Badger and Shirley were carried from under the rock, but when it came to
lifting them on the horses it was found that they were too much injured
to ride.
"Thar ain't no use in my tryin' it," groaned Badger. "I can't sit in the
saddle."
"Then what's to be did?" asked the landlord.
"Hide me away, and when daylight comes send some of the boys after me
with a stretcher."
"That'd never do," protested the landlord.
"Why not?"
"Coz, if you was to git back to the Gulch at this time all the chances
is they'd make you stretch hemp. Fact is, ole feller, you and Shirley
here has played your last keerds, and I'm downright sorry to say the
game has gone agin you in a most surprisin' bad way."
"Don't leave me!" whined Shirley. "Take care of me and I'll pay you your
own price."
"Oh, that's all right," said the landlord, who, with his companion, had
placed the two men side by side on their saddle blankets and left with
them two canteens. "But the barkin' of that dog comes nearer and nearer,
and I don't like it. Keep a stiff upper lip and I'll send out and see
how you are after sun-up."
With this promise the landlord and his companion, with an eye single to
their own safety, mounted their horses and rode away.
The barking of the dog, coming from the west, was also heard by Sam and
his friends.
"I tink dlat no dogee. Dlat a wolf," said Wah Shin.
"Wolf!" repeated Ike with fine scorn. "That's no wolf. Heah him! Jist
lissen, Mistah Sam! Ain't dat music, an' can't yeh make it out?"
"I hear it, Ike," said Sam, "and the animal is evidently running fast
and coming this way."
"It's Maj! It's deah ole Maj!" shouted Ike, and in his excitement he
dashed against the wall, and with a roar like Niagara the rocks went
thundering down the trail.
Sam heard the two horsemen galloping away, but as he could not tell
whether they were retreating or going after reinforcements he determined
not to abate his vigilance so long as there was a sign of danger.
Again he heard something clambering up the rocks, and he was on the
point of firing, when a short, joyous bark rang out, and the next
instant Maj was in their midst.
The faithful creature was nearly exhausted by his long run, for he had
escaped from the Apaches, but he had strength enough left to show his
joy at the meeting.
He leaped at Sam, and after licking his face and hands he turned and,
with commendable impartiality, bestowed the same attention on the
others.
Ike actually cried for joy, and he made an effort to take the dog in his
arms, but when the first greetings were over Maj, half dead with hunger
and thirst, discovered that there was water near by, and without any
thought of the propriety of his conduct he plunged in and lapped till
his parched skin was full.
"Oh, if Ulna was only heah now," cried Ike, "we'd be all togedder agin
an' as happy as a--as a darkey in ripe watah millyon time!"
Sam was confident that Ulna had reached Hurley's Gulch, and this thought
gave him so much comfort that he did not wonder why his friend had not
come to his relief, for he well knew that the Indian youth would do
everything that lay in his power, and he was right in this surmise.
The coming of Ulna had not only saved the lives of two men, but it had
also caused a revolution in the minds of a majority of the people living
at Hurley's Gulch.
To be sure, there were some who did not believe the Indian youth, and
who were satisfied in their own minds that Mr. Willett and Hank Tims
should be hanged, and that they would be, sooner or later; but these
fellows found themselves in the minority and only whispered their
belief.
Mr. Willett and Hank Tims were still under guard, for the promised proof
of their innocence was not at hand; but Si Brill and Collins, now the
most prominent men in the camp, felt that the end they hoped for was
very near.
Ulna, after being refreshed with food, kept his eyes open, and he was
the first to discover that Badger, Shirley and the others had left
Hurley's Gulch.
He at once sought out Collins and said to him:
"I saw the four men ride away."
"But men are ridin' away and a-ridin' in all the time," said Collins,
who not being at all suspicious saw no harm in the act.
"True, Collins; but I am sure these men mean harm to Sam Willett."
"Nonsense."
"It is the truth."
"But you left Sam in the hands of them onary 'Paches, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Then how can Badger get at him?"
"The Apaches say they are not at war with the whites----"
"I don't take no stock in them or their sayin's," said Collins.
"But they are at peace, else they would have killed Sam at once. As it
is they will either rob him and turn him loose, or else hold him for a
reward."
"Well?" said Collins reflectively.
"And if Badger and his gang meet the Apaches and pay the reward, then
they will have Sam Willett in their power----"
"Hold!" cried Collins. "I see it all! Once in their power they will kill
the boy and get the receipt Tom Edwards gave when he was paid for the
mine. Then the dogs can come back here and defy us. We must move to the
rescue, Ulna! We must move at once!"
Accompanied by Ulna, Collins went to Si Brill and others of his friends,
and after warning them to say nothing to Mr. Willett, he told them of
his fears for Sam and urged the necessity of getting out a rescuing
party at once, which he was ready to lead "if no one else didn't offer."
At this time there were not many horses in camp, and unfortunately
nearly all were owned by the men who had been so bitter against Mr.
Willett.
It was after midnight when Collins succeeded in getting three horses and
a mule; they belonged to Mr. Willett and this limited the rescuing party
to four, one of whom was Ulna, who went along as a guide, though all
knew he could be depended on if there were serious work on hand.
About two hours before day they came face to face with the landlord and
his companion.
"Where have you fellers been?" demanded Tom Collins.
"I don't know that it's any of your business," was the landlord's reply,
"but I don't mind sayin' that we went out to see if thar was any Injuns
in sight. For one, I didn't take any stock in that young Ute's story."
"Wa'al," said Collins, "there's plenty of better men than you--and I'm
one of 'em, that do believe the Ute. Now what have you done with Badger
and Shirley?"
"They left us 'bout dark; if you want them you must hunt 'em for
yourself. I ain't no one's dog," growled the landlord.
