Ben. “You’ll hear them in the daytime, too, for the next few weeks; and
if you sneak up carefully you can see them singing. They puff their
throats out into a round, white ball.”
“Do you really mean that?” asked Ed, seriously.
“Give you my word,” replied Ben.
“Well, that is something worth learning,” declared George. “Ed, we must
take a picture of one singing.”
“Wouldn’t it make a dandy?” cried Ed.
Ben had meantime arranged the pine knots to his satisfaction. Dashing
some kerosene over them, he applied a match. Instantly they flared up
and began blazing fiercely.
“All aboard!” he cried. “And mind you, don’t fall overboard.”
He had swung the head of the raft from shore, and was standing at the
stern end, pole in hand, ready to push off.
The boys found places quickly, one on either side of the iron rod which
supported the basket of blazing pine. The knots were hissing, snapping,
and sending forth a constant star-like shower of sparks.
Ben pushed from shore and poled slowly along in about three or four
feet of water. By aid of the glare from the flaming beacon above them
the young spearmen were enabled to see down through the placid depths
to the muddy bottom. They crouched, spear in hand, ready to impale the
first victim that showed itself.
When they were well under way Ben began to issue instructions.
“See anything yet?” he inquired.
“Nothing but some sticks and stones,” replied Ed.
“Wait a minute! There--goes--something!” And George made a wild jab
into the water.
“Hold on there; that won’t do!” said Ben. “You’ll break the pole or
throw yourself overboard. When you see something, lower the point of
your spear gradually till you get it two or three inches over your
fish. Then give a short, quick jab and you’ll get him.”
“I see an eel!” cried Ed, lowering his spear as Ben had directed. “I’ve
got him!” he declared, exultantly, and raised his spear and displayed a
three-foot eel wriggling on the tines. He was about to drop his prize
on the raft when the guide interrupted.
“Here, take this,” he said, and pushed forward the box on which he had
been sitting. “Put them in that; otherwise they’ll flop overboard. Now
take your knife and stick him behind the head. In the future, spear
them there, and you’ll kill them at once.”
George made another jab and brought up a good-sized sucker, which
he was careful to shake into the box. A few moments later he speared
an eel; but it was a large one, and he was unable to bring it to the
surface. Ed instantly went to his assistance, and between them they
managed to secure the prize. It was four feet or more in length and
about four inches in circumference.
“You fellows keep sharp watch ahead; I’m traveling pretty close to
shore. We don’t want to get hung up on a rock,” Ben warned.
“What’s that?” cried Ed, as an animal turned from the edge of the water
and crashed away through the woods.
“Deer,” said the guide, quietly.
Then the very thing he had warned them against happened. The forward
end of the raft ran on a submerged rock and stuck fast. The force of
the impact threw Ed over backward into the fish-box, and George within
an inch or two of the water. A veritable hail of sparks descended upon
them, and, warned by a cry from the guide, George discovered that the
wool lining of his hunting-coat was smoldering. Scrambling hastily to
his feet, he shed the garment in record time, and soon extinguished the
blaze.
It required much hard work to free the raft, and the boys worked
desperately, for they felt guilty in having allowed the accident to
happen. When they finally floated free and went ahead, they looked out
more keenly, determined to guard against a repetition of the mishap.
They heard many strange sounds as they floated quietly along, preceded
by the small circle of light from the roaring fire of snapping pine
knots. The deep, animal-like baying of bullfrogs sounded from the
center of the marshy swamp. Ducks were calling from the middle of the
lake. Drowsy birds fluttered uncertainly from the tree-tops along the
shore. Ben called their attention to the distant yapping of a fox. They
heard deer or moose several times.
“Look!” cried George, pointing excitedly toward the edge of the forest.
“What is it? Oh, see its eyes!”
“Quick, Ben, look at it--it’s moving!” said Ed, having caught sight of
the two shining spots of bright green fire.
The guide laughed.
“That’s ‘fox-fire,’ or phosphorus. An old decayed log, or stick,
becomes coated with it, and after a rain, or down where it’s damp,
glows like that. It scares ‘tenderfeet’ out of their wits,” he laughed.
