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.
[Illustration: 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.