball’? I guess his time is up.”

The boys looked at the big white owl sitting motionless on his perch. They had become quite fond of him, in spite of his unfriendly ways. Several times his savage nature had asserted itself. Once he had caught Ed’s thumb in his powerful beak and pinched it painfully. They held no enmity against him for these offenses, however, and instantly agreed to his release.

“Let’s take him outside so I can get his picture before we allow him to go,” proposed Ed.

“All right; but remember this is your party, and I’m distinctly out of it,” warned George, soberly.

Ben carried the owl outdoors and lifted it to a low branch of an evergreen. Ed took several pictures of the handsome bird, whose white plumage showed to splendid advantage against the dark background of the tree.

When sufficient exposures had been made Ben removed the chain and gave “Snow Ball” his freedom. Then they sat in the doorway to see what the newly released prisoner would do. For some time he remained on his perch, slowly turning his head and blinking his eyes. He appeared to be pondering the unexpected situation in which he found himself.

“I guess he feels sorry to leave,” said George.

“He’ll go directly,” promised the guide. “He’s just trying to remember the way home.”

At last some jays discovered him and at once began a furious uproar. They flew to the branches near him, and scolded until they attracted others of their kind. The owl watched them with warlike eyes and snapped its beak threateningly.

“Poor old ‘Snow Ball,’ I’m afraid your troubles have commenced,” said Ed.

The jays began darting at him and flying at his face. Finally, hissing angrily, “Snow Ball” took wing and flapped silently away into the forest.

“Good-by, old boy!” called Ed.

“And good luck!” added George.

Ben told them the owl would soon depart to its summer home in the far north. But by falling into their hands it had fared better than it might had it been obliged to provide for itself during the long, cold weeks of winter.

A balmy south breeze set in late in the afternoon, and that night it thawed. They heard the drip of melting snow from the eaves of the cabin as they lay in their bunk.

“I’m glad it didn’t come off cold after we turned old ‘Snow Ball’ out,” said George. “Although I don’t suppose it would have bothered him any if it had.”

“No, I don’t believe so; but I’m glad it’s warmer for his first night back in the woods.”

“Winter is killed,” declared Ben, next morning. “Thawed all night, and it’s melting like blazes now. Of course, we may have some more cold weather, and snow, too, but it won’t last.”

The boys found the snow soft and watery, and where it had been well trodden down before the door it had disappeared entirely and left a square of muddy-brown earth, the first they had seen for several months.

“Does spring come as early as this up here?” asked Ed.

“Not often,” said Ben; “and don’t make any mistake, son, we’re a long ways from it yet. This is an early thaw, and means that most of the ice and snow will go; but we’ll have many cold days yet before you hear the blue-birds warble.”

A white, cloud-like vapor drifted through the woods and out over the lake. Seeing it, the guide assured the boys that it was a real thaw. By evening several of the big pines in the little clearing about the cabin had bare patches of ground at their feet.

“This will break up the ‘yards’ and send the deer and moose out into the woods,” said Ben.

Cold weather quickly came again, however, and for several weeks they had winter in all its glory. Although there were snow-storms—and big ones, too—the snow did not remain long on the ground. The days were becoming longer and the sun higher, and at noon there was often the suggestion of real spring in the soft, pine-laden air.

The boys were quite content to see the snow go, for they had learned well their lessons written on it during the winter. Each mark across its smooth, unruffled surface had been deciphered. The scrape of a wind-blown reed, the scratch of a tumbling leaf, the indistinct tracing of a fluttering wing, the careful tread of a stealthy foot, the wild jump of a startled buck, all were noted and recognized by the trained eyes of the young woodsmen. They had learned, too, to discriminate at a glance between a fresh and an old trail.

Besides all this, they had mastered many other things of great value to them. They had been taught the use of a compass, and also how to set a course by the sun, moon, or stars. They had learned about traps and trapping, and the methods of skinning and preparing pelts. They had become thoroughly versed in hunting and the habits of the animals they hunted. They were entirely familiar with the calls, noises, and sounds of the wilderness, and knew the reason for each of them. They knew the trees and the shrubs. They were able to select a suitable site and make a proper camp. All these things, and more, they had learned during the winter now almost gone. And, having learned them, they were not sorry that it should go, for there were still other things to be learned with the coming of spring.

XXI
SPRING AND ITS SPORTS

“How’s this for a morning?” was Ben’s hearty greeting, some weeks later when spring had finally arrived.

“Great!” shouted the boys, coming from the cabin for a few whiffs of the balmy air.

It was indeed a glorious day, and they sat with the door of the cabin wide open, that they might drink in the fragrance of the pines. The snow had long since disappeared, and the lake, now free of its icy fetters, flashed and glistened in the strengthening sunshine. A smoky blue haze hovered over the woods, and the trees showed signs of leafing. The tops of the soft maples were ablaze with masses of tiny red blossoms; the fuzzy, fur-like buds of the “pussy-willows” were out; and down in the damp places the purple blades of the “skunk cabbage” were pushing their way upward through the moist soil.

The notes of the returned birds came floating in through the open door—the soft, pleasing warble of the blue-birds, which Ben said returned to him year after year; the rollicking song of the robin, which usually built its muddy nest over one of the windows; and the calls of mating crows which flew noisily along above the tree-tops.

“Guess we’ll tap the trees to-day,” said Ben, when breakfast was over. “Sap ought to run now. What do you say?”

“Yes, let’s try it,” urged the boys, eagerly, anxious for a new experience.

“All right; we’ll put up a bite and be off, for we have quite a distance to go.”

The lunch was soon supplied and neatly packed. Provided with several pails, an ax, and an auger, they set out for the distant hardwood ridge, where, Ben said, they would find a little grove of sugar-maples.

It was far easier walking through the woods than it had been in the winter. The guide was in jovial spirits, and constantly called the attention of his companions to the many signs of awakening life about them. At one sandy place beneath the pines he stopped and sniffed the air suggestively.

“What is it?” asked Ed; for he and George detected a delicious sweet-scented perfume mingled with that from the evergreens.

“Arbutus,” said Ben, dropping to his knee and pointing to small clusters of delicate pink-and-white flowers, which showed forth from a mass of green, rubber-like leaves. He pulled a few bunches of the blossoms and handed them to the boys to smell.

“Um, that’s fine!” they declared, as they buried their noses in the little bouquets and inhaled long breaths of exquisite perfume.

“What do you call it?” again inquired Ed, stooping and gathering more of the dainty plant.

“Arbutus, or mayflower,” said Ben, placing a tiny bunch of them in the band of his hat. “They’re my favorites.”

The guide told how this hardy little plant sometimes bloomed beneath a foot or more of snow. He said all woodsmen were partial to it, and eagerly looked for its flowers as the real harbingers of spring.

On all sides they beheld evidences of nature awakening from her long winter sleep. Ben drew their attention to these things, and explained just what was happening, and the reason for it. He showed them other delicate blossoms brought forth by the warm sunshine, while the woods themselves were bare; called to their notice the newly born or early awakened insects buzzing about in the sunny places, and made known the calls and names of feathered songsters returned from the South. They became so interested that they were at the maple grove before they knew it.

“Look over at that third tree to the right, on the upper side of the first limb,” cautioned the guide, quietly.

The lads looked where he told them to, but for several seconds they could discern nothing out of the ordinary. All that time Ben stood watching them closely, the faintest trace of a smile on his face.

“I see it!” cried Ed, finally. “It’s a red squirrel, and he’s lying flat along the top of the branch.”

“I see it, too,” said George, a moment later. “I must have seen it all the time and thought it was a knot.”

“That’s better,” laughed the guide, pleased at the sharp eyesight of the boys. “When you see him there it means that the sap is running.”

They looked at him in astonishment. What possible connection could the presence of a lazy little red squirrel, sprawled indolently along the limb, have to do with the rising of the sap in the tree?

“What do you mean?” asked George.

“Why, that little ‘sweet-tooth’ over there has gnawed a hole in the upper side of the limb, and then stretched himself out to watch it fill with sap. When it’s full he quickly sucks it out and waits patiently till another cupful is ready. It’s an old trick of his, and you may be sure, when you find him at it, that it’s time to tap the trees. Well, let’s begin,” said the guide, as he pulled off his coat.

Ben took the auger and bored a hole into the trunk of a near-by tree. He explained that he tapped the tree on the south side, as, that being the warmer side, the sap would run more freely there. Ben also explained that one must not bore too deep. He said he tapped a tree once in two years. The tree he now tapped had not been touched the season previous, and would not be again until the second season following. Having bored the hole to the proper depth, he whittled and inserted a grooved, trough-like plug, which protruded from the trunk far enough to hold the pail, which was promptly hung upon it.

While Ben went to the next tree to repeat the operation the boys stood before the one he had just tapped. They watched the sap ooze slowly forward from the wound and trickle down the plug, to drip, drop by drop, into the suspended bucket.

Ed, unable longer to resist the temptation, dipped his finger in the sticky fluid and touched it to his tongue.

“No wonder the red squirrel likes it,” he laughed; whereupon George also sampled some.

“Hey, you fellows, scat out of there!” yelled Ben, with pretended fierceness.

At sound of his voice the squirrel abandoned its perch, and, mounting to the top of the tree, proceeded to scold the intruders.

“Guess he thought I meant him,” laughed Ben, when the boys walked over to where he had tapped another tree. “Well, how did you like it?”

“Fine,” they declared.

“Wait till we get it boiled down; then you’ll taste real maple-syrup. We’ll make some sugar, too.”

When he had hung the last of his pails, Ben proceeded to make several troughs from logs cut and split for the purpose. He placed them on the ground beneath the spigots in the trees for which he had no buckets. By the time he had finished tapping all of the trees selected, it was past noon. Seating themselves in a sunny spot, the “sugarers” enjoyed their lunch.

The smell of escaping sap soon enticed bees and early insects to the vicinity. But the sticky sap clogged their wings, and the boys had much sport freeing them from their predicament with twigs, and watching while the confused little honey-gatherers cleaned themselves.

