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!”
[Illustration: “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.