“Some call it ‘will-o’-the-wisp,’ ’cause they imagine it moves along
through the woods. Fact is, just like now, you’re moving and watching
it at the same time, and, of course, you think it’s following you.”
“My, it’s ‘spooky’ looking,” said Ed.
The boys became so skilled in the use of their spears that they took
all the fish they could use in a very short time. Then Ben made them
stop, and allowed the pine knots to die down, until the dull glow gave
forth only a feeble light.
In returning to the starting-point he wisely sought deeper water, for
he was fearful of again running aground. He beached the raft, and the
boys carried the catch ashore, well pleased with their sport.
It was late when they reached the cabin, and Ben threw the fish into a
pan of water until the morning. As to the eels, the boys learned that
the strange creatures are born in the sea, and after they are a year
old run up the freshwater rivers and streams into the lakes, where they
remain during the summer. In the fall the eels leave these lakes and
retrace the journey to the sea, where they finally die.
XXII TREED!
The boys heard a grouse drumming in the woods back of the cabin one
morning, and decided to try the experiment of walking up to it. Taking
the camera, they waited until they heard the beginning of its tattoo,
and then started off in its direction. When it ceased they halted
abruptly and waited for a repetition. Then, as it again echoed through
the woods, they hurried on. These manœuvers were repeated until the
lads found themselves close upon the unsuspecting drummer.
“Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud; thud, thud, thud, thud-r-r-r-r,” the muffled
sound rose near at hand, reverberated in their ears, and died away.
“I think he just hopped down from that old log over there,”
said George, in a low whisper, as he and Ed lay behind a great
lichen-covered boulder.
Again the sound came to them, and, peering at the log, they saw the
drummer at work. Hopping to the top of the fallen tree-trunk, he stood
for a moment, with crest erect, looking about him. Then, spreading his
tail and dragging the tips of his wings along the log, he strutted
proudly to and fro. Stopping suddenly, he spread his wings and began
lustily beating the air. Beginning slowly, he moved his wings faster
and faster, raising himself on his toes in the effort, until the beats
became so rapid that the thud of each stroke was blended with the one
before, and a dull, continuous rumble, as of distant thunder, was the
result. When he finished he jumped down on the opposite side of the log
and disappeared from the sight of his charmed audience.
“Wasn’t that great?” whispered George. “We certainly walked him down,
all right, didn’t we?”
“Yes, but keep quiet; I’m going to try to get a picture,” declared Ed,
looking longingly toward the shelter of a small evergreen that stood
within a few feet of the log on which the grouse had drummed.
“You’ll never get there without his seeing or hearing you,” warned
George.
Further whisperings were cut short by the second appearance of the
bird on the log. Again the boys lay fascinated, as he went through
his interesting performance. When it was finished, they turned their
heads and looked at each other comprehendingly. From close by had come
a reply, a challenge to his boastful call.
It was evident that he heard and understood the answer of his rival.
For a moment he stood boldly erect, turning his head for some sign
of his enemy, his tail feathers spread fan-like, and his wings half
drooping. From time to time he raised and lowered the feathers on his
crown, and the stiff, ruff-like collar about his neck stood out with
anger. The boys fancied they could almost see the flash of his eyes
as he waited for the challenger to appear. Once more he sent his call
thundering through the woods, and again the answer came back, this time
closer at hand.
An indistinct, shadowy something roared past, and the watchers dodged
involuntarily. It landed with a thud among the dried leaves, and they
saw at once that it was a second grouse come to do battle with the
first.
“Oh, for a picture!” breathed Ed.
“Be still; we’re going to see something worth watching in a few
minutes,” cautioned George, in a scarcely audible whisper.
Nor were they long left in doubt about it, for the two feathered
rivals, after a little warlike strutting, attacked each other with
beak and spurs. Like barn-yard roosters, they jumped at one another,
striking and pecking, in a fast and furious battle for supremacy. The
sympathy of the boys was entirely with the one they had stalked. The
other had come looking for trouble. That he was getting it in generous
quantities seemed only proper to the partial audience behind the rock.
In their fighting, the determined little warriors drew nearer the
hiding-place of the boys. Ed quietly brought forth the camera and made
it ready, resolved to have a picture if they came within focusing range.