They were also much interested in a pair of big, black, pileated woodpeckers, with large crests of scarlet feathers on top of their heads. Ben said the woodsmen called them “Cock of the Woods,” and declared they were becoming very scarce. The birds alighted against the trunk of a tree, from which, after having carefully examined it, they began to chisel great pieces with their powerful bills. The guide said it was the way they excavated a cavity in which to lay their eggs.

Late in the afternoon Ben gathered the sap and, assisted by the boys, carried it home to boil. It was placed in a big iron kettle and boiled over a hardwood fire. Ed and George were kept busy stirring and skimming, and, as the “sugaring” was continued for several days, their job became a steady one. Ben taught them how to do the boiling, while he tended the trees and brought in the sap. When the job was finished they had a large quantity of golden syrup and many tempting cakes of appetizing brown sugar to reward them for their labor.

GATHERING THE MAPLE-SUGAR SAP

Then they awoke one morning to find the exact sort of a day they had been wishing for. It was bright and warm, without the slightest trace of a breeze to stir the placid, mirror-like surface of the lake. If it continued so until darkness, the boys knew they would realize the anticipation of weeks. On such a night Ben had promised to take them on the lake to spear eels and suckers. He had carefully stipulated that the night must be calm, otherwise the expedition would be useless. The slightest rippling of the water would prevent them from seeing into it along shore and discovering their finny prey.

“If it’s calm to-night, how about spearing?” asked Ed, hopefully, when they were at dinner.

“I’ve just been thinking about that,” laughed Ben. “I guess we can go to-night, from the way things look now. We’ll go out, presently, and cut some pine knots. Then, if we don’t go, we’ll have them on hand for the next time.”

“Hurrah!” cried Ed. “Now for some fun.”

When the table had been cleared and things tidied up after the meal, Ben stood on a chair and reached aloft among the cross-logs near the roof. He brought down two long poles, each of them tapered at one end to fit into an iron socket which had four sharply pointed prongs, or spear-points.

He placed the poles against the outside of the cabin, and, bidding the boys fetch two sacks, strode away into the woods, ax in hand. He searched until he found the kind of log he wanted. This chanced to be a fallen pitch-pine. Making his way to it, Ben began chopping out the knots.

“I’m taking the fat off,” he laughed.

The lads were at a loss to understand, until he explained that the oily pitch, or resin, collected at the knots, and was known to woodsmen as “fat.” He said it was highly inflammable, and was used for torches and brilliant fires. Ben showed them how to distinguish a “fat” knot from a dry or “lean” one, and pointed out the differences by which they might know one variety of dead tree from another.

Ed and George gathered the knots and placed them in the bags. They staggered gamely along under their loads, until Ben declared they had sufficient knots for their purpose. Then they returned to the cabin, and dropped their burdens thankfully before the door.

All day they anxiously scanned the sky, the trees, and the surface of the water for signs of the dreaded breeze. When the sun finally set and twilight fell, while still the bosom of the lake lay smooth and unruffled, they began to feel easier.

At supper Ben gave them a dreadful fright when he suddenly ceased eating and, with a look of disgust on his face, cried, “Hear the wind howl!”

The boys rose and darted to the door; but, discovering the hoax, came back to find the guide chuckling gleefully.

“It’s all right, you needn’t worry; there’ll be no wind to-night,” he said; and, greatly relieved by the prophecy, the lads finished their meal in peace.

When they were ready to start, Ben produced a large, open-work iron basket welded to a long iron rod. He said it was to hold the burning pine knots. The guide also carried a small can of kerosene with which to start the fire.

Eagerly the boys followed him to the edge of the lake. To their surprise, he pointed to a log raft on rollers a short distance from the water. Ben declared it to be far safer than the canoe for the work in hand. The boys helped him drag it to the edge of the lake and set it afloat.

Then he fitted the rod with the iron basket, or cage, into a hole in the front end of one of the logs. From the bushes he brought a long push-pole shod on the end with a blunt iron point or “shoe.”

“My, the birds are making an awful racket to-night. I didn’t know they called much after dark,” said Ed, when Ben was arranging the pine knots.

“I’ve been listening to them, too. What are they?” asked George.

Ben laughed softly to himself at the question. Then he turned soberly to address his questioners.

“They are ‘peepers’—birds without feathers.

“Birds without feathers!” they repeated, incredulously.

“Yes, they live in the water most of the time,” laughed Ben, enjoying the joke on the boys.

The night fairly rang with the shrill, bird-like peeps which seemed to come from the borders of the lake. Ed and George listened, unable to guess what made the piping sounds.

“That noise is made by little frogs—‘peepers,’ we call them,” said Ben. “You’ll hear them in the daytime, too, for the next few weeks; and if you sneak up carefully you can see them singing. They puff their throats out into a round, white ball.”

“Do you really mean that?” asked Ed, seriously.

“Give you my word,” replied Ben.

“Well, that is something worth learning,” declared George. “Ed, we must take a picture of one singing.”

“Wouldn’t it make a dandy?” cried Ed.

Ben had meantime arranged the pine knots to his satisfaction. Dashing some kerosene over them, he applied a match. Instantly they flared up and began blazing fiercely.

“All aboard!” he cried. “And mind you, don’t fall overboard.”

He had swung the head of the raft from shore, and was standing at the stern end, pole in hand, ready to push off.

The boys found places quickly, one on either side of the iron rod which supported the basket of blazing pine. The knots were hissing, snapping, and sending forth a constant star-like shower of sparks.

Ben pushed from shore and poled slowly along in about three or four feet of water. By aid of the glare from the flaming beacon above them the young spearmen were enabled to see down through the placid depths to the muddy bottom. They crouched, spear in hand, ready to impale the first victim that showed itself.

When they were well under way Ben began to issue instructions.

“See anything yet?” he inquired.

“Nothing but some sticks and stones,” replied Ed.

“Wait a minute! There—goes—something!” And George made a wild jab into the water.

“Hold on there; that won’t do!” said Ben. “You’ll break the pole or throw yourself overboard. When you see something, lower the point of your spear gradually till you get it two or three inches over your fish. Then give a short, quick jab and you’ll get him.”

“I see an eel!” cried Ed, lowering his spear as Ben had directed. “I’ve got him!” he declared, exultantly, and raised his spear and displayed a three-foot eel wriggling on the tines. He was about to drop his prize on the raft when the guide interrupted.

“Here, take this,” he said, and pushed forward the box on which he had been sitting. “Put them in that; otherwise they’ll flop overboard. Now take your knife and stick him behind the head. In the future, spear them there, and you’ll kill them at once.”

George made another jab and brought up a good-sized sucker, which he was careful to shake into the box. A few moments later he speared an eel; but it was a large one, and he was unable to bring it to the surface. Ed instantly went to his assistance, and between them they managed to secure the prize. It was four feet or more in length and about four inches in circumference.

“You fellows keep sharp watch ahead; I’m traveling pretty close to shore. We don’t want to get hung up on a rock,” Ben warned.

“What’s that?” cried Ed, as an animal turned from the edge of the water and crashed away through the woods.

“Deer,” said the guide, quietly.

Then the very thing he had warned them against happened. The forward end of the raft ran on a submerged rock and stuck fast. The force of the impact threw Ed over backward into the fish-box, and George within an inch or two of the water. A veritable hail of sparks descended upon them, and, warned by a cry from the guide, George discovered that the wool lining of his hunting-coat was smoldering. Scrambling hastily to his feet, he shed the garment in record time, and soon extinguished the blaze.

It required much hard work to free the raft, and the boys worked desperately, for they felt guilty in having allowed the accident to happen. When they finally floated free and went ahead, they looked out more keenly, determined to guard against a repetition of the mishap.

They heard many strange sounds as they floated quietly along, preceded by the small circle of light from the roaring fire of snapping pine knots. The deep, animal-like baying of bullfrogs sounded from the center of the marshy swamp. Ducks were calling from the middle of the lake. Drowsy birds fluttered uncertainly from the tree-tops along the shore. Ben called their attention to the distant yapping of a fox. They heard deer or moose several times.

“Look!” cried George, pointing excitedly toward the edge of the forest. “What is it? Oh, see its eyes!”

“Quick, Ben, look at it—it’s moving!” said Ed, having caught sight of the two shining spots of bright green fire.

The guide laughed.

“That’s ‘fox-fire,’ or phosphorus. An old decayed log, or stick, becomes coated with it, and after a rain, or down where it’s damp, glows like that. It scares ‘tenderfeet’ out of their wits,” he laughed. “Some call it ‘will-o’-the-wisp,’ ’cause they imagine it moves along through the woods. Fact is, just like now, you’re moving and watching it at the same time, and, of course, you think it’s following you.”

“My, it’s ‘spooky’ looking,” said Ed.

The boys became so skilled in the use of their spears that they took all the fish they could use in a very short time. Then Ben made them stop, and allowed the pine knots to die down, until the dull glow gave forth only a feeble light.

In returning to the starting-point he wisely sought deeper water, for he was fearful of again running aground. He beached the raft, and the boys carried the catch ashore, well pleased with their sport.

It was late when they reached the cabin, and Ben threw the fish into a pan of water until the morning. As to the eels, the boys learned that the strange creatures are born in the sea, and after they are a year old run up the freshwater rivers and streams into the lakes, where they remain during the summer. In the fall the eels leave these lakes and retrace the journey to the sea, where they finally die.

XXII
TREED!

The boys heard a grouse drumming in the woods back of the cabin one morning, and decided to try the experiment of walking up to it. Taking the camera, they waited until they heard the beginning of its tattoo, and then started off in its direction. When it ceased they halted abruptly and waited for a repetition. Then, as it again echoed through the woods, they hurried on. These manœuvers were repeated until the lads found themselves close upon the unsuspecting drummer.

“Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud; thud, thud, thud, thud-r-r-r-r,” the muffled sound rose near at hand, reverberated in their ears, and died away.