"The man that had you for his dog might count on bein' bit, but I reckon
we ken find out all we want without yer help. Go back to the Gulch and
pack yer traps, for it's my 'pinion it'll be very hot there in a day or
two for dogs of your breed," said Collins as he shook his bridle and
rode on.
Meantime Sam, ignorant of the doings of friends and foe, kept watch on
the summit of the rock.
He was completely "played out," and it was only by a strong effort of
will and a constant change of position that he kept from sinking down
and going to sleep like his companions.
As soon as the gray dawn began to make distant objects visible Sam awoke
Ike and Wah Shin.
Sleep had only brought a temporary cessation from the pangs of hunger,
but the brave fellows made no complaint.
Ike, always on the lookout, was the first to discover horsemen in the
distance, coming from the direction of Hurley's Gulch.
"It 'peahs to me powahful like's ef Ulna is one ob dem yar men," said
Ike.
He was not mistaken.
On came the riders at a gallop.
In the advance rode Ulna.
As soon as they caught sight of Sam they waved their hats and sent up a
thrilling cheer.
[Illustration: _Sam and Ike discover the horsemen coming to their
rescue._]
Even the horses caught the spirit of their riders, and plunged into a
faster gallop, till they came to a halt under the towering rock which
Sam had defended so gallantly.
CHAPTER XXVII.--SAM'S DEVOTION IS REWARDED.
"Hello!" shouted Collins, as he and his companions dismounted and looked
up at the three famished people on the rock. "How did you three gents
and the dog git up thar?"
It was evident from this question that Collins was not acquainted with
the rock.
"On the other side," said Sam.
"All right; we'll find the way and come up."
"Better save the trouble," said Sam. "We'll come down, and glad we are
of the chance."
"Glad!" cried Ike; "dat word don't nigh begin foh to 'spress dis yar
chile's feelin's. I'ze full, chuck full ob downright bliss, I is. Come
along, Maj and Wah, foh it does seem powahful like's ef de trouble had
jest 'bout come to an ind."
Down over the ruin of the wall they clambered, and at the foot stood
Ulna--the faithful.
The Indian may be a stoic under suffering, but there are no people in
the world so ready to give expression to joy, nor so demonstrative where
the better impulses of the heart are called out.
"Sam! Sam! My friend, thank God you are safe!" cried Ulna, and his eyes
looked larger and blacker for their tears as he caught his friend to his
breast and kissed him first on one cheek and then on the other.
Ike and Wah Shin shook hands with every one again and again, and then
they jointly performed a joy-dance, in which the dog joined, to the
music of his own glad barking.
"Looks like's ef you'd been corralled up thar," said Collins, looking up
at the defense and down at the red stains on the stones at the bottom.
"We have that," replied Sam, and then briefly and with characteristic
modesty, he told of the fight of the night before.
"And the paper," said Collins; "the receipt Tom Edwards said he didn't
give yer father?"
"I've got it here," said Sam, pointing to the saddle-bags slung over his
shoulder.
"Wa'al, I felt most sure it'd turn up. But what became of Badger and
Shirley?"
"I think they were hurt, but I hope not badly," said Sam.
"Some one's hurt, and purty bad, too," said one of Collins' men.
"How do you know that, Jack?"
"Jest look over thar, Collins," said the man, pointing to a wall some
distance off, at the side of which two men appeared to be sleeping.
On the instant all went over, and they discovered Shirley and Badger.
The former was dead, but an examination showed that he had received no
wound that would account for his demise.
"No, boys," groaned Badger, "he wasn't hurt much at all, but I was the
feller that suffered."
"Then how did Shirley come to die?" asked Collins.
"Die! Coz, he was a coward."
"What do you mean, Badger?"
"He said the game was up, so he took poison to finish hisself."
"Poison!" exclaimed all.
"Yes, poison. He wanted me to take some, too, but I'd rather hang. Look
round and you'll find the thing that held it."
The searchers did not have far to look, for clasped in the dead man's
right hand they found a small vial with a death's head and cross-bones
on the label, which contained the legend, in red letters, "Sulph.
Morphia."
"Badger."
"Yes, Collins."
"What brought you fellows out here?"
"Can't you guess?"
"I can, but I'd rather you'd tell me."
"And you won't think no harder of me for it."
"Badger," replied Collins, "I can't think of anything you could
do--unless you chanced to be decent--that would make me think any
different of you than I do now."
"Wa'al, I reckon I ain't got long to live, so I'll tell the downright
truth for once----"
"What is it?"
"Shirley, Jake and another feller came out with me to do for young
Willett, but we didn't connect. Thar, that's all I'll say at present,"
and Badger closed his eyes and looked to be as dead as the man lying by
his side.
"Men that starts out to make the life-path hard for other folks," said
Collins, with much feeling in his voice, "generally fetches up with a
short turn themselves, and falls into the pit dug for others. Now, boys,
what's best to be did next?"
"Thar's nothin' to be did," said the man who had spoken before, "but to
sarch the body and then bury it. This is as good a place as back at the
Gulch. When we've did that we'll tote Badger 'long with us and let him
tell his story."
As this advice seemed good, it was acted on at once.
After taking from the pockets such valuables and papers as might cast
light on his own life, or be sent to his friends, the men scraped out a
grave with their knives, and in it they laid the body of the man who had
ruined himself in trying "to make the life-path hard for other folks."
When preparations were being made for the return to Hurley's Gulch,
Badger--who evidently thought he was to be left there--lost all the
coarse spirit that once characterized him, and he whined:
"Oh, don't leave me out here to the wolves, boys. Take me to the Gulch
with you and I'll confess all."