Suddenly something red flashed from a group of little pines. Before
the lads realized what had happened, a big red fox was disappearing
with one of the recent combatants in his jaws. The survivor thundered
away into the forest, chattering with fright. The birds had afforded
him easy prey, for, engaged as they were with each other, they had not
detected his stealthy approach until the sly red fellow was upon them.
“Well, what do you think of that?” asked George, sitting up with a
surprised look on his face.
“Beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Ed, folding the camera.
“Say, Ed, which one did he get?”
“The one that came looking for trouble, I think.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m sorry he got either, but I’m glad it was
the other that got away. He seemed so blamed happy and contented
drumming away on his old log that I’d just hate to think of anything
like that happening to him.”
“So would I,” said Ed, rising from the ground.
The boys walked away solemnly in the direction taken by the red
marauder. They stooped and picked up several mottled-brown feathers,
mute evidences of the tragedy just witnessed. For some distance they
made their way in silence, their minds occupied with the fate of the
luckless grouse.
Then they heard the hoarse bark of a fox and halted at once. They could
hear him trotting over the fallen leaves within a few feet of them.
Finally they saw him, and, strange enough, he did not seem inclined to
take advantage of the available shelter, but rather appeared to court
their attention.
“George, I think he has his eye on you for an extra course after the
grouse,” laughed Ed. “Let’s give him a chase, just for fun.”
“Hold on a moment,” cautioned George, seriously, while he studied the
unaccountable actions of the fox. “Do you know what I think is the
matter?”
“No; what?”
“Well, I’m quite sure that old fellow’s den is around here somewhere.
Don’t you remember what Ben told us about him? You know he said if you
suddenly came upon an old fox near its den and young, it would act
exactly like this one is acting. Remember how he said it would hover
near and endeavor to frighten you into leaving the vicinity, or else
would try to draw you into a chase, and so lead you away from the spot?”
“By ginger! you’re right, George. Great head! I had forgotten all about
it,” confessed Ed. “I believe that is just what this old ‘sly-boots’ is
trying to do. Let’s look around a bit, and we may find the den.”
Giving no thought to the fox, which was becoming bolder each minute,
they began to search about, in the hope of discovering his lair.
Several times, in its concern and excitement, the crafty creature ran
almost within reach of them.
“Wonder if he really would attack us?” said George.
“I don’t believe it,” replied Ed. “I think he’s just bluffing.”
Finally the fox uttered a few impatient yaps and trotted off. The boys
stood looking after it; but apparently the sly red fellow had lost all
interest in them. He disappeared over a hill, as though their presence
in the vicinity caused him little anxiety.
“Well, what about that?” inquired Ed, disgustedly. “I don’t believe
we are within a mile of his den. I guess he was just looking us over
to see if it was worth while carrying one of us home for dinner,” he
laughed.
“Don’t you fool yourself,” said George, confidently. “That’s only part
of his bluff. His den is right here, and I’m going to find it.”
They began their search all over again, carefully parting bushes,
peering under shelving ledges and into crevices between rocks--in fact,
any and every place where they thought it might be located. For a long
time they were unsuccessful, and they had about made up their minds to
abandon the hunt and return to the cabin.
Then George shouted; and, hurrying over to him, Ed saw the entrance to
the den. It was in the side of a sandy bank beneath a ridge of yellow
pines. About it were tracks, and near-by some signs. The searchers
felt sure this was the abode of the crafty animal which had tried by
every means in its power to lead them astray.
While they stood there another fox, smaller and paler than the first,
rushed from the entrance and dashed away into the woods.
“That’s the mate!” declared Ed, excitedly.
“Must be,” agreed George. “Now’s our chance to get the young ones,” he
added, kneeling down and placing his ear to the hole in the bank.
“Can you hear them?” Ed inquired, eagerly.
“Not a sound. I shouldn’t be surprised if the den is a long ways back
from the opening. Say, here are some grouse feathers.” And he held up
several which they believed had come from the bird whose taking-off
they had witnessed.
The boys hardly knew what to do. They did not wish to kill either the
old or the young foxes, although they recalled that Ben had declared
these animals destructive to game, and therefore a nuisance in the
woods. Still, they did not care to murder the sly old fellow and his
timid mate, for at that season the pelts were of little or no value,
and the destruction of the animals would seem entirely unwarranted.