“I think he just hopped down from that old log over there,” said George, in a low whisper, as he and Ed lay behind a great lichen-covered boulder.

Again the sound came to them, and, peering at the log, they saw the drummer at work. Hopping to the top of the fallen tree-trunk, he stood for a moment, with crest erect, looking about him. Then, spreading his tail and dragging the tips of his wings along the log, he strutted proudly to and fro. Stopping suddenly, he spread his wings and began lustily beating the air. Beginning slowly, he moved his wings faster and faster, raising himself on his toes in the effort, until the beats became so rapid that the thud of each stroke was blended with the one before, and a dull, continuous rumble, as of distant thunder, was the result. When he finished he jumped down on the opposite side of the log and disappeared from the sight of his charmed audience.

“Wasn’t that great?” whispered George. “We certainly walked him down, all right, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but keep quiet; I’m going to try to get a picture,” declared Ed, looking longingly toward the shelter of a small evergreen that stood within a few feet of the log on which the grouse had drummed.

“You’ll never get there without his seeing or hearing you,” warned George.

Further whisperings were cut short by the second appearance of the bird on the log. Again the boys lay fascinated, as he went through his interesting performance. When it was finished, they turned their heads and looked at each other comprehendingly. From close by had come a reply, a challenge to his boastful call.

It was evident that he heard and understood the answer of his rival. For a moment he stood boldly erect, turning his head for some sign of his enemy, his tail feathers spread fan-like, and his wings half drooping. From time to time he raised and lowered the feathers on his crown, and the stiff, ruff-like collar about his neck stood out with anger. The boys fancied they could almost see the flash of his eyes as he waited for the challenger to appear. Once more he sent his call thundering through the woods, and again the answer came back, this time closer at hand.

An indistinct, shadowy something roared past, and the watchers dodged involuntarily. It landed with a thud among the dried leaves, and they saw at once that it was a second grouse come to do battle with the first.

“Oh, for a picture!” breathed Ed.

“Be still; we’re going to see something worth watching in a few minutes,” cautioned George, in a scarcely audible whisper.

Nor were they long left in doubt about it, for the two feathered rivals, after a little warlike strutting, attacked each other with beak and spurs. Like barn-yard roosters, they jumped at one another, striking and pecking, in a fast and furious battle for supremacy. The sympathy of the boys was entirely with the one they had stalked. The other had come looking for trouble. That he was getting it in generous quantities seemed only proper to the partial audience behind the rock.

In their fighting, the determined little warriors drew nearer the hiding-place of the boys. Ed quietly brought forth the camera and made it ready, resolved to have a picture if they came within focusing range.

Suddenly something red flashed from a group of little pines. Before the lads realized what had happened, a big red fox was disappearing with one of the recent combatants in his jaws. The survivor thundered away into the forest, chattering with fright. The birds had afforded him easy prey, for, engaged as they were with each other, they had not detected his stealthy approach until the sly red fellow was upon them.

“Well, what do you think of that?” asked George, sitting up with a surprised look on his face.

“Beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Ed, folding the camera.

“Say, Ed, which one did he get?”

“The one that came looking for trouble, I think.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m sorry he got either, but I’m glad it was the other that got away. He seemed so blamed happy and contented drumming away on his old log that I’d just hate to think of anything like that happening to him.”

“So would I,” said Ed, rising from the ground.

The boys walked away solemnly in the direction taken by the red marauder. They stooped and picked up several mottled-brown feathers, mute evidences of the tragedy just witnessed. For some distance they made their way in silence, their minds occupied with the fate of the luckless grouse.

Then they heard the hoarse bark of a fox and halted at once. They could hear him trotting over the fallen leaves within a few feet of them. Finally they saw him, and, strange enough, he did not seem inclined to take advantage of the available shelter, but rather appeared to court their attention.

“George, I think he has his eye on you for an extra course after the grouse,” laughed Ed. “Let’s give him a chase, just for fun.”

“Hold on a moment,” cautioned George, seriously, while he studied the unaccountable actions of the fox. “Do you know what I think is the matter?”

“No; what?”

“Well, I’m quite sure that old fellow’s den is around here somewhere. Don’t you remember what Ben told us about him? You know he said if you suddenly came upon an old fox near its den and young, it would act exactly like this one is acting. Remember how he said it would hover near and endeavor to frighten you into leaving the vicinity, or else would try to draw you into a chase, and so lead you away from the spot?”

“By ginger! you’re right, George. Great head! I had forgotten all about it,” confessed Ed. “I believe that is just what this old ‘sly-boots’ is trying to do. Let’s look around a bit, and we may find the den.”

Giving no thought to the fox, which was becoming bolder each minute, they began to search about, in the hope of discovering his lair. Several times, in its concern and excitement, the crafty creature ran almost within reach of them.

“Wonder if he really would attack us?” said George.

“I don’t believe it,” replied Ed. “I think he’s just bluffing.”

Finally the fox uttered a few impatient yaps and trotted off. The boys stood looking after it; but apparently the sly red fellow had lost all interest in them. He disappeared over a hill, as though their presence in the vicinity caused him little anxiety.

“Well, what about that?” inquired Ed, disgustedly. “I don’t believe we are within a mile of his den. I guess he was just looking us over to see if it was worth while carrying one of us home for dinner,” he laughed.

“Don’t you fool yourself,” said George, confidently. “That’s only part of his bluff. His den is right here, and I’m going to find it.”

They began their search all over again, carefully parting bushes, peering under shelving ledges and into crevices between rocks—in fact, any and every place where they thought it might be located. For a long time they were unsuccessful, and they had about made up their minds to abandon the hunt and return to the cabin.

Then George shouted; and, hurrying over to him, Ed saw the entrance to the den. It was in the side of a sandy bank beneath a ridge of yellow pines. About it were tracks, and near-by some signs. The searchers felt sure this was the abode of the crafty animal which had tried by every means in its power to lead them astray.

While they stood there another fox, smaller and paler than the first, rushed from the entrance and dashed away into the woods.

“That’s the mate!” declared Ed, excitedly.

“Must be,” agreed George. “Now’s our chance to get the young ones,” he added, kneeling down and placing his ear to the hole in the bank.

“Can you hear them?” Ed inquired, eagerly.

“Not a sound. I shouldn’t be surprised if the den is a long ways back from the opening. Say, here are some grouse feathers.” And he held up several which they believed had come from the bird whose taking-off they had witnessed.

The boys hardly knew what to do. They did not wish to kill either the old or the young foxes, although they recalled that Ben had declared these animals destructive to game, and therefore a nuisance in the woods. Still, they did not care to murder the sly old fellow and his timid mate, for at that season the pelts were of little or no value, and the destruction of the animals would seem entirely unwarranted. However, they were anxious to possess one or more of the baby foxes. Ben had often told them what admirable pets these little fellows grew to be if taken very young.

At last they decided to dig out the den, take what pups they desired, and leave the rest for the old foxes to remove to a new home, which, according to the guide, they would be sure to do.

“You stay here to keep them from taking the little fellows out, and I’ll go back to the cabin and get something to dig with,” said Ed, hurrying away.

George sat down beside the entrance of the den. He expected one or both of the foxes to return, and wondered what they would do when they found him there. Then he began to think; and the more he thought, the less enthusiasm he had for the undertaking in hand. Somehow it did not seem right to destroy the home which represented so much hard labor on the part of the old “red” and his mate. If they could get one of the young ones without demolishing the den and leaving the others deserted and homeless, he would have felt better about it. He believed that Ed would feel much the same. George thought that by watching the den they might find one of the youngsters playing before the entrance, when it might be a simple matter to capture it.

Then his alert ears caught the sound of snapping twigs. He looked toward the sound, and his heart gave a great bound of joy. It seemed that his noble resolutions were about to be rewarded. There in plain sight, and but a short way from the den, was a small, brown-furred creature. In his eagerness George instantly mistook it for one of the young foxes.

He dashed forward; but it turned at sight of him and ran into the bushes, squealing lustily. George ran after it, but was unable to overtake the little fugitive before it had concealed itself in the dense cover. He searched around in the low undergrowth, and finally frightened his supposed fox from its hiding-place and endeavored to seize it with his hands.

Then there was a great crashing of brush behind him, and the lad was almost startled out of his senses by a savage roar. His frightened glance showed him the head and shoulders of a large black bear, which was coming directly at him. In an instant the truth flashed across his mind—it was one of her cubs he had been chasing.

Wheeling in panic, George sprinted toward a tree, and luckily gained it several yards ahead of the bear. He lost little time “shinneying” to a high branch, where, white and shaky, he sat looking down at the infuriated animal below.

Fortunately, the tree was of small circumference, and after sniffing about the trunk, the bear decided not to climb it. The lad watched her anxiously as she gathered her cubs—there were two of them. Then his heart sank, for she evidently intended to remain at the base of the tree until he came down.

George sat on his dizzy perch and blamed himself for his stupidity in mistaking a bear cub for a baby fox. Now that he saw it plainly, he was unable to note any resemblance.

The old bear rose several times and placed her fore feet against the tree. Each time she did this, poor George nervously meditated the distance he would be obliged to drop to reach the ground before the bear reached him. When she finally walked off and sat down some little distance away, he felt greatly relieved.

Then a new thought came to him. What about Ed? He would soon return from the cabin, and, unless warned, would walk right into the ugly brute. As he saw the danger his impulsiveness had placed his friend in, George grew sick at heart. If he could only hear him approaching, perhaps he might be able to warn him before it was too late. What worried him was the fear that Ed would draw near unheard. Anxious and troubled, he sat aloft straining his ears to catch some sound that would proclaim the return of his friend.

Suddenly the mother bear rose to her feet, and, growling angrily, stood facing the direction from which Ed would come. George yelled as loudly as he could, for he felt sure his friend was advancing to his doom. His shout was immediately answered, and George groaned.

“Hey, Ed, look out—go back—there’s a bear waiting for you!” he screamed, at the top of his voice.