"We'll tote you back, never fear," said Collins. "We ain't the kind of
men that like to see sufferin', even if it's deserved."
The horses of Shirley and Badger were found near by. One of these was
given to Sam, who said he would carry Wah Shin behind him if some one
else would carry Ike.
Ulna, who rode a mule and was the lightest one of the party, gladly
consented to ride double with Ike. This being arranged, the next
question was the conveyance of the wounded Badger.
He was given stimulants from his own canteen, and then lifted into his
own saddle. With a strong man on either side to keep him from falling,
the party started back to Hurley's Gulch.
Within two hours they were at their destination, but long before they
reached there they were seen and recognized by those who had been kindly
disposed to Mr. Willett, and an extemporized committee came out to meet
them.
"The paper! The paper! Have you got Tom Edwards' receipt?" was the
salutation that greeted Sam, as dozens of sturdy men gathered round and
shook his hand.
He had prepared for this by taking the water-stained paper from the
saddle-bags, to which he had clung through all his privations.
"Here it is!" cried Sam, holding the receipt aloft. "Here it is, and I
will intrust it to Mr. Collins while I go to my father."
A rousing cheer went up from the men, and that cheer was heard in the
dugout by Mr. Willett and Hank Tims, and reading its meaning aright,
they raised their tearful eyes and thanked God.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.--THE LAST, BUT NOT THE LEAST IMPORTANT.
Si Brill heard the shouting, and leaving his friends--the prisoners--to
care for themselves he fairly flew out of the ravine.
He saw his "pard" holding the paper aloft and he understood all. The
glow of a well-earned victory came to his bronzed face, and he sent up a
cheer that started all the echoes in the gulch into life.
"All is lovely, Si!" shouted Collins. "We got the receipt, and the boy's
safe. Don't wait a second but take him to his father at once. His heart
is jist a hungerin' to hold young Sam next to it."
"You're right every time, old pard!" shouted Si Brill.
Sam ran to him and he was on the point of asking where his father was,
when Si caught him in his arms and gave him such a hug as would have
crushed one of weaker frame.
He would have carried Sam in triumph on his broad shoulders, had that
young gentleman consented. As it was he took his hand, and raising his
hat in the other, he ran down the gulch, cheering all the while as if
the sound were essential to his progress.
Mr. Willett stood in the door of the dugout. He saw Si accompanied by a
tall, slender youth. No need to tell him who it was.
With the cry, "My boy! Oh, thank Heaven for my boy," Mr. Willett ran out
and father and son were clasped in each other's arms, and their kisses
and their tears mingled.
"See h'ar, Mr. Willett," called out Hank Tims, who had followed up his
friend, "when you've got through a huggin' young Sam, jist turn him over
to me and let me have a chance to express my sentiments on this
occasion."
At sound of the dear old hunter's voice, Sam turned to him with extended
hands and cried out:
"Hank, old friend, I've been through the great canyon."
"Well!" laughed Hank, as he shook Sam's hands, and patted his back by
turns, "you look as if you'd been dragged through a narrer knot hole,
but yer eyes are as bright as ever and you'll soon git flesh on yer
bones, but through the Gerrait Canyon! oh, come, Sam, don't try to fool
me so soon after we've been parted for so long----"
"But didn't Ulna tell you?"
"So he did, Sam, but I thought mebbe his mind was affected. But never
mind, we'll have lots of time to talk over our adventures when we git
back to Gold Cave Camp. Well, well, I never did think, leastwise not
lately, that I'd ever live to see so happy a day as this," and Hank
turned his attention to Ike and Wah Shin, who had come upon the scene,
nor was the dog forgotten in the warm welcome given to all.
"I tell you, Mistah Willett," said Ike, as he held his old employer's
hand, "I'ze got enough to talk about till the day I die, even if I was
to live for a thousand years."
"Which I hope you may, Ike. But what is that noise up the hill?" asked
Mr. Willett, his attention attracted by the prolonged cheering in that
direction.
They had not long to wonder, for soon Collins came dashing down the
hill, his eyes glowing and a flush of triumph on his manly face.
"What's up, pard?" asked Si Brill.
"They've got at the truth!" shouted Collins.
"What truth?"
"The truth about the murder."
"Then you showed them the receipt?" said Mr. Willett, again taking Sam's
hand.
"Yes; I did all that, and even then some of 'em wanted to doubt; but
something has happened to settle 'em."
"What's that?" asked Hank.
"The landlord has lit out----"
"Oh!"
"But that's not all," continued Collins. "Badger is dead----"
"Dead!" echoed all.
"Yes, dead; but just before he pegged out he confessed that it was him
killed Tom Edwards----"
"I was right in my belief," said Mr. Willett solemnly.
"Yes," continued Collins, "and now every man in the camp, even those
that was the bitterest, are jest achin' to see you, and to congratulate
you, and to ax yer parding; so let's go up. Thar's no danger to you nor
your's in Hurley's Gulch now," and there was a ring of pride in the
brave fellow's voice.
The Gold Cave campers, happier than we can describe over their reunion,
followed Collins from the dugout to the canvas settlement on the bluff.
As soon as the assembled miners caught sight of them they sent up such a
glad shout as was never heard before nor since on the banks of that
particular gulch.
At heart the great mass of men are right, and they mean to do right.
Among these miners there seemed to be a general disposition to make
amends as speedily as possible for their past errors.
Not satisfied with cheering and shouting their congratulations, they
rushed in by twos and fours, and beginning with Mr. Willett, they lifted
all the Gold Cave campers--not neglecting Ike and Wah Shin--to their
shoulders, and then marched in triumphal procession to the scene of the
trial at the hotel.
The flight of the proprietor did not seem to make any difference, for
there was plenty of food and cooks to prepare the banquet.