However, they were anxious to possess one or more of the baby foxes.
Ben had often told them what admirable pets these little fellows grew
to be if taken very young.
At last they decided to dig out the den, take what pups they desired,
and leave the rest for the old foxes to remove to a new home, which,
according to the guide, they would be sure to do.
“You stay here to keep them from taking the little fellows out, and
I’ll go back to the cabin and get something to dig with,” said Ed,
hurrying away.
George sat down beside the entrance of the den. He expected one or both
of the foxes to return, and wondered what they would do when they found
him there. Then he began to think; and the more he thought, the less
enthusiasm he had for the undertaking in hand. Somehow it did not seem
right to destroy the home which represented so much hard labor on the
part of the old “red” and his mate. If they could get one of the young
ones without demolishing the den and leaving the others deserted and
homeless, he would have felt better about it. He believed that Ed would
feel much the same. George thought that by watching the den they might
find one of the youngsters playing before the entrance, when it might
be a simple matter to capture it.
Then his alert ears caught the sound of snapping twigs. He looked
toward the sound, and his heart gave a great bound of joy. It seemed
that his noble resolutions were about to be rewarded. There in plain
sight, and but a short way from the den, was a small, brown-furred
creature. In his eagerness George instantly mistook it for one of the
young foxes.
He dashed forward; but it turned at sight of him and ran into the
bushes, squealing lustily. George ran after it, but was unable to
overtake the little fugitive before it had concealed itself in the
dense cover. He searched around in the low undergrowth, and finally
frightened his supposed fox from its hiding-place and endeavored to
seize it with his hands.
Then there was a great crashing of brush behind him, and the lad was
almost startled out of his senses by a savage roar. His frightened
glance showed him the head and shoulders of a large black bear, which
was coming directly at him. In an instant the truth flashed across his
mind--it was one of her cubs he had been chasing.
Wheeling in panic, George sprinted toward a tree, and luckily gained
it several yards ahead of the bear. He lost little time “shinneying”
to a high branch, where, white and shaky, he sat looking down at the
infuriated animal below.
Fortunately, the tree was of small circumference, and after sniffing
about the trunk, the bear decided not to climb it. The lad watched her
anxiously as she gathered her cubs--there were two of them. Then his
heart sank, for she evidently intended to remain at the base of the
tree until he came down.
George sat on his dizzy perch and blamed himself for his stupidity in
mistaking a bear cub for a baby fox. Now that he saw it plainly, he was
unable to note any resemblance.
The old bear rose several times and placed her fore feet against the
tree. Each time she did this, poor George nervously meditated the
distance he would be obliged to drop to reach the ground before the
bear reached him. When she finally walked off and sat down some little
distance away, he felt greatly relieved.
Then a new thought came to him. What about Ed? He would soon return
from the cabin, and, unless warned, would walk right into the ugly
brute. As he saw the danger his impulsiveness had placed his friend
in, George grew sick at heart. If he could only hear him approaching,
perhaps he might be able to warn him before it was too late. What
worried him was the fear that Ed would draw near unheard. Anxious and
troubled, he sat aloft straining his ears to catch some sound that
would proclaim the return of his friend.
Suddenly the mother bear rose to her feet, and, growling angrily, stood
facing the direction from which Ed would come. George yelled as loudly
as he could, for he felt sure his friend was advancing to his doom. His
shout was immediately answered, and George groaned.
“Hey, Ed, look out--go back--there’s a bear waiting for you!” he
screamed, at the top of his voice.
Ed shouted something in reply, but George could not understand what he
said. He realized that his warning had been useless. Again he shouted,
and kept on shouting; but either Ed would not or could not understand.
He was quite close now, and George could hear him forcing his way
through the brush.
Then the savage roar echoed in George’s ears, and he saw the bear
charge.
“Run, Ed, run! She’s after you!” he cried.
For some moments a strange, uncanny silence followed the noise of the
bear crashing through the bushes.
“Are you all right? Answer me, Ed!” he implored.
“Yes--I’m--all right--so far,” came the labored reply, as if Ed had
been either badly frightened or completely “winded.” “I’m in--a
tree--about half-way up. Say, it looks like she is coming up after me!”
he yelled nervously.
