dark-colored animal with a low body about four feet long. It was making
its way leisurely across the frozen surface of the lake, and it walked
with a peculiar, waddling sort of gait.
They immediately started in pursuit, and the unknown creature broke
into an awkward gallop. The boys ran at top speed to overtake it; but,
since there were several inches of soft, slushy snow on the ice, they
were unable to gain much. They were greatly astounded when the animal
threw itself flat and apparently dove through the ice. On reaching the
spot, however, they saw that it had disappeared into an air-hole.
“He’ll have to come out again,” declared Ed. “You stay here, and I’ll
see if I can find any other opening where he might bob up.”
Then they saw the head of their quarry appear above the ice about two
hundred feet farther on. They waited until the wet, glistening body
emerged from the hole, when they again started in pursuit.
“Head him off before he gets to shore!” urged George, bounding
recklessly along in the uncertain footing.
The next instant he slid forward on his face into the mushy, watery
mass of melting snow which covered the ice. Soaked through, and almost
blinded by the water in his eyes, he rose and ran after Ed, who was
gaining somewhat on the animal in front.
Shorter and shorter grew the distance between pursuers and pursued. The
latter did not seem fitted for fast work over the ice, and Ed finally
came up with it. It turned on him threateningly and commenced to growl
fiercely. Being unarmed, he jumped quickly to one side and called a
timely warning to George.
“Be careful; he’s ugly!” cried Ed.
“What a funny-looking thing it is!” said George, suddenly halting.
Evidently satisfied that it had impressed the boys by its bold stand,
the animal once more turned and started toward the shore. Ed ran
forward instantly to intercept it, and this time it made a rush at him.
“Look out, there!” yelled George, running up behind it.
“It’s an otter!” declared Ed. “I’ve seen pictures of them, and I’ve
read about them, too. They’re mighty savage customers when they get
mad. Look out! He’s coming for you!”
Finding itself surrounded, the furious animal charged first one, then
the other of its pursuers. The boys, with nothing to defend themselves,
were obliged to retreat before each savage onslaught. When it had
driven them back a few feet, the otter, for such it was, immediately
turned and attempted to resume its flight. But each time it did so one
of the lads invariably managed to intercept it.
“Tell you what we’ll do,” said Ed; “you stay here and prevent him from
getting to shore, and I’ll run up and get the camera. We don’t wish to
kill him, and if he should escape from you it won’t matter much.”
“He can’t get away,” declared George, confidently.
“All right; keep him here till I come back.” And Ed went away at a run.
No sooner had he disappeared than the otter started for the woods.
George, yelling wildly and waving his arms, endeavored to head it off,
but the determined creature refused to swerve from its course. When he
jumped in its path it rushed angrily at his legs and drove him out of
the way. He was fast losing his wind, and the otter was rapidly nearing
the protection of the bushes at the edge of the ice. Once it gained
them, George knew it would be safe from pursuit. He had boasted to Ed
that the animal could not get away from him, and he determined to make
good the promise at any cost.
Then an idea flashed into his mind, and, reckless of all consequences,
he proceeded to act upon it. Holding his heavy cap in his hand, George
ran close up beside the fleeing animal; and when it turned to charge,
he threw himself fearlessly upon it. The weight of his body bore the
otter flat to the ice. Instantly it twisted its powerful body, and the
ugly seal-like head, with its open jaws and sharp teeth, darted forward
to seize its adversary.
George muzzled it with his cap, and then the desperate struggle began.
The active, sinewy creature twisted and turned about in an effort to
escape from the grip of the boy on its back. George, however, had
secured a wrestling hold, and was not to be easily shaken off. Now that
he had the jaws of the animal effectually muzzled, the lad entertained
little fear of severe injury.
The otter was using its peculiarly webbed feet to claw and scratch him;
but, as he had on heavy hunting-clothes, it could do little damage. It
was no easy task to hold his captive and at the same time keep the cap
drawn down over its head. George wished Ed would hurry back, for he was
becoming tired. Besides, he was soaked through from rolling around in
the slush.
Then he heard his friend calling to him; and, looking from the corner
of his eye, he saw Ed running madly across the ice. He soon drew near
and began shouting excitedly.
“Hang on, George; I wish to take a picture of you!” he cried, hastily
bringing forth the camera. “Hold him! Hold him!” he urged, as the otter
began a desperate struggle to regain its freedom.