Ike went at once to the place where Wah Shin was helping to get dinner.
"I'll kind o' fill up a little, Wah," said Ike, as he laid siege to a
big loaf of bread and a correspondingly large piece of cold meat, "for
it'll take me jist 'bout a year's steady feedin' to catch up. You can
bet that I'll never be sorry again that I didn't eat moah w'en I had a
good chance."
Maj seemed to be of the same opinion, for he did not leave Ike's side
for hours, and when he was next seen in public, he was truly aldermanic
in his girth and evidently on good terms with himself and the world.
After a hearty dinner, which no one enjoyed more than Sam, speeches in
praise of "the young canyoneers" as they were called, were made, and
resolutions expressing unbounded confidence in Mr. Willett and Hank Tims
were passed.
And so ended the happiest day Hurley's Gulch had ever seen, or ever saw
again.
The next day our friends returned to Gold Cave Camp, but before starting
off, Mr. Willett purchased the articles Sam had promised to send to the
Indians, and Si Brill and Collins pledged themselves to deliver them.
Here our story ends, yet it may not be amiss to add a few words
explanatory of the future of the characters in whom we have been so much
interested.
Mr. Willett made a good deal of money out of the Gold Cave Camp
property, but the danger from floods led him after a time to sell it at
a sacrifice.
Years have passed since these adventures came to a close. To-day
"Willett & Son" are among the richest and most honored miners and
bankers in the Far West.
Their porter in the bank is our old friend, Ike; indeed so great is his
interest in the establishment and so highly does he think of his
position that he is very positive it could not go on for a day without
him.
He always speaks of the firm as "we."
"We's doin' fine," is a frequent expression of his, though nothing
delights him so much as to tell of his adventures in the Great Canyon. He
sneers at all other human exploits as things of no account compared with
the events in which he played so prominent a part.
Mr. Willett's cook is the faithful Wah Shin. "Wah really runs the
house," Sam says, but he always adds, "and it could not be run better.
Wah is a standing proof that the Mongolian has a bright mind and a
generous heart--that is if you get one of the right kind and treat him
right."
Strange though it may seem, Ulna, as Mr. Willett's protege, came east
and studied medicine, and his skill and judgment are making him famous
in the West. We need not add that there is one house in Denver where
"Doctor Ulna" is always a welcome and an honored guest.
"Collins, Brill & Tims" is the firm name of one of the most prosperous
"concerns" in Colorado.
It is not necessary for us to speak separately of the members in order
to have them recognized, though it may not be amiss to say that they are
all married men, and are among the largest depositors in the bank of
Willett & Son.
They make the banker's house their home when in Denver, and although
Hurley's Gulch has been long since abandoned, and the wolf unfrightened
howls over its site, they love to talk over the stirring days when a
son's devotion proved itself more powerful than Lynch law and vigilance
committees.
LOST.
In the summer of 1864 Paul Seeton went to spend his holidays with his
cousin, Frank More.
Frank lived in the northern part of Maine, on the outskirts of a vast
forest. Paul was a Boston boy, who had scarcely ever been out of the
city in his life.
It was in Aroostook county, a place famous for growing the biggest
timber in the northern states, a place known to lumbermen and loved by
them; with few inhabitants except those who are engaged in the timber
trade; with no villages and no roads.
One day Frank proposed a fishing excursion. Their destination was about
fifteen miles away, on a chain of lakes that extended far into the
forest.
They set out at break of day, rode on horseback over a rough road for
about two hours, and at length reached the shore of a lake.
Here they hired a boat from a man who lived in a log house, and
embarking, sailed for five or six miles to a place where the lake
narrowed. Here taking down their sail they rowed for some distance
through a channel so narrow that the branches of the lofty pines on
either side almost met. It took a good hour to pass through this, when
suddenly they emerged from it and found themselves on a second lake,
three or four times as large as the first.
Up went the sail again, and away they went over the second lake for
about ten miles. All around grew the primeval forest, dense, dark and
luxuriant. But Frank had been here before, and the scene was quite
familiar.
The boat went swiftly onward, and at last approached the farthest
extremity of the lake. Here a small peninsula jutted forth from the
forest into the lake, which was cleared and under cultivation. Upon it
arose a log hut, from the rude chimney of which smoke was curling
upward.
It belonged to a man named Spence, who cultivated the ground in summer
and in winter went lumbering in the woods. He lived there all alone, and
apart from his solitude was very comfortable.
The boat grounded on the beach in front of Spence's hut, and the boys
went up to the house. They found Spence himself at home, cooking his
dinner.
The boys did not stay long. After asking a few questions as to the best
fishing holes, they took to the boat again, and following Spence's
directions, rowed toward a small creek which penetrated among the hills,
and passing up this, at length came to a small basin enclosed by high
wooded shores. Here they began to fish.
Although they waited patiently, they found, to their great
disappointment, that the fish would not come. At length Paul felt a
bite; he pulled up his line in a fever of agitation, and with a glow of
triumph jerked into the boat a tiny fish about four inches long. But
Paul's triumph was not at all shared by Frank.
"Pooh!" said he, "it's only a miserable perch."
"A perch?" said Paul. "Isn't it a good fish?"
"Good? Why, these lakes are crammed with them. It's trout we want, not
these." And as Frank said this he jerked his own line with some
complacency. Soon something bit his bait. He jerked it out and found, to
his disgust, another perch.
At length Frank said that he was going up the woods a little distance,
to a lake which was about a mile off, connected with this by a brook. He
could follow the windings of the brook and easily get there.
Paul, however, thought he would stay where he was, for the woods looked
very rough, and he enjoyed being in a boat, even if he didn't catch
anything.