Ed shouted something in reply, but George could not understand what he said. He realized that his warning had been useless. Again he shouted, and kept on shouting; but either Ed would not or could not understand. He was quite close now, and George could hear him forcing his way through the brush.

Then the savage roar echoed in George’s ears, and he saw the bear charge.

“Run, Ed, run! She’s after you!” he cried.

For some moments a strange, uncanny silence followed the noise of the bear crashing through the bushes.

“Are you all right? Answer me, Ed!” he implored.

“Yes—I’m—all right—so far,” came the labored reply, as if Ed had been either badly frightened or completely “winded.” “I’m in—a tree—about half-way up. Say, it looks like she is coming up after me!” he yelled nervously.

“Go on up higher!” urged George.

“Can’t—I’m—stuck on this—blamed—stub!” was the alarming reply. Then, after a pause: “All right, I’m free. I don’t believe she’ll come up, after all.”

Peering out in the direction of the voice, George finally saw his friend in the top of a tall tree. Ed saw him at the same instant, and gingerly waved an arm. The trees were near enough together to prevent either of the boys from sliding down and making off to the cabin without being seen and attacked by the angry bear on guard between them.

“Watch out, she’s going back to you!” warned Ed, after they had been treed for some time.

Back came the bear to the tree George was in, and, what was more, she started to climb it. Beads of cold sweat came out on his forehead, as the worried lad watched the great ungainly beast struggling upward along the slender trunk. The weight of her body and the force of her exertions swayed the tree so that George feared he would be shaken from his perch.

There seemed but one thing to do when the bear should finally reach him; and that was to hang suspended by his arms and work his way, hand over hand, to the end of the limb. It would be a risky undertaking, for the limb was none too strong. However, it was far less risky than a drop to the ground, some thirty-odd feet below.

But suddenly, when the bear was half-way up, she halted, and then began to descend to the ground, where her cubs were calling. Once down, she drove her babies gently before her and disappeared into the woods.

For some time the boys were afraid to slide down for fear the bear might be hiding and watching. At last they mustered up sufficient courage to descend, and, gathering up the spade and other implements which Ed had brought, they hurriedly left the spot.

“I didn’t care about digging out that den, anyway,” said Ed, when they were well on their way. “It seemed like a nasty trick, when I began to think it over.”

“That was exactly the way it struck me,” replied George, “and I intended to speak to you about it when you came back.”

Then he told Ed about his blunder, and they laughed heartily.

That evening Ed explained the tear in his trousers by saying he had been treed by a bear. When asked for particulars, he said George had attempted to capture one of her cubs. He generously refrained from stating that his friend had mistaken it for a young fox.

“Well, I guess if I want to get you fellows to the lumber camp alive, I’d better start soon,” laughed the guide. “Maybe we’ll go to-morrow; I’ve got some business to attend to over there, anyhow.”

The boys were overjoyed, for this was the trip they had been looking forward to for months. They plied Ben with all sorts of questions regarding the life of such a place. He told them enough stories to raise their anticipations, and then ordered them to pack the things they wished to take, for, as usual, they would be away by daybreak.

It seemed useless for the lads to close their eyes that night. Sleep was impossible while their minds were filled with the details of log-drives, and jams, and birling contests, and all the things incidental to life in a lumber camp. Accordingly, restless and impatient, they tossed about in their blankets, waiting for daylight and the time to be off.

XXIII
OFF TO THE LUMBER CAMP

To reach the river which would take them thirty miles on its racing waters to the lumber camp on its shore, the three voyagers were obliged to traverse the length of the lake, portage through the woods to the splendid sheet of water from which they had gone to the beaver-dam, and paddle the entire length of this large lake, whence they must take to land and carry to the river.

The morning was well advanced when Ben set the canoe down on the river-bank and wiped the moisture from his forehead.

“Very warm, isn’t it?” said Ed, slipping his pack and dropping down to rest in the shade.

“You bet!” declared George, as he did likewise.

Ben stood with his back to them, and seemed to be thinking about something. He gazed intently at the yellow water gliding swiftly along beneath him. He noted the effect along shore of the “going out” of the ice with the recent flood.

Great trees had been gashed and splintered by the resistless rush of huge, grinding cakes borne along and piled one upon the other by the raging, snow-fed river. Others had been uprooted and carried down with the flood, or piled in a tangled jam along the shore. In some places the steep banks themselves had been undermined, until large portions had crumbled and fallen into the water, taking trees and rocks with them. It was the annual toll of the river, exacted and collected by its freshet-swollen waters each spring.

“She’s still quite high. Guess we’ll go some when we hit the rapids,” he laughed.

“Are we really going through the rapids?” inquired George, eagerly.

“Yes, we have two sets to run,” Ben replied.

The boys did a double shuffle in their delight. They had read thrilling tales of shooting rapids. Now they were to shoot rapids themselves.

Ben carried the canoe some distance along the bank and launched it in a quiet backwater. The boys brought the packs, and the guide stowed them skilfully away in the canoe. He made sure that the light craft would be evenly balanced. He shifted the bags several times, until the canoe floated on a proper keel.

Then he ordered the lads to take their places. Seating himself in the stern, he pushed from the shore, with a long, iron-shod pike-pole, which he used in the rapids and in pushing up-stream against the current. Once in the stream, the canoe shot forward with the current, and the eventful journey was begun.

They were carried along so swiftly that Ben needed to do little more than to steer. In the rapids waves broke along the sides of the fragile bark, and then swept on, hissing, in a swirl of amber foam along the stern. George declared it was like going to sea in a peanut-shell. The canoe raced along, steady as a rock, thanks to Ben’s care in loading it.

It was past noon when they entered a quieter stretch of water and Ben turned the bow of his craft toward shore. Beaching the canoe, they pulled it up and took out what they needed for luncheon.

Ben started a fire, and when it was crackling merrily he told his young companions to joint their fish-rods. When they had done this, he searched carefully through their stock of artificial flies and chose those he thought would be most alluring. Then he bade them follow up a little brook which flowed down through the woods and emptied into the river near-by. He told them to go along this brook until they came to a large, foam-covered pool at the base of a falls, and to fish this pool thoroughly. Then, wishing the lads luck, he dismissed them and promised to have dinner ready when they returned.

Ed and George hastened eagerly upstream toward the coveted pool. Heeding Ben’s instructions, they kept well back from the bank of the brook, to avoid frightening any trout which might be lurking between the falls and the river. They hoped to fish on the way down.

After some rough traveling over prostrate logs and through exasperating tangles of deadwood they arrived within sound of the falls. In their impatience to reach the scene of action they hurried forward carelessly, and were “hung up” many times by twigs and bushes which caught their lines and rods. But soon they were standing on huge, moss-grown boulders near the foot of the falls. The top was far above them. The water formed a glittering curtain, which fell into the rocky basin below with an echoing roar. Drifting clouds of misty vapor arose and blew into their faces. And there at their feet was the pool: deep, black, and dotted with patches of foam that circled slowly about its edges.

“Isn’t this great?” shouted Ed, endeavoring to make himself heard.

But George, who was only a few yards away, shook his head to show that he could not hear. Then he raised his rod and let his fly drop gently on the water close to a cake of foam.

Instantly there was a flash from beneath, a swirl on the surface, and with a swift turn of his wrist George struck and felt the hook go home. The line tightened, the light rod bent, and as the trout felt the barb and darted away, the reel began to sing.

“Good boy, you’ve got him!” yelled Ed.

George was too busy to reply, if he heard his friend at all. His fight was on. He was pitting skill and light rod and delicate line against the cunning and courage of the trout. Twice it leaped from the water in its struggles, and each time the glistening body shot into the air it appeared larger in the eyes of the excited boys. Then down it went into the depths of the pool again, and the taut line cut widening circles through the crust of foam.

Ed was too absorbed in the battle to think of wetting his own line. Rod in hand, he stood idly by cheering on the efforts of his friend. Several times, as the fortunes of war shifted from one to the other of the combatants, Ed almost slipped from the rock upon which he had recklessly climbed.

George played his fish skilfully, and soon began to work it, inch by inch, toward the spot where he stood. It was not yet subdued, however, and in one of its frantic rushes it caught the young angler off his guard and came near smashing his rod. After that he was more careful, and at last the plucky fish, weakened by the long struggle against the spring of the rod, was drawn slowly in; and presently George landed it on the bank, glistening and beautiful in its brave dress of dark back, vermilion spots, and ivory-lined fins.

They fished the pool for a time, and then started down the stream, fishing it carefully from either side. By the time they reached Ben they had a splendid catch of trout to show for their work.

“That’s a mighty good string of fish,” he declared, stooping to examine the larger ones. “Say, there’s a dandy; about three pounds. Who got that fellow?”

The boys gave him the full details of the battle, and he listened with interest. While they were talking he opened and cleaned the fish, which gave them a fine woodland feast. When it was over they embarked and floated rapidly down the river toward the lumber camp, which Ben hoped to reach before dark.

The boys thought it strange that they did not see more deer and moose. But it seemed that at that particular season of the year the cow moose and doe deer were hidden deep away in the woods with their young. There they would remain until the little ones were able to follow them about, later in the season.

At the same time the bull moose and the buck deer were growing new horns, having shed the old ones late in the winter. Until these new antlers grew to respectable size the bulls and the bucks remained out of sight as much as possible, as though ashamed of being seen without the formidable weapons which would later adorn their brows.

The boys learned also that when the new antlers begin to form they look like velvety knobs or bumps. These are at first pulpy and tender, and filled with blood. Then they begin to grow into the shape of real horns, and are covered with a moss-like protection, known to woodsmen as “velvet.” Later in the summer, when the new horns have attained full length and hardened, they are rubbed against trees and bushes to free them of this outside covering, which then comes off in long strips, leaving the antlers clean and shiny.

“I’m glad to learn that,” said Ed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I should say so,” replied George, as he thought of the strange wild life of the woods.