“Say--what do you--think this is--a circus?” panted George,
indignantly, while he battled valiantly with the animal beneath him.
Ed made several exposures, and then, having brought a long pole with
him, ran forward to aid his friend.
“Let him go now,” he ordered.
“That’s easier said than done,” puffed George. “If I do, he’ll turn and
get me before I can jump out of the way.”
“No, he won’t. When you let go, I’ll keep him off with this pole.”
“Sounds--easy--but just look--what he’s--doing now!” gasped George, as
the otter renewed its struggles. “Look out! He’s--getting--away--”
Ed rushed forward with the pole and made several vicious jabs into the
side of the otter. It had gained its liberty, and turned savagely on
George, who was endeavoring to roll out of its reach.
“Jump up!” screamed Ed, when he had succeeded in drawing the animal’s
attention to himself. He might easily have killed it, but he did not
care to commit the wanton murder. In fact, the boys were much impressed
by the gameness of the otter and the splendid fight it had made against
them.
Once George had gained his feet, they halted the baffled creature, and
Ed took more snap-shots. Then they permitted it to travel, unmolested,
to the shore, and watched it disappear into the bushes.
Ed turned to survey his friend, and immediately broke into peals of
laughter.
“George, you are certainly a sight! Do hurry to the cabin and get some
dry clothes on,” he urged, anxiously. “Are you hurt?”
“Not a bit,” laughed George. “And say, Ed, didn’t I tell you he
wouldn’t get away from me?”
“You did, and you certainly made good. But let’s hurry--you must be
shivering.”
While George was changing to dry clothes Ed told Ben about the
thrilling experience. The guide listened quietly, a faint smile
flitting about the corners of his mouth.
Then, turning to George, he said: “I suppose you fellows will keep on
bumping into trouble till something comes along and takes a wallop out
of you.”
After dinner they sat in the cabin talking, and Ben suddenly asked:
“What about ‘Snow Ball’? I guess his time is up.”
The boys looked at the big white owl sitting motionless on his perch.
They had become quite fond of him, in spite of his unfriendly ways.
Several times his savage nature had asserted itself. Once he had caught
Ed’s thumb in his powerful beak and pinched it painfully. They held no
enmity against him for these offenses, however, and instantly agreed to
his release.
“Let’s take him outside so I can get his picture before we allow him to
go,” proposed Ed.
“All right; but remember this is your party, and I’m distinctly out of
it,” warned George, soberly.
Ben carried the owl outdoors and lifted it to a low branch of an
evergreen. Ed took several pictures of the handsome bird, whose white
plumage showed to splendid advantage against the dark background of the
tree.
When sufficient exposures had been made Ben removed the chain and gave
“Snow Ball” his freedom. Then they sat in the doorway to see what the
newly released prisoner would do. For some time he remained on his
perch, slowly turning his head and blinking his eyes. He appeared to be
pondering the unexpected situation in which he found himself.
“I guess he feels sorry to leave,” said George.
“He’ll go directly,” promised the guide. “He’s just trying to remember
the way home.”
At last some jays discovered him and at once began a furious uproar.
They flew to the branches near him, and scolded until they attracted
others of their kind. The owl watched them with warlike eyes and
snapped its beak threateningly.
“Poor old ‘Snow Ball,’ I’m afraid your troubles have commenced,” said
Ed.
The jays began darting at him and flying at his face. Finally, hissing
angrily, “Snow Ball” took wing and flapped silently away into the
forest.
“Good-by, old boy!” called Ed.
“And good luck!” added George.
Ben told them the owl would soon depart to its summer home in the far
north. But by falling into their hands it had fared better than it
might had it been obliged to provide for itself during the long, cold
weeks of winter.
A balmy south breeze set in late in the afternoon, and that night it
thawed. They heard the drip of melting snow from the eaves of the cabin
as they lay in their bunk.
“I’m glad it didn’t come off cold after we turned old ‘Snow Ball’ out,”
said George. “Although I don’t suppose it would have bothered him any
if it had.”
“No, I don’t believe so; but I’m glad it’s warmer for his first night
back in the woods.”
“Winter is killed,” declared Ben, next morning. “Thawed all night, and
it’s melting like blazes now. Of course, we may have some more cold
weather, and snow, too, but it won’t last.”
