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.