“Go on up higher!” urged George.
“Can’t--I’m--stuck on this--blamed--stub!” was the alarming reply.
Then, after a pause: “All right, I’m free. I don’t believe she’ll come
up, after all.”
Peering out in the direction of the voice, George finally saw his
friend in the top of a tall tree. Ed saw him at the same instant, and
gingerly waved an arm. The trees were near enough together to prevent
either of the boys from sliding down and making off to the cabin
without being seen and attacked by the angry bear on guard between them.
“Watch out, she’s going back to you!” warned Ed, after they had been
treed for some time.
Back came the bear to the tree George was in, and, what was more, she
started to climb it. Beads of cold sweat came out on his forehead, as
the worried lad watched the great ungainly beast struggling upward
along the slender trunk. The weight of her body and the force of her
exertions swayed the tree so that George feared he would be shaken from
his perch.
There seemed but one thing to do when the bear should finally reach
him; and that was to hang suspended by his arms and work his way, hand
over hand, to the end of the limb. It would be a risky undertaking, for
the limb was none too strong. However, it was far less risky than a
drop to the ground, some thirty-odd feet below.
But suddenly, when the bear was half-way up, she halted, and then began
to descend to the ground, where her cubs were calling. Once down, she
drove her babies gently before her and disappeared into the woods.
For some time the boys were afraid to slide down for fear the bear
might be hiding and watching. At last they mustered up sufficient
courage to descend, and, gathering up the spade and other implements
which Ed had brought, they hurriedly left the spot.
“I didn’t care about digging out that den, anyway,” said Ed, when they
were well on their way. “It seemed like a nasty trick, when I began to
think it over.”
“That was exactly the way it struck me,” replied George, “and I
intended to speak to you about it when you came back.”
Then he told Ed about his blunder, and they laughed heartily.
That evening Ed explained the tear in his trousers by saying he had
been treed by a bear. When asked for particulars, he said George had
attempted to capture one of her cubs. He generously refrained from
stating that his friend had mistaken it for a young fox.
“Well, I guess if I want to get you fellows to the lumber camp alive,
I’d better start soon,” laughed the guide. “Maybe we’ll go to-morrow;
I’ve got some business to attend to over there, anyhow.”
The boys were overjoyed, for this was the trip they had been looking
forward to for months. They plied Ben with all sorts of questions
regarding the life of such a place. He told them enough stories to
raise their anticipations, and then ordered them to pack the things
they wished to take, for, as usual, they would be away by daybreak.
It seemed useless for the lads to close their eyes that night. Sleep
was impossible while their minds were filled with the details of
log-drives, and jams, and birling contests, and all the things
incidental to life in a lumber camp. Accordingly, restless and
impatient, they tossed about in their blankets, waiting for daylight
and the time to be off.
XXIII OFF TO THE LUMBER CAMP
To reach the river which would take them thirty miles on its racing
waters to the lumber camp on its shore, the three voyagers were obliged
to traverse the length of the lake, portage through the woods to the
splendid sheet of water from which they had gone to the beaver-dam, and
paddle the entire length of this large lake, whence they must take to
land and carry to the river.
The morning was well advanced when Ben set the canoe down on the
river-bank and wiped the moisture from his forehead.
“Very warm, isn’t it?” said Ed, slipping his pack and dropping down to
rest in the shade.
“You bet!” declared George, as he did likewise.
Ben stood with his back to them, and seemed to be thinking about
something. He gazed intently at the yellow water gliding swiftly along
beneath him. He noted the effect along shore of the “going out” of the
ice with the recent flood.
Great trees had been gashed and splintered by the resistless rush of
huge, grinding cakes borne along and piled one upon the other by the
raging, snow-fed river. Others had been uprooted and carried down with
the flood, or piled in a tangled jam along the shore. In some places
the steep banks themselves had been undermined, until large portions
had crumbled and fallen into the water, taking trees and rocks with
them. It was the annual toll of the river, exacted and collected by its
freshet-swollen waters each spring.
“She’s still quite high. Guess we’ll go some when we hit the rapids,”
he laughed.
“Are we really going through the rapids?” inquired George, eagerly.
“Yes, we have two sets to run,” Ben replied.