The boys found the snow soft and watery, and where it had been well
trodden down before the door it had disappeared entirely and left a
square of muddy-brown earth, the first they had seen for several months.
“Does spring come as early as this up here?” asked Ed.
“Not often,” said Ben; “and don’t make any mistake, son, we’re a long
ways from it yet. This is an early thaw, and means that most of the ice
and snow will go; but we’ll have many cold days yet before you hear the
blue-birds warble.”
A white, cloud-like vapor drifted through the woods and out over the
lake. Seeing it, the guide assured the boys that it was a real thaw. By
evening several of the big pines in the little clearing about the cabin
had bare patches of ground at their feet.
“This will break up the ‘yards’ and send the deer and moose out into
the woods,” said Ben.
Cold weather quickly came again, however, and for several weeks they
had winter in all its glory. Although there were snow-storms--and big
ones, too--the snow did not remain long on the ground. The days were
becoming longer and the sun higher, and at noon there was often the
suggestion of real spring in the soft, pine-laden air.
The boys were quite content to see the snow go, for they had learned
well their lessons written on it during the winter. Each mark across
its smooth, unruffled surface had been deciphered. The scrape of a
wind-blown reed, the scratch of a tumbling leaf, the indistinct tracing
of a fluttering wing, the careful tread of a stealthy foot, the wild
jump of a startled buck, all were noted and recognized by the trained
eyes of the young woodsmen. They had learned, too, to discriminate at a
glance between a fresh and an old trail.
Besides all this, they had mastered many other things of great value to
them. They had been taught the use of a compass, and also how to set
a course by the sun, moon, or stars. They had learned about traps and
trapping, and the methods of skinning and preparing pelts. They had
become thoroughly versed in hunting and the habits of the animals they
hunted. They were entirely familiar with the calls, noises, and sounds
of the wilderness, and knew the reason for each of them. They knew
the trees and the shrubs. They were able to select a suitable site
and make a proper camp. All these things, and more, they had learned
during the winter now almost gone. And, having learned them, they were
not sorry that it should go, for there were still other things to be
learned with the coming of spring.
XXI SPRING AND ITS SPORTS
“How’s this for a morning?” was Ben’s hearty greeting, some weeks later
when spring had finally arrived.
“Great!” shouted the boys, coming from the cabin for a few whiffs of
the balmy air.
It was indeed a glorious day, and they sat with the door of the cabin
wide open, that they might drink in the fragrance of the pines. The
snow had long since disappeared, and the lake, now free of its icy
fetters, flashed and glistened in the strengthening sunshine. A smoky
blue haze hovered over the woods, and the trees showed signs of
leafing. The tops of the soft maples were ablaze with masses of tiny
red blossoms; the fuzzy, fur-like buds of the “pussy-willows” were out;
and down in the damp places the purple blades of the “skunk cabbage”
were pushing their way upward through the moist soil.
The notes of the returned birds came floating in through the open
door--the soft, pleasing warble of the blue-birds, which Ben said
returned to him year after year; the rollicking song of the robin,
which usually built its muddy nest over one of the windows; and the
calls of mating crows which flew noisily along above the tree-tops.
“Guess we’ll tap the trees to-day,” said Ben, when breakfast was over.
“Sap ought to run now. What do you say?”
“Yes, let’s try it,” urged the boys, eagerly, anxious for a new
experience.
“All right; we’ll put up a bite and be off, for we have quite a
distance to go.”
The lunch was soon supplied and neatly packed. Provided with several
pails, an ax, and an auger, they set out for the distant hardwood
ridge, where, Ben said, they would find a little grove of sugar-maples.
It was far easier walking through the woods than it had been in the
winter. The guide was in jovial spirits, and constantly called the
attention of his companions to the many signs of awakening life about
them. At one sandy place beneath the pines he stopped and sniffed the
air suggestively.
“What is it?” asked Ed; for he and George detected a delicious
sweet-scented perfume mingled with that from the evergreens.
“Arbutus,” said Ben, dropping to his knee and pointing to small
clusters of delicate pink-and-white flowers, which showed forth from
a mass of green, rubber-like leaves. He pulled a few bunches of the
blossoms and handed them to the boys to smell.
“Um, that’s fine!” they declared, as they buried their noses in the
little bouquets and inhaled long breaths of exquisite perfume.