So Frank started off, promising to be back within an hour.
Paul continued his fishing. He moved the boat to the opposite shore. No
bites came--that is, none came to the bait, but he soon became aware of
other bites, which he did not expect. These were produced by swarms of
mosquitoes, which gathered so thickly that at last Paul had to pull in
his line and give himself to self-defense. He shifted the position of
the boat a dozen times, but his persecutors followed him. At last he
could stand it no longer, and concluded to go after Frank.
Nearly an hour had passed, and it was about time for Frank to return. It
was Paul's intention to stroll along the brook, and he would be certain
either to meet Frank in his return, or else he would find him at the
lake to which he had gone.
It was very swampy, and Paul sank in up to his knees for some distance,
but at length reached rising ground. The brook was only a small one, and
was bordered by such dense underbrush that Paul found it impossible to
follow it. In fact, a much better path appeared.
This was a rough track, overgrown with moss and ferns, which was used by
the lumbermen in winter. It went up from the lake apparently in the same
direction as the brook.
So he walked along this path, forcing his way through alder bushes and
tangled ferns, until at last he came to a stop in front of a wide and
impassable marsh.
The lumber path in winter ran across this, but now it could not be
traversed. So Paul tried to go around it. But after completing about
half the circuit, he reached a swampy place which he could not cross.
He now retraced his steps, and at length decided to return to the boat
and wait there.
The lumber path could not be very easily found, but at last he turned
into a place which looked very much like it, and walked on for some
distance. But the way was rough. At length the path ceased altogether.
He found himself in the wild wood.
He saw now that he had missed the path, but thought that the best plan
would be to keep straight on, and get back to the lake. So he kept on.
It was very hard work. The ground was covered with moss, in some places
it was spongy, in others it was overgrown with ferns, while every now
and then he would have to climb over the trunk of some fallen tree.
In this way he struggled onward for a long time, and wondered why he
could not see any signs of the lake. At last he began to grow
discouraged. The full conviction forced itself upon him that he had lost
his way. He had been wandering; how long a time and how far he did not
know.
There were no signs whatever of the lake. What to do he could not tell.
He stood still, and looked around. Dense forest trees arose on every
side, shutting out the view, and enclosing him with their gloomy shades.
Then he called as loud as he could. There was no answer. He called again
and again, and waited for a long time after each cry to hear whether
there was any response. But none came.
What to do now was the question. He was not a coward, but any one might
well have been alarmed, lost in those vast, trackless forests. Paul was
alarmed, of course; but he was a spirited boy, and was not inclined to
sit down and give up. After a few minutes he wisely decided that it was
necessary to have some plan, and choose some definite direction in which
to go.
So he concluded that the safest way for him would be to retrace his
steps as carefully as possible.
Back he went, and managed to recover his track, but lost sight of it
again, and found himself once more completely at a loss.
Turning on his own track in this way had only severed him utterly from
the last faint hold which he had on the possible direction of the lake.
Once more he stood and considered, and finally after making up his mind
as to the probable position of the lake, he started again with the
determination to keep on in as straight a line as possible in that one
direction.
His course was rough and toilsome in the extreme. Swamps, bogs, thick
ferns, dense underbrush, tangled alders, fallen forest trees, huge
rocks, all came by turns before his path, and all had by turns to be
passed through or surmounted. Paul's city life had not fitted him for a
task like this; but despair gave him strength.
Hours passed. Every hour brought fresh difficulties. His strength and
resolution gradually gave way. No signs of escape had shown themselves.
No sounds had come to his ears which promised help. He felt himself
alone; alone to struggle with his dismal fate.
At last he reached rising ground. Here the woods were clear. The trees
stood far apart, and the walking was easy. Utterly worn out, he toiled
on and at length reached the crest of the hill.
Scarcely had he done so than an exclamation burst from him. Immediately
below lay a broad sheet of water. He hurried down to the margin, and
looked anxiously around in all directions.
There was nothing, however, but a sheet of water surrounded by woods.
Whether this was the lake which he had left, or some other one, he could
not tell. At any rate he was too fatigued to make any further exertion,
so he flung himself upon the ground to rest.
Gradually sleep overtook him, and his slumber was so sound that he
actually did not awake till the following day. On rousing himself he
heard the birds singing, and felt the fresh, cool air of the morning.
He was very hungry, but felt rested and refreshed, and went at once to
examine his position.
From the place where he stood he could see the end of the lake to the
right, but on the left the view was impeded by a promontory.
His first effort now was to go to the promontory and examine the other
end. The distance was not great, and he soon reached the place.
He looked eagerly down the lake, when, to his unutterable delight, he
saw at the lower end the lone cottage to which the boat had carried him
the day before.
All was now plain. He had wandered back to the lake blindly, and by such
an extraordinary circuit that he had come to the shore about five miles
away from the cottage.
He now set forth to work his way back to the cottage. He followed the
windings of the shores, keeping the water always in sight. The distance
was only five or six miles, but so circuitous was the shore, so full of
indentations, and so rough was the way, that it was nearly evening when
he reached the cottage.
No one was there when he arrived, but he waited, and at dusk a boat came
over the water with Spence and Frank. For a day and a half they had been
scouring the woods for him, and Frank, in his despair, did not know what
to do. Paul was received as one who had risen from the dead.
FATE OF AN ENTRAPPED BEAR.
Wild beasts, in their wanderings through the forests, often meet and
fight in the most savage manner. Here is a story told the writer, last
summer, by an old gentleman in Somerest county, Maine:
"One of the toughest fights I ever saw," said he, "came off over behind
that mountain yonder. It was years ago. Perhaps I saw with a boy's eyes
at that time; I was but fourteen years old, then. But you shall have the
story:
"There wa'n't a railroad in the state, in those days. Whenever any of
the farmers wanted to go down to Farmington, or Norridgewock, or to
Portland, they had to go with their teams; and when making a trip to the
latter place were often gone a week or ten days.
