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.