“What do you call it?” again inquired Ed, stooping and gathering more
of the dainty plant.
“Arbutus, or mayflower,” said Ben, placing a tiny bunch of them in the
band of his hat. “They’re my favorites.”
The guide told how this hardy little plant sometimes bloomed beneath
a foot or more of snow. He said all woodsmen were partial to it, and
eagerly looked for its flowers as the real harbingers of spring.
On all sides they beheld evidences of nature awakening from her long
winter sleep. Ben drew their attention to these things, and explained
just what was happening, and the reason for it. He showed them other
delicate blossoms brought forth by the warm sunshine, while the woods
themselves were bare; called to their notice the newly born or early
awakened insects buzzing about in the sunny places, and made known the
calls and names of feathered songsters returned from the South. They
became so interested that they were at the maple grove before they knew
it.
“Look over at that third tree to the right, on the upper side of the
first limb,” cautioned the guide, quietly.
The lads looked where he told them to, but for several seconds they
could discern nothing out of the ordinary. All that time Ben stood
watching them closely, the faintest trace of a smile on his face.
“I see it!” cried Ed, finally. “It’s a red squirrel, and he’s lying
flat along the top of the branch.”
“I see it, too,” said George, a moment later. “I must have seen it all
the time and thought it was a knot.”
“That’s better,” laughed the guide, pleased at the sharp eyesight of
the boys. “When you see him there it means that the sap is running.”
They looked at him in astonishment. What possible connection could the
presence of a lazy little red squirrel, sprawled indolently along the
limb, have to do with the rising of the sap in the tree?
“What do you mean?” asked George.
“Why, that little ‘sweet-tooth’ over there has gnawed a hole in the
upper side of the limb, and then stretched himself out to watch it fill
with sap. When it’s full he quickly sucks it out and waits patiently
till another cupful is ready. It’s an old trick of his, and you may be
sure, when you find him at it, that it’s time to tap the trees. Well,
let’s begin,” said the guide, as he pulled off his coat.
Ben took the auger and bored a hole into the trunk of a near-by
tree. He explained that he tapped the tree on the south side, as,
that being the warmer side, the sap would run more freely there. Ben
also explained that one must not bore too deep. He said he tapped a
tree once in two years. The tree he now tapped had not been touched
the season previous, and would not be again until the second season
following. Having bored the hole to the proper depth, he whittled and
inserted a grooved, trough-like plug, which protruded from the trunk
far enough to hold the pail, which was promptly hung upon it.
While Ben went to the next tree to repeat the operation the boys stood
before the one he had just tapped. They watched the sap ooze slowly
forward from the wound and trickle down the plug, to drip, drop by
drop, into the suspended bucket.
Ed, unable longer to resist the temptation, dipped his finger in the
sticky fluid and touched it to his tongue.
“No wonder the red squirrel likes it,” he laughed; whereupon George
also sampled some.
“Hey, you fellows, scat out of there!” yelled Ben, with pretended
fierceness.
At sound of his voice the squirrel abandoned its perch, and, mounting
to the top of the tree, proceeded to scold the intruders.
“Guess he thought I meant him,” laughed Ben, when the boys walked over
to where he had tapped another tree. “Well, how did you like it?”
“Fine,” they declared.
“Wait till we get it boiled down; then you’ll taste real maple-syrup.
We’ll make some sugar, too.”
When he had hung the last of his pails, Ben proceeded to make several
troughs from logs cut and split for the purpose. He placed them on the
ground beneath the spigots in the trees for which he had no buckets. By
the time he had finished tapping all of the trees selected, it was past
noon. Seating themselves in a sunny spot, the “sugarers” enjoyed their
lunch.
The smell of escaping sap soon enticed bees and early insects to the
vicinity. But the sticky sap clogged their wings, and the boys had much
sport freeing them from their predicament with twigs, and watching
while the confused little honey-gatherers cleaned themselves.
They were also much interested in a pair of big, black, pileated
woodpeckers, with large crests of scarlet feathers on top of their
heads. Ben said the woodsmen called them “Cock of the Woods,” and
declared they were becoming very scarce. The birds alighted against the
trunk of a tree, from which, after having carefully examined it, they
began to chisel great pieces with their powerful bills. The guide said
it was the way they excavated a cavity in which to lay their eggs.
