WHO TOOK THE FURS?
Taken altogether by surprise, Bob Somers was, for an instant, almost
incapable of motion. He saw the long, lithe body spring forward
and heard the harsh, rasping snarl. Then, with a strong effort, he
recovered his wits--like a flash his rifle was raised and fired.
Blending with the report came a terrific cry of fury and pain.
But the wildcat was only wounded. In his haste and alarm, Bob had not
been able to reach a vital spot. The animal fell, but almost instantly
rose.
"Give me a chance!" yelled Yardsley. "Skip around that there rock, an'
I'll finish 'im."
But before the boy could comply, the wildcat, with an infuriated
screech, sprang forward again.
Taking his gun by the barrel, Bob Somers swung it with all his
strength. The animal, dealt a glancing blow, was checked--just long
enough for Bob to dart around the rock. Almost at his heels came the
snarling wildcat.
In and out among the trees the two went, while Yardsley followed,
unable to shoot for fear of hitting his companion.
With a glance over his shoulder, Bob once more jumped aside, and again
his gun rose and fell.
John Yardsley, leaping over the snow, reached the spot where the
wildcat, scarcely stunned by Bob Somers' last blow, was preparing to
make another spring.
"I've got 'im!" he cried.
A sharp report rang out. Rising to his haunches, in a last desperate
effort, the wildcat lurched over, and fell at full length motionless in
the snow.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob. "Thanks, John," and he clasped the hunter's big
hand. "Ugh I Thought he had me." He shivered, as his eyes rested upon
the savage head and dangerous-looking claws.
"Powerful bad critters when they get their dander up," commented
Yardsley, giving the beast a shove with his toe. "What's ter be did
with the varmint?"
"Don't you want it?" Bob's voice still trembled with excitement.
"I reckon not."
"Then I'll have him stuffed," said Bob. "Won't that be great? Only wish
I'd got him myself," he added, half regretfully.
"You orter be glad he didn't get you," observed the trapper, dryly.
"Now, I'll make a drag. Twenty-five or thirty pounds of cat meat would
be a little too much ter carry."
Yardsley strode forward, and selecting an ash of suitable thickness--of
course it was a mere sapling--quickly felled and trimmed it. Then he
cut it into two pieces of equal length.
"Pitch in an' get me some short bits fur the cross-bars, cap'n," he
said, handing Bob the hatchet. "We'll have it fixed in a minute."
As soon as Bob Somers had complied with his request, the trapper laid
the two pieces of ash parallel on the ground, then three cross-bars
were quickly fastened in place.
"Want anything better than that?" he demanded, with a grin. "I'll jest
cut them 'ere ends, so's ter make 'em lift off the snow like runners."
"Have you a rope to pull it with?" asked Bob.
"Catch John Yardsley a-comin' out unprepared? I reckon not. Guess we'd
better hit the trail fur camp," he added.
The wildcat, otter and other game were securely attached to the drag,
which was not difficult to pull over the snow-crusted ground.
After making a long circuit, the winding stream was again reached, and,
at length, the cabin in the valley came into view.
"Reckon you air powerful glad ter git back, cap'n?" observed the
trapper. "I'll fix the skin of that there critter, an'--"
Yardsley suddenly paused, and gazed intently toward the cabin, while a
puzzled, alarmed expression passed over his rugged features.
"I'm sartin sure--" he began.
"Sure of what?" asked Bob, surprised at his companion's manner.
"That I shut the door of that storehouse. Sure as guns is guns, I did,
an'--"
Yardsley did not finish the sentence, but fairly tore over the snow,
while Bob, leaving the sled, followed close at his heels.
At one end of the log house a small addition had been built for the
purpose of storing furs and skins. There was an entrance on the
outside, and it was this which now stood slightly open.
"As sure as guns is guns," repeated the woodsman, excitedly, "I shut
that 'ere door, an' shut it tight."
He hastily entered the storehouse, and at a glance his worst fears were
realized.
"Gone--every blessed one!" he groaned. "Not a thing left!"
"Robbed?" gasped Bob Somers. "How many did you have?"
"A powerful number, cap'n."
Yardsley stood perfectly still and gazed around with a dazed air.
"Every blessed one," he repeated. "An' I was 'most ready ter take 'em
ter town." His arms dropped to his side, and he looked toward Bob
Somers in the utmost dejection.
"Well, we can't do any good standing here," cried Bob. "Let's
investigate and get after 'em."
"That's the idea!" exclaimed Yardsley, his look of dismay giving place
to one of intense anger.
"Jest let me come up with them rascals, that's all." He made an
expressive motion, then darted outside, his eyes roving over the ground.
"Carted 'em away on a big sled," he exclaimed. "See, cap'n--tracks as
plain as the nose on yer face. An' the rascals was on snow-shoes."
"I'll skip over to camp and get some of the fellows!" cried Bob. "Then
the whole crowd can follow."
"Good, cap'n, an' John Yardsley won't forgit it. By the time yer gits
back I'll hev a bite ter eat. With a storm a-comin', an' no tellin'
what may be afore us, 'twouldn't do by no means ter go off on an empty
stummick."
But Bob Somers had not waited to hear his last words. Although the
morning's tramp had been a rather long one, he moved over the ground at
a rapid rate, and, panting from his exertions, at length reached the
camp just as the others came in.
"What's the matter, Somers, you look scared--any fierce rabbits get
after you?" asked Nat Wingate, winking at Hackett.
"Yardsley's been robbed of his furs," said Bob. "Not one of 'em left!"
"Robbed?" echoed Nat, in astonishment. "How--when?"
"Whew! That's mighty funny!" exclaimed Sam Randall. "Robbed? I can
hardly believe it."
"It's true!--Who wants to come along and help us trail the thieves?"
"Well now!" Hackett paused and a fierce expression came into his eyes.
"After amusing himself at our expense, he's got a fine nerve to ask us
to help him--still," he went on, "speak your little piece, Somers, and
we'll decide."
This Bob did, briefly, and at its conclusion Hackett again spoke up. "I
feel sorry for the old man," he announced. "I'll go. There's a chance
for some excitement, too."
"So will I," added Sam Randall, eagerly. "Here come Chubby and the
rest. Won't they be surprised?"
Dave Brandon and his companions were seen making their way toward the
camp.
As they came up, Hackett shouted out the news.
Dick Travers gave a whistle of astonishment, while Tom, believing that
some joke was intended, began to laugh.
But Bob Somers quickly told his story again, and the astonished boys
were given a chance to decide what they wanted to do. The question was
almost immediately settled.
In brief, Nat Wingate, Dave Brandon and Tom Clifton concluded that
their services were not required. The others hastily prepared to
take their departure. Bob, who had already been helping himself
to everything eatable in sight, drank a cup of coffee which had
fortunately been left over, filled his pockets with crackers, and
followed the already retreating forms of Hackett, Randall and Travers.
"Come on!" cried the slim boy. "The snow isn't falling half as fast as
it was."
The three who stood by the fire gazed after them in a disconsolate
fashion.
"I wonder what is going to happen now?" said Nat Wingate, as the four
figures were lost to view.