“Now then, sit close!” Ben warned, rising in the stern of the canoe, pole in hand. “We’re coming to the first rapids, and they’re mad! Hear them?”

The boys heard a low, indistinct rumbling ahead of them. They noted that the canoe was moving faster, as the rumbling increased to a loud, sullen roar. Before them they saw a long, steep pitch of white-crested water. Great curling waves seemed to beckon them on. And, as if in reply to the challenge, Ben swung his little craft into the middle of the river and sent it boldly on into the clutches of the raging torrent.

Crouching low, their hands grasping the sides of the canoe, Ed and George gazed straight ahead with startled eyes and serious faces. The roar of the angry, white-topped water, the shock from waves which hurled themselves against the canoe and dashed their spray into the faces of its occupants, the danger from submerged boulders and water-logged tree-trunks whose branches, like arms, reached hungrily toward the frail sides of the little craft, the fear of capsizing and being swept to destruction by the swirling waters—all this overwhelmed the lads and kept them silent. A fragile barrier of cedar and canvas, and the alert eye, clear brain, and strong arm of Ben was all that stood between them and destruction. He was equal to the task, however, and with feet well braced, body inclined slightly forward, and the pole tightly clenched in his powerful hands, he stood in the stern of the plunging canoe and guided it safely through that raging inferno into the safe water beyond.

“Well, we made that all right,” he said, quietly, resuming his seat and substituting the paddle for the pole. “Sort of scared you a little, didn’t it?” he laughed.

“Say, that was an experience!” declared Ed. “Did you stand all the way?”

“Had to,” said Ben.

“Talk about bare-back riders!” cried George. “You’ve got them beaten a mile.”

They were now in smooth, swift-flowing water, where they could regain their composure before plunging into the next set of rapids, which Ben said were some distance ahead. Now that they had passed safely through their first experience in “swift water,” the boys caught the enthusiasm of it, and were eager to reach the second stretch.

“Look!” whispered Ben, suddenly, with a slight gesture, and as they turned they saw a large bull moose staring at them from the shore. For an instant they were too amazed to think, but then, noting the small, fuzzy-looking knobs, one over each eye, they had the evidence of the shedding and growth of horns verified by their own eyes. As the canoe approached, the massive creature shook its head impatiently, and, turning, entered the forest and disappeared into the shadows as noiselessly as a fox.

The day was a glorious one of sunshine and fragrance and song. The full flush of spring had come upon the wilderness and caused it to bloom. The delicate tint of the newly leafed trees; the flowering shad-bush, or more stately dogwood, white and conspicuous against a background of green; the sweet-scented breath of the dark, somber pines and hemlocks, mingled with that from myriads of early woodland blossoms, and wafted to them on the soft, balmy air; and, above all, the songs of the birds, which filled their ears with woodland music—all this thrilled them with the joy of living. “‘When the Red Gods call,’” whispered George, happily, as Kipling’s poem came into his mind.

Then they heard again the low, warning rumble of distant rapids, and once more their hearts beat fast. Anxiously they peered ahead for a sight of the long lane of “white caps.” The noise became louder; and, rounding a turn of the river, they saw the rapids tossing in front of them.

This time they had no fear when the canoe, with Ben standing in the stern, raced down through the center of that wild course. They had implicit confidence in the skill of the guide, and they enjoyed each moment as the little bark plunged and careened in its uncertain passage among the waves. As before, Ben brought them safely through, and paddled on down the river.

It was late in the afternoon when two sturdy figures emerged from the edge of the woods and hailed the canoe. Ben replied, and told the boys that they were lumbermen. He said they would soon reach the great camp itself, now but a short distance farther on.

“We’ve made a whole lot better time coming down than we’ll be able to make going back,” he said, when Ed expressed surprise that they had finished the trip so soon. “Fact is, we’ve ridden down on the back of the flood; but we’ll return with what is left of it pushing us in the face.”

On both sides of the river were many logs lying along the bank close to the water. They had been cut and dragged there during the winter, and when the water subsided to the desired level they would be rolled into it and floated down to the mill, many miles below. Other men now appeared along the shores and waved their hands cheerfully at the canoemen.

“They have their booms stretched,” said Ben, pointing to a long line of floating logs chained one to the other. “That means they’re intending to send the logs down—probably to-morrow.”

The boys found that the booms were used to guide the logs in their course, and to hold them back at certain stations until the stream below was cleared for their passage or a jam broken up. He told them that a jam was a great tangled pile-up of logs, caused by one or two logs grounding, or jamming, and obstructing the progress of the hundreds afloat behind them.

It appeared that patrols of lumbermen were stationed along the river, while the logs were “running,” to watch for just such emergencies. These men would go fearlessly to work to break a jam, a hard and dangerous task. If unsuccessful, they would run to the nearest of the telephone-boxes, which the company had placed at intervals along the shore, and summon aid. Sometimes a bad jam required the work of several days to break it, and dynamite was often used in such cases.

Twilight was gathering when they spied a clearing some distance along on the right bank of the river. As they approached they saw that it contained several long, low, log cabins.

“There’s the camp,” said Ben, and he headed the bow of the canoe toward shore.

As he drew closer he shouted. Immediately some men made their appearance in the doorway of one cabin, and, seeing the canoe, came outside. Two of them left the group and started slowly toward the water. When they had come near enough to recognize Ben, they called to him and pointed to a suitable landing-place. As soon as the bow of the canoe touched bottom, they pulled it from the water, and the three occupants stepped out.

“Howdy, Ben,” greeted the two lumbermen.

“Helloa, Ned! Helloa, Jim!” replied the guide, shaking each of them by the hand. Then he motioned to the boys. “These are young friends of mine, Ed Williams and George Rand; they’ve been spending the winter with me. Boys, shake hands with Ned Crawford and Jim Halliday. Crawford is foreman of this crew, and Jim is the greatest log-rider in the country.”

Ed and George unloaded their packs from the canoe and, manfully refusing an offer of assistance, shouldered the loads and followed Ben toward the cabins. They saw Ned wink at the guide and nod toward them approvingly, and they were glad they had declined help and “rustled” for themselves.

“The boys are at supper,” explained the big foreman, indicating the cabin with the smoking chimney. “I’ll take you fellows over to the bunk-house, and you can leave your ‘turkeys,’ and wash up a bit. Then we’ll mosey over and have something to eat.”

The lads looked about them curiously when they entered the great house with its rows of bunks. Along the first half of each side were long benches. In the center of the room was a huge, round stove, and, although it contained no fire—for the nights were not cold enough to require one—many articles of clothing were hung upon it to dry. A large kerosene-filled lamp, suspended from overhead in the middle of the room, furnished what light there was.

“You can leave your ‘turkeys’ over there; take those two bunks,” said Crawford, designating the proper ones.

Ben promptly tossed his pack into one of them and smiled broadly when the boys looked at him in some confusion.

“Your pack, or ‘duffle,’ is your ‘turkey,’” laughed the guide. “Put yours in that lower bunk.”

“Yep, that’s what we call it,” the foreman explained. “Now, you’ll find the basin and a pail of water outside by the door, and here’s a clean towel. When you’re all fixed up handsome like, come over and join us in the ‘grub-shanty,’” he said, and left them.

When they had stowed away their belongings, they went outside and washed at the battered tin basin. While they were going through this interesting and necessary ceremony several lumbermen came up to shake hands with Ben. Then they went to the “grub-shanty,” or dining-cabin, where the foreman was waiting to welcome them.

A long pine table, flanked on either side by low, continuous benches, extended almost the length of the room. At it sat the lumber crew—deep-chested, quick-eyed men of the wilderness. Ben readily called most of them by name as he and the boys took seats.

Soon a big, swarthy-faced man, who wore a soiled apron and had his sleeves rolled above his elbows, came scuffling in and placed three smoking bowls of oatmeal—“oats” he called it—before the new-comers. Then he struck the guide a resounding whack between the shoulders, as proof of his delight at seeing him.

“Helloa, Charley!” said Ben, when he had recovered sufficient breath. “Why didn’t you hit me with an ax?—it wouldn’t have hurt so much.”

The cook roared his delight at the compliment to his strength, and Ben introduced Ed and George. “Remember to always keep on the proper side of the cook, and you’ll come out all right,” laughed the guide.

They watched Charley disappear into a sort of out-shanty, where several other men in aprons seemed to be fussing about with pots and pans. Presently he reappeared and supplied them with cups of tea, “sour-dough bread,” and a plentiful portion of baked beans.

“Pile into it strong,” he urged. “You’ll never get the gout from any fancy dishes of mine.”

The boys did not delay. The trip and the spring air had sharpened their appetites. They instantly became popular with the cook by their devotion to the substantial fare set before them, and from time to time they cast curious glances at the long rows of jolly, brown-faced men with whom they sat.

They had heard and read so much about the “lumber-jacks,” and they wanted to find out what sort of fellows they were. They were compelled to laugh outright at the quaint expressions used by these men in asking for the various things on the table.

“Hey, Joe, chase the cow down here, will you?” And at once Joe understood and passed the milk down the table toward several of his friends, who were calling, “Co boss, co boss.” “Roll along the spuds” meant to pass the potatoes. “Say, Charley, I’m shy a stabber,” was replied to by the gift of a fork. A spoon was alluded to as a “dipper,” and so on through the entire list. Ben laughingly explained each phrase as it was employed, and the boys memorized it with the purpose of trying it on the family at home.

When the meal was finished, they accompanied Ben to the canoe for the string of fish, which he presented to Ned, with the compliments of the young anglers.

“There’s sure one dandy fish in that bunch, and that’s calling it something, ’cause they’re all dandies,” declared the foreman, holding the trout at arm’s length, so that all might admire it.

Then they went into the bunk-house and took places on “the mourners’ bench,” which was what Ben said the lumbermen had christened the seats along the sides of the cabin.

“When do you figure on running your logs?” he asked, when Ned came in and seated himself beside them.