Late in the afternoon Ben gathered the sap and, assisted by the boys,
carried it home to boil. It was placed in a big iron kettle and boiled
over a hardwood fire. Ed and George were kept busy stirring and
skimming, and, as the “sugaring” was continued for several days, their
job became a steady one. Ben taught them how to do the boiling, while
he tended the trees and brought in the sap. When the job was finished
they had a large quantity of golden syrup and many tempting cakes of
appetizing brown sugar to reward them for their labor.
[Illustration: GATHERING THE MAPLE-SUGAR SAP]
Then they awoke one morning to find the exact sort of a day they had
been wishing for. It was bright and warm, without the slightest trace
of a breeze to stir the placid, mirror-like surface of the lake. If
it continued so until darkness, the boys knew they would realize the
anticipation of weeks. On such a night Ben had promised to take them on
the lake to spear eels and suckers. He had carefully stipulated that
the night must be calm, otherwise the expedition would be useless. The
slightest rippling of the water would prevent them from seeing into it
along shore and discovering their finny prey.
“If it’s calm to-night, how about spearing?” asked Ed, hopefully, when
they were at dinner.
“I’ve just been thinking about that,” laughed Ben. “I guess we can go
to-night, from the way things look now. We’ll go out, presently, and
cut some pine knots. Then, if we don’t go, we’ll have them on hand for
the next time.”
“Hurrah!” cried Ed. “Now for some fun.”
When the table had been cleared and things tidied up after the meal,
Ben stood on a chair and reached aloft among the cross-logs near the
roof. He brought down two long poles, each of them tapered at one end
to fit into an iron socket which had four sharply pointed prongs, or
spear-points.
He placed the poles against the outside of the cabin, and, bidding
the boys fetch two sacks, strode away into the woods, ax in hand. He
searched until he found the kind of log he wanted. This chanced to be
a fallen pitch-pine. Making his way to it, Ben began chopping out the
knots.
“I’m taking the fat off,” he laughed.
The lads were at a loss to understand, until he explained that the oily
pitch, or resin, collected at the knots, and was known to woodsmen as
“fat.” He said it was highly inflammable, and was used for torches and
brilliant fires. Ben showed them how to distinguish a “fat” knot from a
dry or “lean” one, and pointed out the differences by which they might
know one variety of dead tree from another.
Ed and George gathered the knots and placed them in the bags. They
staggered gamely along under their loads, until Ben declared they had
sufficient knots for their purpose. Then they returned to the cabin,
and dropped their burdens thankfully before the door.
All day they anxiously scanned the sky, the trees, and the surface of
the water for signs of the dreaded breeze. When the sun finally set
and twilight fell, while still the bosom of the lake lay smooth and
unruffled, they began to feel easier.
At supper Ben gave them a dreadful fright when he suddenly ceased
eating and, with a look of disgust on his face, cried, “Hear the wind
howl!”
The boys rose and darted to the door; but, discovering the hoax, came
back to find the guide chuckling gleefully.
“It’s all right, you needn’t worry; there’ll be no wind to-night,” he
said; and, greatly relieved by the prophecy, the lads finished their
meal in peace.
When they were ready to start, Ben produced a large, open-work iron
basket welded to a long iron rod. He said it was to hold the burning
pine knots. The guide also carried a small can of kerosene with which
to start the fire.
Eagerly the boys followed him to the edge of the lake. To their
surprise, he pointed to a log raft on rollers a short distance from the
water. Ben declared it to be far safer than the canoe for the work in
hand. The boys helped him drag it to the edge of the lake and set it
afloat.
Then he fitted the rod with the iron basket, or cage, into a hole in
the front end of one of the logs. From the bushes he brought a long
push-pole shod on the end with a blunt iron point or “shoe.”
“My, the birds are making an awful racket to-night. I didn’t know they
called much after dark,” said Ed, when Ben was arranging the pine knots.
“I’ve been listening to them, too. What are they?” asked George.
Ben laughed softly to himself at the question. Then he turned soberly
to address his questioners.
“They are ‘peepers’--birds without feathers.
“Birds without feathers!” they repeated, incredulously.
“Yes, they live in the water most of the time,” laughed Ben, enjoying
the joke on the boys.
The night fairly rang with the shrill, bird-like peeps which seemed to
come from the borders of the lake. Ed and George listened, unable to
guess what made the piping sounds.