"Quite late in the fall my father and Mr. Wilber, our nearest neighbor,
had gone to Portland in company. Always during their absence we boys
used the time in fishing, gunning, and other sports such as boys delight
in. They had been gone two days, when early the third morning after
their departure Jed Wilber came running to our house, all excitement.
"'The bears have been killing our sheep!' he exclaimed. 'They came into
the little pasture last night, killed the old four-year-old, and a lamb,
dragged them out into the bushes, and there we found their pelts taken
off and rolled up, as nice as a butcher could do it.'
"'Oh, you ought to have shut them up, Jed,' said grandmother.
"'I know it,' said Jed. 'Father told us to, every night. But we were
playing last night, and forgot it.'
"'The bear'll be back, to-night,' said I.
"'Of course he will,' said Jed, 'and that's what I am over here for--I
want to get your bear-trap. I know just how to set it,' he went on,
seeing grandmother hesitate. 'I saw 'em set it last winter a dozen
times.'
"'Well, you can have the trap,' said grandmother. 'But mind it don't
spring, and catch your hands or feet.'
"Jed and I brought the trap from the woodhouse chamber. It was
tremendously heavy--weighing sixty or seventy pounds. But between us we
carried it up to the Wilbers', and with Sol's help (Sol was Jed's next
younger brother) we took it to the pasture. Then, by using a crowbar we
managed, after a deal of prying and holding, to press down the stiff
springs, and so set it. This done, we chained it to a four-foot log of
green spruce, and left it near the spot where the bear had killed the
sheep. For a bait, we laid partially under it a sheep's head, from a
sheep that had lately been slaughtered by Mr. Wilber.
"Perhaps some of the boys may wonder why the lads did not chain the trap
to a stump, or a standing tree. Hunters never chain a bear-trap fast to
the spot where they set it. They clog it, that is, fasten a heavy stick
or log to it, for the bear to drag. If caught and held fast, at first, a
large bear would demolish any trap. But if allowed to run with it, the
clog will at length weary him so that he may be easily overtaken and
shot.
"Early the next morning," continued the old man, "I ran over to
Wilber's, and we hurried to the pasture. The sheep's head was gone, but
the bear, if indeed it was one, had kept his legs out of the trap. We
rebaited it with mutton shanks, and the next morning Jed came to the
house before I was dressed.
"'The trap's gone!' he shouted. 'Get your gun. We must follow him!'
"Hastily swallowing some breakfast, I loaded the gun with slugs, and
with Jed and Sol rushed to the pasture. Sure enough the trap was gone,
clog and all. The place where it had been placed bore marks of a
struggle; the turf was gouged up, and in several spots there were
blood-drops on the grass, and on the dry leaves. It was in October, the
last of the month. The brakes in the woods were dead, but still
standing. These had been pressed to the ground, and made a broad trail.
"By noon we gained the crest of a high ridge, or mountain, five or six
miles to the westward. The farther side fell off abruptly to the bank of
a small river. This side, too, was covered with thick hemlock and
spruce. We hesitated about going further. It would be nearly night by
the time we got back, if we started for home now. But we wanted to save
the trap. If we went back, not only should we lose the bear, but the
trap besides, and Jed, whose carelessness had cost the loss of two
sheep, was especially anxious to get the bear.
"Sol had brought a lunch. We divided it between us, and again taking up
our guns, followed the trail down into the dark growth, toward the
river. An hour took us to the stream. But here, instead of coming upon
the bear, as we had expected, we found that he had turned up the bank to
the north. We kept on, however. There was a sort of fascination in the
chase, even though every mile was taking us further into the wilderness.
"The late October afternoon was waning. Already the shadow of a large
mountain to the westward was falling over the forest, in the valley
where we were. The valley narrowed to a rocky ravine as we went on, and
the mountain, with its dark spruces, seemed to tower threateningly over
us.
"'It's no use, Jed,' said I; 'we ought to go home. I know you want----'
"'Hark!' exclaimed Sol.
"A sharp yelp, as if from a hurt dog, rang out. It seemed to come to us
from only a short distance. Almost instantly it was followed by a long
yell, and a chorus of howls. Snap ran, crouching, between our legs.
"'Wolves!' cried Jed.
"We stood listening, breathlessly. In a moment the yell burst out again,
followed by yelps, snarls, and the sounds of a general fight.
"'I'll bet they're afoul of the bear,' whispered Jed.
"The uproar continued.
"'If they are, they won't mind us,' continued Jed. 'Let's creep up, and
see.'
"Cocking our guns, we moved cautiously forward. The yells grew louder,
and we heard growls. At length, turning a little bend of the ravine, we
peered round a great boulder and saw a sight I shall never forget. With
his back against a rock sat the bear--a tremendous fellow he
looked--with the trap on his paw, while about him leaped, and surged,
and snapped, fifteen or twenty gray wolves, their white teeth grinning,
and their eyes flashing green fire. The bear was fighting for life
against the whole of them.
"The wolves had struck upon his trail, and the smell of the blood that
came from the leg crushed in the trap had made them furious. He fought
hard, swinging the trap clog, as he struck with his forelegs to beat
them off.
"Occasionally, as the ravenous creatures leaped at his throat, he would
catch one with his uninjured paw and give him a hug that drew out a
smothered yelp. Sometimes five or six of the wolves would jump at the
bear at the same time, and for a moment we would lose sight of him, but
he brushed them away, and rose again. The growls, yells and snapping
jaws were savage beyond description. It grew dusk as we watched the
fight.