“To-morrow, if things go as we expect. Got all our booms stretched, and the water ought to be right if she slides down a notch or two before morning. Quite a gang of the boys along the river now—boom gangs,” he explained.

“Well, boys, we’re just in time to see the fun, and I guess Ned won’t mind if we stay around a day or two,” said Ben. “You see, Ned, I’d like these fellows to see something of a real log-drive before they go home.”

“The latch-string of this here camp is always out for you and your friends, Ben; and the longer your hat hangs on the peg, the better we like it,” was the foreman’s reply.

For some time the men talked together in little groups ranged along the wall. The guide seized the opportunity to make Ed and George familiar with some famous characters of the logging country. There was “Shorty” Brundage, a square-shouldered, stockily built young fellow, who bore the proud distinction of having loosened more jams than any other man in the crew. Several times he had escaped death by the merest margin. Next to him sat “Red” Thompson, who had achieved fame by “riding” a log through the first set of rapids. Slightly farther along, a dark-skinned man was stooped over unlacing his “larrigans.” Ben said that he was the renowned Pierre La Valley, known throughout the big woods wherever an ax was swung. With a double-headed ax he could fell a tree quicker than any two men. At each swing he turned the blade so that every stroke was made with an alternate edge. His fame as an axman had traveled abroad over the entire lumber country, and scores of good men had been matched against him; but as yet he was undefeated. At the far end of the bench was “Jake” Grant, champion “birler” of the crew. The boys asked what “birler” meant, and were told they would learn before they left the camp.

This roll-call of heroes was interrupted when some one called for Tony and his fiddle. A tall youth, with the features and hair of an Indian, brought forth a violin and seated himself at the head of “the mourners’ bench.”

“He’s a half-breed,” whispered Ben.

“Cut her loose, Tony!”

“Open her up wide!”

“Wat you fellows want?” asked the fiddler.

“‘Turkey in the Straw,’” cried some.

“‘Old Dan Tucker,’” urged others.

Tony favored those making the most noise, and started the lively strains of “Turkey in the Straw,” a jig dear to the heart of every backwoodsman. The men kept time with feet and hands, and before long the boys joined in. “Lanky” Jack Stewart brought out a mouth-organ, and added his efforts to those of Tony. Then the foreman produced an accordion, and the home-made orchestra was complete. The music was loud and lively; and, unable to restrain their buoyant spirits, several of the “lumber-jacks” jumped to their feet and began to dance a “shake-down.”

The lads soon found themselves yelling like the rest, for the fun was contagious. Ben looked at them and smiled across at the foreman, who was rocking his body to the accompaniment of the notes from his accordion.

The merrymaking finally wound up with an impromptu Virginia Reel, in which the three visitors were compelled to dance. It was no gentle affair, that “going down the line.” Resounding whacks stung the bodies of the good-natured victims who gamely ran the gantlet between lines of whooping dancers. The boys, too, were soundly spanked before they reached the end of it. They retaliated enthusiastically on the couples that followed.

“Red Thompson and Miss Hank Davis are going down the line!” shouted Crawford, as the two “lumber-jacks,” one of whom played “lady,” turned to make their rush. And again: “Mr. and ‘Mrs.’ Ben Adams are going down the line,” as Ben and his partner, Jim Halliday, made their way to the end of the column. The boys laughed heartily when their turn came, and Ned called out, “A pair of bantams are going down the line.”

At last the music ceased, and the foreman said he guessed it was time to turn in. Pushing and wrestling good-naturedly, the men made their way to the bunks. Then Crawford extinguished the lamp, and the cabin became dark and quiet.

XXIV
A DARING RESCUE

The boys were awakened before daylight by the “turning out” of the crew. They found Ben up and ready for breakfast, and, hastening into their clothes, they joined the line of jolly men waiting their turn at the tin wash-basin. Having finally reached it, they completed their toilet and followed Ben into the “grub-shanty.”

The merry meal was soon over, and, with an invitation to come and see them at work, the lumbermen started for the woods and the river. Ned, the foreman, was too busy to give much attention to his guests, and telling the guide where he might find him at work, he quickly followed after his men.

Left alone, Ben and the boys, feeling thoroughly at home, began a closer inspection of the camp. Charley, the cook, came out and joined them, and they found him a quaint and interesting character. He told of his experiences in the lumber woods, and, of course, made a great impression on Ed and George. When they had been sitting there some little time, the guide rose and pointed toward the river.

“They’re running; here comes the head of the drive!” he cried.

Plowing their way swiftly down the current, the boys saw an advance-guard of huge logs. Close behind were others, and as the boys hurried to the water’s edge, they saw the river was dotted with logs as far up as they could look. The majority drifted rapidly past, well out in the middle of the stream. Occasionally, however, one would swerve and bang against the bank, or become temporarily stranded on a sand-bar or pebbly beach.

Suddenly they saw Jim Halliday sweep into view around a turn of the river. He was standing erect on one of the drifting logs, boldly “riding” it down the stream. The boys watched him in wide-eyed amazement as he came gliding along, balancing himself with a long peavey-pole, which he held horizontally. When he was opposite, the “lumber-jack” waved his arm, and they cheered him. Jim skilfully steered the log into a quiet eddy beyond, and, jumping into the water, sent his “wooden horse” down the river and waded briskly ashore.

“That’s what they call log-riding,” explained Ben.

“RIDING” A LOG DOWN THE STREAM

Halliday had been despatched back to camp on an errand, and had taken advantage of the opportunity for his first ride of the season. When he was ready to return up-river, he asked Ben and the boys to accompany him, declaring that there was “a barrel of fun” going on up there.

They followed Jim several miles along a winding river trail, until they came to a large clearing where the men were at work. Here the crew were rolling logs down the steep bank into the water. Strong-armed, quick-footed fellows started a huge log, and then jumped nimbly out of its way as it went bumping down the incline to land in the river. There other men, immersed to their waists, tugged and pushed till they worked it into the current and started it on its long, uncertain course to the distant mill. The great collection of logs extended well back into the woods. As fast as the front ones were moved more were dragged forward by the teams. It was an absorbing scene of bustling activity. As Jim had said, there was plenty of sport. They saw several of the crew pushed from the bank by their frolicsome comrades. The victims always took their ducking good-humoredly, and scrambled from the water determined to retaliate.

Just before noon a long, high-prowed boat, resembling a fisherman’s dory in its general lines, was seen slowly approaching against the current. This was the bateau. Two broad-shouldered fellows were at the oars, and in the bow was another, pole in hand, prepared to fend off drifting logs. In the stern sat no less a personage than Charley, the cook.

At sight of the boat Ned called a halt in the work, and then the real fun began. The men seized each other in rough sport, until almost the whole crew were wrestling about on the ground.

“This way, Charley; bring it up here,” ordered the foreman.

The cook and his three assistants struggled up the bank with the supplies for a hot dinner. Grouped in a circle on the ground, each man was equipped with a tin plate, a knife, a fork, and a spoon, and a large tin bowl which was speedily filled with hot stew. After that came heaping dishes of hot beans and steaming cups of coffee. Like the others, Ben and the boys ate the outdoor meal with keen relish.

As neither Ed nor George had seen a birling contest, and had no idea what it was like, Ned arranged one for their benefit.

A large log was towed out into fairly deep water in a near-by eddy of the river. Then Jake Grant, the champion of this particular sport, jumped from the bank and landed on the log. He caught his balance and drove the long, nail-like calks of his shoes deep into the bark. His action was intended as a challenge, or “defi,” to any one to jump on the other end and enter the contest.

There was a cry of “Sandy,” and, amid cheers from his comrades, “Sandy” Donaldson accepted the challenge. Moving their feet up and down together, the men whirled the log over and over beneath them. From time to time one or the other would jam his spiked shoes down hard in an endeavor to stop the log and throw his adversary into the water. First one way, then the other, they spun the log faster and faster. The excitement on shore was intense, for each contestant had his partisans. Once Grant lost his balance for a second, and a wild yell went up. It looked as though his long term of championship was about to end. By wonderful agility he saved himself, and another cheer broke forth.

“Toss him, toss him, Jake!” cried Grant’s friends.

“Bump him off, Sandy; you nearly caught him that time!” yelled the partisans of Donaldson.

Then the experience of the champion came to his aid. He worked backward toward the extreme end of the log, and started it spinning as fast as his nimble feet could work. Donaldson kept stride with him, and those on shore waited in breathless suspense for the outcome of what they believed a clever bit of stratagem.

Suddenly the champion jammed his spikes down hard, and Donaldson tottered. Before he could recover his balance Grant jumped into the air. Instantly his end of the log rose, and that on which his opponent swayed sank—not much, but enough to do the trick—and Donaldson went over backward into the river. Jake was still champion, for he landed squarely on top of the log and waved his hand to the cheering crowd.

“I wouldn’t have missed that for anything,” said Ed, when he had ceased cheering.

“Nor I,” declared George. “Say, we’ll try that some time, Ed. What do you call it, Ben?”

“Birling,” explained the guide.

The cook, who with his crew had waited to see the outcome of the contest, approached Ben and offered to take them back in the boat. That was certainly better than “hiking,” and presently they were gliding swiftly down the river.

That night there was less frolicking in the bunk-house. The first day’s river work had tired the men, and they sat about quietly smoking and telling yarns and singing a few lumbermen’s songs before they turned in.

Next morning they paddled their canoe some distance down-river to see a big restraining boom. They were obliged to dodge floating logs, which dotted the river as far as they could see. A collision would have smashed their light craft. However, Ben kept safely out of the way, and, searching the water far in advance, he chose open channels, down which he piloted them in safety.

They saw many logs which had grounded along the shore, but they learned that these would be all found and set afloat by the “reardrive” men, who followed the last of the logs down the river for that purpose. Occasionally they passed members of the river patrol, who stood on the banks and waved to them as they floated by. Ben pointed out several bark shanties, or lean-tos, in which these men sheltered themselves until the drive was over.

Then, at a narrow place in the river, they saw a great jagged pile of logs. Others were constantly crashing into it and momentarily adding to the tangle.