"'What can we do?' said Sol.
"'It would be useless for us to interfere,' said I; 'they're bound to
have him.'
"'Let's fire among them, though,' said Jed; 'I haven't brought a loaded
gun up here for nothing. All together now.'
"All three of us fired together at the growling, struggling pack.
"A moment's silence followed the reports, then a long howl. We shrank
back around the boulder, out of sight. Then a sudden panic seized us,
and we ran down the ravine, and did not stop till we were a mile below.
A faint howl came echoing through the somber forest.
"'They are not chasing us,' said Jed; 'guess we riddled some of 'em!'
"Night fell as we climbed the steep ridge. We had a dark time going home
through the woods. Fortunately, Sol had a match in his pocket, and
coming to an old white birch stub, we tore off several rolls of the
dried bark. By fastening these to the end of a stick and lighting them,
we were able to pick our way through the woods. It was a hazy night. The
moon showed dimly. The glimpses we now and then got of it enabled us to
keep a straight course. It was after eight o'clock when we reached home,
and worried enough the folks had been about us.
"The next forenoon we started for the ravine again. We were curious to
know how the fight terminated; besides, it was best to get the trap, if
possible, to avert the storm that would burst on Jed's head when his
father came home. Taking a shorter cut through the woods, we reached the
place where we had seen the wolves, about eleven o'clock.
"No sound was heard save the rippling of the stream among the rocks. We
stole cautiously to the boulder, where we had stood the night before,
and looked from behind it. Nothing was in sight.
"'Gone,' said Jed. 'Let's go up, and see where they had their fight.'
"A sly little mink darted away, and into the stream as we approached.
Beyond was a ghastly sight! There lay the skull and bones of the bear,
gnawed clean, and showing yellow-white; and there lay the trap, still
gripping with its iron jaws the bone of one paw.
"All the brakes were smashed down, and the bushes and the rock were
besmeared with blood and hair. About the trap, within a radius of a few
rods, lay the bones and skulls of two of the wolves, eaten by their
comrades. Perhaps the bear had killed them, or perchance our shots had
caused their death. It looked as if other wolves had come to the feast.
"'Come, come!' muttered Jed. 'Let's be off before they come back.'
"We took the trap to the stream to cleanse it, and then placing it on
two poles we started for home. And a _tug_ it gave us, too!"
A FIGHT IN THE WOODS.
Some years ago, while in the northern part of Maine, I spent the month
of September and a portion of October at a "hay-farm" on the borders of
Chamberlain Lake--Lake Apmoogenegamook, the Indians used to call it. The
whole region was almost an unbroken wilderness. Game was plenty, and by
way of recreation from my duties as an assistant engineer I had set up a
"line of traps" for mink and sable--"saple," as old trappers say--along
a small but very rapid, noisy stream called Bear Brook, which comes down
into the lake through a gorge between two high spruce-clad mountains.
Huge boulders had rolled down the sides, and lay piled along the bed of
the gorge. The brook, which was the outlet of a small pond, pent up
among the ridges above, foamed and roared and gurgled down among rocks
shaded by thick, black spruces, which leaned out from the sides of the
ravine.
It was a wild place. I had stumbled upon it, one afternoon, while
hunting a caribou (a kind of deer) some weeks before, and knew it must
be good trapping ground; for the rocks and clear, black pools, in short
the whole place had that peculiar, fishy smell which bespoke an
abundance of trout; and where trout abound there are sure to be mink.
My traps were of that sort which hunters call "figure four" traps, made
of stakes and poles, with a figure-four spring. Perhaps some of our boy
readers may have caught squirrels in that way. For bait I used trout
from the brook. I carried my hook and line with me, and after setting a
trap, threw in my hook and pulled out trout enough to bait it. My line
extended about a mile up the gorge, and comprised some twenty-five or
thirty traps.
After setting them, I shot a number of red squirrels for a "drag," and
thus connected the traps together. Perhaps I should explain that a
_drag_ is a bundle of squirrels or partridges newly killed and from
which the blood is dripping, which are dragged along by a withe from
trap to trap to make a trail and scent, so that the mink and sable will
follow it.
It is customary to visit mink traps once in two or three days. But as I
had plenty of time just then, I went to mine every forenoon.
During the first week after setting them I had excellent luck. I caught
eleven mink and three sable--about fifty dollars' worth, as I reckoned
it. My hopes of making a small fortune in the fur business were very
sanguine, until one morning I found every trap torn up! The poles and
stakes were scattered over the ground, spindles were broken to pieces,
and at one or two places where there had been a mink in the trap, the
head and bits of fur were lying about as if it had been devoured.
At first I thought that perhaps some fellow who had intended to trap
there had done the mischief to drive me away (a very common trick among
rival trappers); but when I saw that the minks had been torn to pieces,
I knew the destruction was the work of some animal--a fisher, most
likely, or as some call it, a "black-cat."
I had never yet seen one of these creatures, but had often heard hunters
and trappers tell what pests they were, following them on their rounds,
robbing and tearing up their traps almost as rapidly as they could set
them. Indeed, I had read in Baird's--I believe it was Baird's--Works on
Natural History, that the fisher-cat, or _mustela canadensis_, is a very
fierce carnivorous animal of the weasel family, a most determined
fighter and more than a match for a common hound.
Well, I had nothing to do but to set the traps again, a task which I did
in the course of the day, really hoping that the beast had merely paid
the place a transient visit, and gone on upon his wanderings.
But the next morning showed my hopes were vain, for he had "gone
through" my _line_ again, and every trap was upset. It really seemed as
if the "varmint" had taken a malicious delight in tearing them to
pieces.