“There’s a jam, and a nasty one!” said Ben, carefully working the canoe toward shore. “Wonder if any one is about?”

“Yes, I see a man,” declared George. “There he is, right under the big log that sticks out. Gee whiz! Did you see that one rise right up on end and sail past his head?”

They landed and ran along the bank until they drew near the spot. At the foot of the towering pyramid a red-shirted man was balancing on a slippery log and prying and pulling with all his might in an effort to free the log which was the key of the jam. Each moment he stayed there he was risking death from the grinding, crunching, splintering logs which the river was raising on end and throwing into the pile behind him. Calm and undismayed by his peril, he turned a flushed, perspiring face and called to Ben:

“Hey, run back up the trail a piece, till you see a box nailed to a big white pine. You’ll find a telephone inside. Tell ’em to send some men down here, quick, an’ to stop shovin’ in any more sticks till we git this straightened out.”

Bidding the boys remain where they were, Ben ran up the trail on his important errand. Anxious to help the plucky lumberman, but knowing themselves powerless, the boys, fearful but fascinated, could only stand and watch the reckless worker out there in that inferno of flying logs.

A great black hulk rose from the foaming water, shot into the air, and came straight at him. An exclamation of horror came from the white-faced spectators on shore. His quick eye and alert brain proved equal to the emergency, however, and he jumped back and just escaped being crushed. A cheer sounded from the lads on the bank, and the “lumber-jack” turned and waved his appreciation.

“It’s ‘Shorty’ Brundage, the champion jam-breaker!” cried Ed.

They watched him in awed silence while he went on with his hazardous task. Dodging and climbing, he seemed to escape destruction by simply the luck for which he was noted. Above him towered the great mass of piled logs. Should it give way, he would be buried beneath an avalanche. On each side great logs shot past within reach of his arm. Below, the river caught and tugged at his legs in an effort to sweep him to destruction. Still he worked on, his one thought the breaking of the jam and the clearing of the stream.

Suddenly he slipped, lost his balance, and fell into the swirling, foam-tossed water. They saw him reappear, a long, red streak showing down the side of his pallid face. He made a desperate effort to climb upon the log from which he had fallen; but two floating timbers caught him between them, and with a despairing gesture “Shorty” collapsed. Half in the water, half across one of the logs, he was in peril of being crushed to a pulp by the massive logs which reared themselves from the water and crashed down on all sides of him.

For a moment the boys stood paralyzed with horror. Then they realized that they were standing there without an effort to save the unconscious man. There was one startled glance at the towering log pile, the raging, white-capped water, and the crashing logs. Then their gaze settled on the helpless red-shirted figure in deadly danger. Instantly they made their choice. With white, set faces the lads ran down the bank and along the edge of the racing water toward the jam.

Out along the top of a slippery log they crawled, one behind the other. They dared not stand erect, for fear of falling into the seething, log-studded pool beneath. The noise was terrific. In some places the raging torrent surged above their waists and threatened to sweep them from the log.

“Hold on with your legs!” shouted Ed.

Then a long, spear-like splinter was thrust at him like a lance. He dodged just in time, and the splinter flew over his back. Again and again the whirling logs nearly crushed their legs. But at last only two feet of open water intervened between them and the log on which lay the victim of the jam.

As they were hesitating, the butt of another log was driven into the space and for the moment wedged fast. In an instant Ed had thrown himself across it to the log that supported Brundage. Quickly he crawled to the prostrate figure, and, placing his hands beneath the powerful shoulders, he tried to pull the man from his perilous position. In an instant George reached his side. After much effort they managed, between them, to lift “Shorty” from the water and drag him some distance along the slippery log over which they had come.

No sooner had they removed him than two great logs were lifted by the water and sent crashing down upon the very log across which his unconscious form had lain.

Lifting, pulling, and tugging with all their strength, Ed and George managed, somehow, to crawl over the wet logs, dragging “Shorty” with them. They had many narrow escapes, but at last the bank was reached. Pulling their man up beyond the reach of the angry river, they dropped beside him, too exhausted to move.

Then Ben, who, as he was returning, had seen the whole daring rescue, rushed breathlessly down the bank and hugged both boys in his arms.

“You fellows are the real thing!” he cried to the blushing boys. “You’ve got sand, and you know when to use it. That was one of the pluckiest pieces of work I ever saw done.”

“What’s—the—matter?” asked Brundage, feebly, opening his eyes and staring about him in bewilderment.

“The matter is that the jam came powerful near getting you, ‘Shorty.’ It would have got you, too, only for these young fellows. They got to you, somehow, and, what’s more wonderful, they got back and brought you with them! That splintered log out there, the one with the three big ones lying across it, is the log you were on,” said Ben.

The “lumber-jack” passed his hand weakly across his forehead, blinked, and sat up. He beckoned the boys to come close; and when they had done so, he reached up and grasped their hands.

“Much—obliged—pardners,” he said.

They thrilled at the last word. It was the greatest compliment this big, brave man of the woods could have paid them—he had placed them on an equality of manhood with himself.

“What about the jam?” he queried, in a half-dazed manner. “Did you tell them to stop the ‘sticks’?”

“Yes,” Ben assured him, “and Crawford and a picked crew are on their way down. Here they come now.”

Down the middle of the river came the bateau filled with lumbermen. The big foreman was in the bow. Spying the trouble ahead, he bawled his orders to the stalwart oarsmen, and the boat was quickly beached beside the little canoe.

The crew at once leaped out and came running to attack the huge pile of obstructing logs. They were armed with peavey-poles, axes, and steel bars. The boys could hardly keep from cheering these heroes of the river as they rushed forward to grapple with the jam.

“What’s up? Did it get you, ‘Shorty’?” inquired the foreman, bending anxiously over the stricken river-man.

“Pretty nigh got me, Ned,” laughed “Shorty,” feebly. “Guess I’d have gone if it hadn’t been for these lads. They ran out there and got me.”

The lumbermen had gathered about their injured comrade, and as he spoke they turned to the boys. They slapped them affectionately on the back and praised them for their bravery. Then they gave three mighty cheers which roared and echoed up and down the river for a mile.

“Well, let’s sail into it!” yelled Crawford.

His crew went to work with a will, and Ed and George stood by, interested witnesses of the determined onslaught. They saw daring chances taken by reckless men, and several miraculous escapes. The foreman himself led in the perilous work. He it was who, when the pile of logs began to creak and give and totter, stood calmly below them until the last of his crew had jumped to safety. Then, as the jam crumbled and broke, he, too, leaped from under the crash and ran nimbly across the tops of plunging logs to shore.

When the obstacle had been overcome, Crawford despatched a man up the river to the telephone-box, with orders for the crew above to resume operations. It was important that no time should be lost in getting the logs through while the high water lasted. Much against his wishes, “Shorty” was ordered to camp, and a new man was left on watch at the dangerous turn of the river.

Assisted by the boys, Ben paddled the canoe upstream, following in the wake of the bateau. The men in the latter struck up a familiar river song, and the music came drifting back over the water.

“I should think they would be too tired to sing, after what they’ve just been through,” said George.

“They’ve forgotten about it long ago; it’s all part of the day’s work,” laughed Ben.

The boat soon drew away in advance of the canoe. When the occupants of the latter disembarked at the camp, the larger craft had already landed “Shorty” and disappeared up the river.

That night was a gala one in the bunk-house. The whole crew of “lumber-jacks,” having learned of the boys’ gallant rescue of Brundage, came into camp to do them honor. Men arrived from far down the river to have a “look at the youngsters” who had made good. The merrymaking was shared by all, and there was a general thanksgiving because “Shorty,” the best jam-breaker in the country, had been spared to his crew. Nor was Charley, the cook, to be outdone. When the fun had reached its height, he marched solemnly to the door of the bunk-house and, waving his arm toward the “grub-shanty,” invited them all over for a surprise party.

With loud cheers and whoops of approval, the noisy gathering sat down at the long table laden with good things which the cook and his assistants had prepared for the occasion. There were several rare treats; and when the feast was over, three rousing cheers were given for “the best cooks in the lumber country.”

Big-hearted Ned Crawford and his hospitable crew were for keeping their guests several days longer, but Ben explained that they must leave next day. Warmly seconded by the boys, he thanked the lumbermen for their hospitality and this glimpse of a new life.

Early next morning, when the canoe had been loaded and the departing guests were about to step into it, “Shorty” Brundage came forward and addressed them.

“I’m not much on speeches,” he laughed, nervously, as he grasped the hands of his rescuers; “but I want you fellows to know that I feel what you did for me. It sure was a white thing to do, and any time I can do anything for you, just call on me like a pardner. I reckon Ben can tell you what that means in this country.”

The lads thanked him, and tried to make light of their exploit. Then they took their places in the canoe, and Ben put away from shore. Charley and his little crew waved their aprons and beat a loud salute on tin pans, and the foreman and some of his men accompanied the departing guests in the bateau as far as the log pile. Here more rousing cheers were given the voyagers, until they rounded a turn of the river and disappeared.

“Well, you fellows have made a hit with that crowd. Your names will be known along this river for a good many years to come,” said Ben, proudly. “How did you enjoy it all, anyway?”

“Ben, I’ve had the time of my life!” declared Ed. “As for the ‘lumber-jacks,’ as you call them, I think they are the manliest, jolliest, best all-round lot of fellows I ever met. As ‘Shorty’ would say, they sure treated us white.”

“They did that,” chimed in George; “and I want to say I have enjoyed it all immensely.”

“Well, I feel some better about having taken you, now, than I did yesterday, when I was running along the river-bank while you were out there below the jam. I want to tell you that you had a mighty close shave, boys, and I’m powerful thankful it turned out as it did,” he added, soberly.

XXV
CALLED HOME

It was well toward the evening of the day following when they reached Ben’s cabin. The trip up the river had taken them the best part of two days. The canoemen were agreeably surprised to see Bill and Moze awaiting them at the landing.