At one of the traps a fine sable had been caught, and as if for very
mischief the marauder had torn the beautiful skin, which was worth ten
or a dozen dollars, to shreds.
Surely, if there is a business in the world that demands patience and
perseverance, it is trapping. At least it took about all I could summon
to go resignedly to work, make new spindles, catch fresh bait, and set
the traps again, especially with the prospect of having the same task to
perform the next morning.
I went at it, however, and by eleven o'clock had them all reset save
one, the upper one, where the sable had been caught, when, on
approaching it through the thick spruces, I saw a large raccoon gnawing
the sable's head. Seeing me at the same instant, he caught up the head,
and before I could unsling my gun scuttled away out of sight.
Was it possible that a 'coon had been doing all this mischief? I knew
them to be adepts at a variety of woods tricks, but had never heard of
their robbing traps before. Here was one caught gnawing a sable's head
in the vicinity of the broken traps. Circumstantial evidence, as they
say in court, was strong against him.
I determined to watch--that trap, at least.
Going over to our camp on the lake, I took a hasty lunch, and putting a
fresh charge into my gun went back to the ravine. A few rods from the
place where I had surprised the 'coon there was a thick clump of low
spruces. Here I hid myself and began my watch.
The afternoon dragged away. Crows and hawks cawed and screamed;
kingfishers and squirrels chickered and chirred, but no animal came near
the traps. The sun was setting behind the high, black mountain, twilight
began to dim the narrow valley.
Thinking I had had my labor for my pains, I was about crawling out of my
hiding-place, when a twig snapped in the direction of the traps, and
turning quickly I saw the 'coon coming up the bank of the brook, the
same one, I was sure, that I had seen before, because of its unusual
size.
With a glance around, to see that there was no danger near, he ambled
along to the spot where the sable's head had been, and began sniffing at
the shreds and bits of fur which lay about. Wishing to see if he would
touch the trap, I did not stir, but watched his movements.
After picking up the bits of skin, he walked round the trap several
times, with his queer, quizzical face askew, examining it. Then
happening to scent one of the sable's legs which lay at a little
distance, he ran to it and began to eat it. I could hear his sharp teeth
upon the bones. Suddenly he stopped, listened, then growled. Very much
to my surprise, there was an answering growl. Then another and another
response. In a moment more, from behind a great rock in the bank, there
stole out a large, black animal, an object of the 'coon's utter
abhorrence, evidently.
Fresh growls greeted the appearance of the intruder, who came stealthily
forward. He was a wicked looking fellow, and had evidently hostile
intentions.
The 'coon rose to his feet, lifting his back like a bear or a cat, and
growling all the while. The newcomer crouched almost to the earth, but
continued to steal up to the 'coon until within a yard or two.
There they stood facing each other, getting more angry every moment; and
evidently intended to have a big "set to." I had no wish to interfere,
and was contented to remain a spectator. The two thieves might settle
their quarrels between themselves. I wasn't at all certain to which of
them I stood indebted for my extra labor, and concluded to keep my
charge of shot for whichever of them survived the fray.
The growls rose to shrieks; the fisher, for such I judged it to be,
wriggling his black tail, and the 'coon getting his back still higher.
Then came a sudden grab, quick as a flash, and a prodigious scuffle.
Over and over they rolled, grappling and tearing; now the gray tail
would whisk up in sight, then the black one. The fur flew, and that
strong, disagreeable odor, sometimes noticed when a cat spits, was
wafted out to my hiding-place.
It was hard to tell which was the best fighter. Gray fur and black fur
seemed to be getting torn out in about equal snatches. Suddenly the
'coon got away from his antagonist, and running to the foot of a great
spruce tree standing near, went like a dart up the trunk to the lower
limbs. There he faced about.
The fisher followed to the tree and looked up. He saw his late foe,
growled, and then began to climb after him. He was not so good a climber
as the 'coon, but scratched his way up with true weasel determination.
The moment he came within reach the raccoon jumped at him, regardless of
the height from the ground, and fastened upon his back. The shock caused
the fisher to lose his hold, and down both animals dropped with
tremendous force, sufficient to knock the breath out of them, I thought.
But they clung to each other, and dug and bit with the fury of maniacs.
'Coons are noted fighters; and as for the fishers, they never give up
while the breath of life is in them.
Presently the 'coon broke away again, and once more ran to the tree,
this time going up its trunk, out of sight, among the branches at the
very top. It looked as if he was getting about all the fight he cared to
have.
Not so with the big weasel. He instantly followed his antagonist,
clumsily but surely clawing his way up the trunk. It took him some time
to reach the top, but he got there at last. Another grapple ensued among
the very topmost boughs, and they both came tumbling to the ground,
catching at the limbs as they fell; but grappling afresh they rolled
down the steep bank to the edge of the water.
Meanwhile it had grown so dark that I could but just see their writhing
forms. The growling, grappling sound continued, however, and I could
hear them splash in the water. Then there came a lull. One or the other
had "given in," I felt sure. Which was the victor?
Cocking my gun, I crept to the bank. As nearly as I could make out the
situation, the fisher was holding the 'coon by the throat.
I took a step forward. A twig snapped under my foot. Instantly a pair of
fiery eyes glared up at me in the gloom; and with a harsh snarl the
fisher raised himself. But the 'coon didn't stir; he was dead.
It seemed almost too bad to shoot the victor of so desperate a fight;
but thinking of my traps I hardened my heart and fired. The fisher
reared up, fell over, then recovering its legs, leaped at me with all
the ferocity of its bloodthirsty race. But the heavy buckshot had surely
done its work, and with another attempt to spring at me the animal fell
back dead.
I had no more trouble with my traps.
THE END.