“Helloa, you fellows! Where have you been?” asked the trapper, as they stepped ashore and grasped him warmly by the hand.

“Down at the lumber camp; I promised to take the boys there before they went home,” explained Ben.

Ed and George at once started a good-natured wrestling bout with old Moze, who seemed delighted at seeing them. Barking and whining, he jumped about, wagging his tail, until George declared he would lose it.

“When did you get here, Bill?” inquired the guide of his friend, after they had entered the cabin.

“Same morning you left, I reckon. When I saw you were away, I left a note and went on into the settlement. Got back late last night, and I figured I’d mosey around for a day or two and see if you came home. I brought out some mail for Westbrook and you fellows. There’s yours over on the table yonder. By the way, Ben, Westbrook said to tell you he expected to go in with his team and wagon the first part of next week. He said he’d come by here on the old wood-road, so if you wanted anything you could let him know.”

The boys quickly found the letters from home and began to read them. From their manner Ben knew that they had received news of some importance. When they had finished the letters they held a low-toned conference, and then turned toward the guide, who was watching them keenly.

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” he said.

“Nothing, except that we are ordered home,” answered Ed, endeavoring to force a smile.

“The deuce you say!” cried Ben, in dismay.

“Yes, I guess our time is up,” declared George, rather gloomily. “You see, our folks are going away in about two weeks, and, as we expect to enter college in the fall, they won’t see much of us for a while. Consequently they want us with them this summer.”

“Guess that’s only natural,” said Ben, quietly. “Say, it’s going to be some lonesome after you fellows pull out.”

For a time the little group of friends sat about in silence. While they were anxious and eager to see their parents, the boys nevertheless felt badly about leaving Ben, and Bill, and Moze, and the great peaceful forest they had learned to love.

“Well, say, there’s no need of everybody getting the ‘blues,’” laughed the guide. “I’ll hustle around and cook some supper, and then maybe we’ll all feel better.”

That night the boys sat up late, and Ben told Bill of their plucky adventure at the log-jam. It was decided that they should go to the station with Tom Westbrook and his team early the next week. Bill said he would wait over at the cabin to see them off.

It rained all the next day, and the boys busied themselves with packing their belongings. Not the least important were several trophies of the hunt, which they were taking home in proof of their prowess.

The following days were spent in the woods and on the lake with Ben and Bill. Rare golden days they were, filled with flowers and sunshine and song, for the long, dreamy days of early summer had arrived. The boys learned more of the songs and calls of the birds, and the names and uses of the many wild flowers which were constantly bursting into bloom in the woods about the cabin. They saw fishes guarding their gravelly nests of spawn at the bottom of the lake. They found the eggs of turtles at the end of long, tunnel-like excavations in sandy banks. The time sped rapidly, and at length the day for their departure was but a night away.

“Well, this is our last snooze on balsam tips,” said Ed, when they were finally in their bunk.

“Yes, and, do you know, sometimes it all seems like a dream. We certainly have been through a few experiences since we left the city. And let me tell you, Ed, each of them has done us good; I feel that we can take care of ourselves anywhere now,” replied George. “Say, we never found out who ‘The Old Man of the Woods’ is.”

“Well then, I’ll tell you now,” laughed Ben, who had overheard their conversation. “You met him right here the first night, when you worried about the flying squirrels. He has been with you ever since, until you know him well enough to call him by his right name, which is Experience.”

“And is that how you met him?” inquired the boys.

“That is how we must all meet him, if we expect to ever know him well. He’s a rough old fellow, and he don’t make friends easily. You’ve got to prove your worth before he accepts you. If you’re game, he’ll take care of you in great shape and tell you all he knows. But if you’re a quitter, he’ll soon drive you out of his country and make things so unpleasant you’ll never wish to return. Now you know him, and, furthermore, you can consider him your friend, because you’ve made good. Good night.”

“Thank you, Ben. Good night.” And they went to sleep, happy over the well-earned compliment.

They had just finished breakfast next morning when the loud barking of Moze announced the arrival of Westbrook with his team. A moment later the big woodsman stood in the doorway and greeted them.

“Have some breakfast,” urged Ben, hospitably.

“No, thanks; I had my breakfast before I started. Thought I’d just stop a minute to see if I could do anything for you in town.”

“You can take the boys and myself and this luggage, if you’re traveling in light,” said Ben.

“I sure will; but, say, now, it’s too bad you fellows have to pull up stakes so sudden like,” he said, turning to the lads. “This is the prettiest time of the year, too. Guess you’ve had quite a time of it, though, haven’t you?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Ed; “we’ve enjoyed ourselves very much.”

After Ben had insisted, Westbrook drank a cup of coffee. Then they proceeded to load the baggage into the same wagon that had conveyed it from the station almost eight months before.

“Different-looking boys from those that came out in the fall, eh, Ben?” laughed Westbrook, when everything was in and they were ready to climb aboard.

“Some browner,” said Ben.

Bill came forward to say good-by, and Ed and George grasped his hand affectionately. They thanked him for all the pleasure he had given them, and said they hoped some day to come out and see him again. Old Moze came wriggling toward them, and they stooped and petted him.

Then Westbrook spoke to his team, and the wagon bumped away over the long road. The boys waved their hats to Bill, who stood in the doorway, holding Moze by an ear to prevent him from following his departing friends.

At noon they halted, and Ben cooked a simple meal in the woods. This time the boys built the fire, and the two woodsmen declared it a proper one.

“Couldn’t have done that when you came in,” laughed Ben.

“We couldn’t do much of anything then,” replied Ed.

When they resumed their journey, the lads recalled many familiar spots along the way. They went safely over the very place where they had mired to the hubs before, and saw their own pile of rocks and the poles with which they had freed the wagon. They forded the stream which had come near capsizing the load. This time they had no trouble. They bounced and bumped over the rough “corduroy” bridges which had so excited their curiosity on the way to camp. Several times they flushed grouse from close beside the road, and as the birds rose with a roar of wings Ben looked at the lads and smiled, and George was reminded of his first fright in the woods. They started a deer from the edge of a swamp, and watched the nimble-footed creature go bounding along the road ahead of them. Thus the interesting ride continued, until late in the afternoon they drew up before the tiny log station.

The agent remembered them, and said they were lucky to reach there at that time, as an express was due to stop in thirty minutes. Had they missed it they would have been obliged to remain over until the next day. The boys quickly checked their baggage, and then came outside to await the arrival of the train.

“Ben, I’m sure we can never thank you half enough,” said Ed, with feeling.

“Don’t try,” laughed Ben; “I’ve enjoyed it as much as you have. The worst of it all is this breaking up of camp; a woodsman always hates it.” And as he turned to look up the track the boys thought they saw moisture in his kindly eyes. “Well, it hasn’t hurt you any,” he added, quickly recovering himself.

“I should say not,” said George. “I feel as if I could wrestle with a bear.”

“You almost did, once,” Ben chuckled.

“Here she comes. Stand back!” cried the agent, as the great whistling engine made its appearance around a curve.

The boys shook hands with Ben and Westbrook and then stood on the rear platform of the last car and waved their hats at the two broad-shouldered men left behind when the train pulled out for home.

Two days later they were met at the great city terminal by their fathers. Both Dr. Williams and Mr. Rand were surprised and delighted at the improvement in the boys. They took critical note of the firm, bronzed skin, the broadened shoulders and deepened chests, the direct, keen glance of the eyes, and, above all, the erect, confident carriage and free, swinging stride. The inspection ended in approval—Ben had molded well the raw material placed in his hands, and the result was a credit to him.

The experiment was a success; the theory was proven. The lads had returned with interest on the investment. They had gained not only in health and strength, but in much besides. They had a finer, clearer, broader view of life and the living. They had learned peace and beauty and quietness from God’s temple, the wilderness. They had gained strength from the pine-scented air, courage from exposure to hardship and peril, resourcefulness from dependence upon themselves, and a sound knowledge of sound truths from honest old Ben.

“By Jove, Doctor, your plan has worked out wonderfully,” declared Mr. Rand. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Why, look at George; he is fit for the freshman crew.” And the proud father was delighted at the prospect, for he, too, had worked from freshman to ’varsity oarsman in his college days.

“Well, you think it has done them as much good as your tutoring trip through Europe, do you?” laughed the Doctor.

“More!” declared Mr. Rand, enthusiastically. “In fact, I’m inclined to agree to that Western proposition of yours for next summer, now that I’ve seen the results of this trip.”

“What is that?” demanded the boys, aroused at the idea of a future trip to the wilds.

“Never mind,” laughed Dr. Williams, winking slyly; “we’ll give you a surprise when the time comes.”

Transcriber’s Note:

Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are mentioned.

Punctuation has been made consistent.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

A change has been made as follows:

p. 306: Illustration caption added to agree with the Table of Illustrations.

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Table of Contents

- CAMPING IN THE WINTER WOODS
- CONTENTS
- ILLUSTRATIONS
- I INTO THE WILDERNESS
- II A WILD RIDE
- III BEES AND WILDCATS
- IV A DEER HUNT
- V A FOREST FIRE
- VI AN INTERESTING AFTERNOON
- VII A VISIT TO THE BEAVERS
- VIII A BULL MOOSE AND A NARROW ESCAPE
- IX FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
- X WINTER SETTLES DOWN
- XI AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR
- XII LOST!
- XIII ON THE TRAP LINE WITH BILL
- XIV A LYNX MAKES TROUBLE
- XV BILL CAPTURES A PRIZE
- XVI A VISITOR
- XVII CHRISTMAS AT THE CABIN
- XVIII AN ENCOUNTER WITH WILD DOGS
- XIX AN INDIAN CAVE AND ITS OCCUPANTS
- XX A FIGHT ON THE ICE
- XXI SPRING AND ITS SPORTS
- XXII TREED!
- XXIII OFF TO THE LUMBER CAMP
- XXIV A DARING RESCUE
- XXV CALLED HOME
- Transcriber’s Note:
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE