surprised but the wolf was the first to recover. He was starving and
here was food close at hand, to be had for the taking. His eyes flamed
as he crouched for the spring. Still the child stood, unable to move,
her eyes fixed as if fascinated on the savage ones so near.
It was a tense moment but the tragedy was averted by the big skunk. With
banner unfurled he stepped between the wolf and his prey. One moment the
wolf glared at the small black and white animal, whom he remembered only
too well. The blood lust quickly faded from his eyes, replaced by a
great fear. The next moment, with tail between his legs, he was in full
retreat, running as he had never run before, while the child rushed
screaming to the house.
The big skunk stood where they had left him, looking across the snowy
pasture. The sight of the ridge with its group of birch trees and the
gray rocks of the pasture recalled the memory of his old free life, and
of the den where he had slept so snugly. His weeks of pampered life
seemed to fall from him as if they had not been. Without a backward
glance he crossed the pasture and vanished over the ridge, the white
string trailing behind, the only link remaining between him and the life
of the settlements.
THE TWINS
The twins were born one blustery winter day in a den hollowed out
beneath the roots of a giant beech. They were woolly black bear cubs,
who at birth were blind and no larger than kittens. With nothing to do
but to eat and sleep, they grew rapidly. Outside in the forest the gales
howled and the snow drifted deep, but the cave was well protected and
the great bulk of Mother Bruin kept it warm and of an even temperature.
Before the snow had disappeared the old bear left the cave each day,
driven forth by hunger after her long winter fast, but the cubs remained
at home until the north wind with its blizzards was forced to retreat
before the balmy wind of the south. Then they tumbled out into the
sunshine, blinking and rubbing their eyes with their little black paws
at the abrupt change from dusk to bright daylight.
It was a wonderful world in which they found themselves. Patches of snow
still lingered in the hollows, but the earth was rapidly discarding its
brown winter mantle, replacing it with one of living green. The
gracefully drooping branches of a group of birch trees standing beside
the stream were delicately filmed with green; the air was sweet with the
breath of arbutus; and from a tree close beside the swollen brook
drifted the six plaintive notes of a white-throated sparrow.
Scraping away the dry leaves under a beech tree, Mother Bruin disclosed
a few of the little three-cornered nuts, moldy from their long contact
with the earth but, nevertheless, acceptable food for a bear. A little
farther on she dug for roots in the soft mud at the edge of a swamp, now
vocal with the spring call of the hylas. The cubs followed her, full of
curiosity concerning everything they beheld in this new and fascinating
world.
Several weeks later, while the Hermit was roaming the woods with his
familiar brown bag upon his back, he was granted the rare privilege of
watching the bear family when the three were unaware of his presence.
Mother Bruin, as usual, was leading the way, the cubs, as like as two
peas, following single file in her footsteps and imitating her every
move so faithfully that the Hermit chuckled to himself. When the big
bear halted and looked about her, the small bears also halted and looked
eagerly about; when she sniffed at a fallen log, they, too, sniffed; and
once when she sneezed, the cubs looked curiously at her and then tried
faithfully to imitate the sound.
The ants were busy making their community dwellings and when Mother
Bruin paused to lick up a mouthful, two little red tongues joined hers,
the cubs smacking their lips over the treat. At length, their hunger
satisfied, the family stopped under a great pine and the cubs began a
rough and tumble game, while Mother Bruin sat on her haunches, keenly
watchful of every move. Occasionally, for no reason which the Hermit
could detect, one or the other of the cubs would receive a boxing from
his mother which would set him howling. The punishment was soon
forgotten, however, and it is to be hoped that it did them good. Over
and over they rolled on the brown pine needles, two furry balls cuffing
and biting at each other. Then they paused and sat up panting, exactly
as Mother Bruin was sitting.
The effect was so ludicrous that the Hermit had much ado to keep from
laughing aloud, but he also had a wholesome fear of Mother Bruin when
she felt that her cubs might be in danger. So he stifled the laugh that
would have betrayed his presence and at length slipped unobtrusively
away.
While shambling through the forest one day Mother Bruin made a wonderful
discovery. She came to a tree which had recently fallen to the forest
floor and from within came a curious humming. She stopped abruptly to
listen, her great head cocked to one side and her eyes shining with
anticipation. The cubs also paused, cocked their heads upon one side and
waited expectantly. Mother Bruin soon assured herself that there could
be no mistake. With her terrible claws she ripped open the rotting log,
disclosing a mass of well-filled honey-comb and liberating a great swarm
of bees. The air was soon filled with their angry buzzing.
The cubs decided that the spot was not a healthful one and retreated to
the bushes, but Mother Bruin paid no attention to the enraged owners of
the hive. For a few moments the cubs watched wonderingly; then the tree
with its appetizing odour called them and they shambled up to it, the
bees being too busy carrying away their store to bother them.
One of the cubs thrust a little black paw into the mass of amber honey
and then, as any child would have done, transferred the paw to his
mouth. Immediately there spread over his comical little face a look of
utter happiness. The other cub, seeing her brother thus pleasantly
engaged, lost no time in following his example and the two were soon
smeared with honey from top to toe. Never were little bears happier.
The three gorged themselves until they could hold no more. And all the
next day the cubs were busy licking their own paws and furry coats, or
each other's. It mattered not which, for both bears were literally "as
sweet as honey."
As the season advanced and the cubs grew more self-reliant, Mother Bruin
occasionally left them for a whole day or night while she traveled
farther than their short legs would permit them to follow. Upon one of
these occasions when they were left to shift for themselves, the Hermit
came suddenly upon them, grubbing for roots at the border of the swamp.
Man and cubs were alike surprised and stood eyeing each other. The cubs
caught a strange, disturbing odour, but curiosity was stronger than fear
and they held their ground.
[Illustration: The other cub forgot her fear and demanded her sugar
lump.]
Seeing that they had no intention of running away, the Hermit, careful
to make no sudden movement, drew from his pocket a lump of sugar which
he always carried in the hope of meeting Brown Brother, the deer. He
seated himself upon a log and placed the sugar upon the ground in front
of him. The cubs also sat down and looked at the man and the sugar.
Clearly this strange creature meant no harm and the white object looked
good. For a while longer the cubs regarded him keenly while the man
refrained from looking directly at them lest his eyes make them uneasy.
At length one of the cubs, the one who had first investigated the bee
tree, advanced cautiously, keeping his eyes on the man, and sniffed at
the sugar. The next moment he had gobbled it up and was licking his lips
in appreciation. It was almost, if not quite, as good as honey. Seeing
his delight, the other cub forgot her fear and demanded her sugar lump.
They then permitted the Hermit to pet them to his heart's content, while
they nosed about his pockets for more sweets.
He had made two close friends, as he discovered a bit later, somewhat to
his embarrassment. For when he rose to continue his way, the cubs
trotted after him as a matter of course. Try as he would he could not
rid himself of them. The cubs had found him a source of good and they
stuck to him like burrs. Vainly he shouted at them, waving his arms like
windmills; the cubs only sat back upon their haunches and looked at him
in wonder, until he could not help laughing. Then he tried throwing
sticks at them but this method, also, had no effect. Their hides were
thick and sticks meant nothing to them.
Finally he stopped and looked down at the two small bears with an
expression blended of amusement and annoyance. He knew that, should the
mother bear return and find the cubs following her natural enemy, she
would not wait for explanations. There would be but one explanation in
her mind and her vengeance would be swift. The Hermit had seen her and
from afar noted with respect her great bulk. Moreover, he was unarmed.
To say the least, the situation was an unpleasant one, and he wished
heartily that he had not been so quick to make friends. Every crackling
twig in the forest brought a quickening of his pulses but, fortunately
for him, Mother Bruin was miles away, enjoying a meal of berries.
Meanwhile the Hermit's situation was growing more uncomfortable. One of
the cubs seemed to have made up his mind that the man had more sugar,
which he was deliberately keeping from them. Accordingly he attempted to
scale the Hermit as he would a tree, a proceeding to which the man
objected most emphatically. The cub was big and heavy and his claws were
sharp. With a yell the man dislodged him and sprang aside.
As it happened, this movement was his salvation, for it recalled to his
mind the bag upon his back. The bag contained two apples and several
cookies which he had carried with him, expecting to be gone from his
cabin the greater part of the day. Now as he remembered them, he gave a
sigh of relief. The cubs watched him with interested eyes as he drew the
good things from the bag and deposited them upon the ground under a big
tree. As he had hoped, the bears at once fell upon them and became so
engrossed that he was able to slip out of sight behind the tree. He
immediately took to his heels, never stopping until he had put a safe
distance between himself and the too-friendly bear cubs.
The paths of the man and the cubs, however, were destined often to
cross. Not long after this experience they met again. In the Hermit's
clearing, close to the fence, stood a sweet apple tree loaded with
fruit. Approaching it one day to see if the apples were ripening, the
Hermit discovered two furry balls among the branches and found himself
looking into two pairs of bright little eyes. Quickly ascertaining that
Mother Bruin was not present, he paused beneath the tree and called, in
as stern a voice as he could assume, "Come down out of my apple tree,
you little thieves!"
The more timid bear climbed to a higher branch, but the male cub sat
comfortably, his feet dangling, one paw holding to the branch and the
other to the trunk, and looked down at the man. His expression so
resembled that of a small boy caught stealing apples, that the Hermit
laughed aloud and Pal trotted up to see what was going on.
At sight of the bears the dog seemed to go wild. He circled the tree,
barking furiously, while the cubs watched him in wonder. Fearing that
Mother Bruin might at any moment appear and misunderstand the situation,
the Hermit was about to call the dog and return to the house, leaving
the bears in possession of the tree. Before he could pucker his lips
for a whistle, however, the situation was taken from his hands. One of
the cubs, upon shifting his position, loosened a small apple which fell
directly into the upturned face of the dog. With a yelp of pain and
astonishment Pal scuttled for the cabin, his tail between his legs and
his interest in bear cubs suddenly evaporating.
The Hermit looked up in mock reproach at the cub. "Aren't you ashamed to
treat my dog that way after I fed you sugar and gave you my lunch?" he
asked. "And now I suppose I shall have to give you more sugar to get you
to come down. I don't care to have Mother Bruin with her three hundred
odd pounds roosting in my apple tree."
He went to the house, returning with a number of lumps of sugar and
several apples. The cubs at once scrambled from the tree, keeping their
eyes greedily upon the good things with which they allowed themselves to
be tolled some distance into the woods. There the Hermit left them to
feast while he made good time back to the cabin and his chastened dog.
In their wanderings one day in late summer the cubs, now so fat and well
fed that their gait was a mere waddle, came upon a great patch of
blueberries. Here was a treat indeed. They rose upon their hind legs and
greedily stripped the branches until their faces were so stained with
juice that Mother Bruin would scarcely have recognized them.
Now it happened that they had found the same blueberry patch on the bank
of the Little Vermilion that Mokwa, the big bear, had discovered after
his strange ride the year before. And as so often happens, history
repeated itself. The cubs wandered to the edge of the river, and seeing
a log with one end resting on the bank and the other in the water, the
more venturesome of the twins crouched upon it with his face close to
the water to look for fish. His weight at the end caused the log to tip.
Into the river he went, heels over head, while the log slipped loose
from its moorings.
At that point the water was not deep and the bear soon regained his feet
but, as he scrambled back upon the log, it drifted farther out. The next
moment it was caught by the current and carried swiftly along, the
little bear crouching upon it in a frightened heap. The second cub
watched her brother in astonishment, half inclined to enter the water
and follow. At that moment, however, Mother Bruin appeared upon the
shore and at sight of the log and its occupant became greatly excited.
Down the bank she rushed, scrambling over logs and through bushes,
scaring some of the smaller wilderness folk almost out of their wits.
She had eyes for nothing except the cub which was being carried rapidly
toward the falls. The second cub tried to follow the mother, whimpering
for her to wait, but as the old bear paid no attention to her cries, she
at length gave up the attempt and followed more leisurely.
Meanwhile, the male cub was being carried swiftly along in mid-stream,
the thunder of the falls growing steadily louder. Although he did not
understand the sound, it made him uneasy. He whined pitifully as he
watched Mother Bruin, trying to keep abreast of him upon the shore, yet
so far away. The falls were alarmingly close when suddenly the eyes of
the cub brightened. Just ahead, and very near the brink of the falls,
the forest reached an arm out into the river, and standing at the
extreme end was a man, fishing--the same man who had fed him with
sweets.
At the moment when the cub spied him, the Hermit saw the cub and
recognized his danger. "Poor little fellow!" he said aloud in
compassion. "I wish there were some way of helping him."
As if in answer to his wish, a way was opened. An eddy carried the
floating log directly toward the shore where the Hermit stood, and for a
moment he believed it would touch. He soon saw, however, that it would
just miss the point and that, unless the cub jumped at the right moment,
nothing could save him from the falls. The man groaned; then quick as a
flash he saw a way of rescuing the little animal. He rushed out into the
water as far as he could safely stand, holding to a tree which leaned
horizontally over the stream. As the log came abreast of him, but just
out of reach, he held out his hand.
This time the hand held no sugar, but the cub knew it as a friend and
did not hesitate. He leaped into the water, battling frantically with
the current. At first he seemed doomed to be swept on after the log,
which at that moment hung trembling at the brink of the falls before the
plunge. The cub's struggles, however, brought him near enough for the
Hermit to grasp his thick fur. Then, gripping the tree until his
knuckles whitened and exerting his utmost strength, the man slowly drew
the animal to safety.
The Hermit smiled at the woe-begone figure as the cub scrambled upon the
bank and stood limp and dripping, but safe. The next moment the smile
froze upon his lips. Bearing down upon him was a whirlwind of blazing
eyes and gaping mouth, propelled by the powerful muscles of a very big
and very angry bear. Seeing the man, the bear at once became convinced
that he was at the root of the trouble from which her cub had so
narrowly escaped. So she charged, and the Hermit knew that one blow of
her mighty paw would either crush him or whirl him into the current and
over the falls.
He glanced swiftly about. A few yards away an overhanging bank offered
the only possible hiding-place. It meant a ducking and perhaps worse,
for even where he stood the current was strong. Nevertheless the Hermit
did not hesitate. He turned toward the hiding-place and dived, swimming
for a moment under water until he felt his fingers close upon something
solid. Then, coming to the surface, he gave a sigh of relief. His dive
had carried him beneath the overhanging bank and he was clutching a
strong root which had forced its way through the mass of earth and so
reached the air. He stood up to his armpits in the cold water,
shivering, but glad to be alive, and glad, too, in spite of his
predicament, that he had saved the cub.
Meanwhile, Mother Bruin stood bewildered at the sudden and complete
disappearance of the enemy. Her rage evaporated before the mystery and
she stood for several moments, staring at the spot where the man had
vanished. The Hermit, however, was well hidden and would have escaped
observation from keener eyes than those of a bear.
She soon turned to the cub which was whimpering miserably, and in drying
his wet fur she forgot the man. They were joined by the other cub just
as the Hermit peered out of his watery hiding-place. Finding them still
in evidence he shook his fist belligerently at the old bear. He was
careful to keep out of sight, however, and a short time later had the
satisfaction of seeing them disappear in the woods, Mother Bruin in the
lead and the cubs as usual trotting dutifully behind.
The male cub's thrilling ride and battle with the current had for the
time being subdued his adventurous spirit. He was content to stand
meekly by while his mother tore to pieces a rotting log, disclosing for
them all a meal of ants and fat white grubs.
THE WHITE WOLF
The Little Vermilion, placid river of the plains, has its source in an
ice-cold spring high up among the ledges of old Scarface where, after a
sheer drop of fifty feet, the young river goes on its way a brawling,
turbulent mountain stream. In a cave so close to the cataract that the
entrance was often screened by a curtain of mist, a pair of wolf cubs
first saw the light of day. It was a wild and savage spot for a home,
one that befitted the mate of Gray Wolf, leader of the pack.
In their early infancy the cubs were appealing balls of gray down,
rolling and tumbling about on the rocky floor of their cave much in the
manner of young animals the world over. And, like other young animals,
when they first essayed to walk, their legs had a treacherous way of
doubling up beneath them and, without warning, letting them down on the
hard floor of the cave. In a remarkably short time, however, they gained
control over these unruly members and were ready to begin the training
which would qualify them for membership in the pack.
From the first, one of the cubs gave promise of being no ordinary wolf.
Long white hairs appeared among the down upon his back and sides,
growing more and more numerous until, when the cub was half grown, they
made a coat of pure white. The first time his mother returned from her
hunting to see him standing in the sunlight at the mouth of the den, she
stopped several yards away, looking at him keenly and half suspiciously.
The moment he discovered her presence the cub ran to meet her with a
glad whine of recognition and her look changed. From that time on, she
accepted him without question.
The white cub grew fast, and as he grew, the wild and savage nature of
his surroundings seemed to creep into his blood and become a part of
him. His baby growl was drowned by the ceaseless roar of the falls, but
as his voice grew stronger and fuller it took on the deep note of the
cataract. Long before his brother, he learned to pounce upon the
luckless grasshopper or cricket which appeared near the cave and to hold
it down with his fore-paws while he crunched it with relish. From
grasshoppers he progressed to mice, and from mice to rabbits, until he
came to depend but little upon the spoils of the mother wolf's hunting.
One night, when he was little more than half grown, the cub awakened to
find his mother absent at her hunting. The moonlight at the entrance to
the cave called him and he trotted out. Save for the thunder of the
falls, the night was very still. He stood upon the ledge before the
cave, looking down upon the wilderness, mysterious and alluring in the
moonlight, and the sight affected him strangely.
Suddenly there came to his ears a long-drawn howl. At the sound,
indescribably lonely and wild, the hair rose upon the back of the young
wolf and his eyes gleamed. It was the summons of the leader to the pack
and, though the cub knew nothing of its meaning, his heart instinctively
thrilled to it.
There was a moment of silence. Then, from far diverging points, the cry
was taken up as the various members of the pack rallied to the call of
their leader. The cub's heart swelled with a new and strange emotion.
The next moment, high on his rocky ledge, he lifted his muzzle to the
moon and sent out his own answer. The call was lost in the roar of the
cataract, but from that night the white cub felt his kinship with the
pack of which he was one day to become the leader.
[Illustration: High on his rocky ledge he lifted his muzzle to the moon.]
Time passed, and the white cub was no longer a cub but a grown wolf,
unexcelled for fleetness of foot and strength of muscle. His mother and
the other cub had long since joined the pack, but for some reason the
white wolf kept to himself. When the rallying call reached his ears on
a still winter night, it ran like fire through his veins; yet he did not
answer the call and morning invariably found him curled up in the old
den, high on the shoulder of Scarface. Occasionally he was sighted by a
lone hunter who returned to the settlements with tales of the great
white wolf of the mountain, tales which grew from lip to lip until the
animal had attained gigantic proportions. And still the white wolf
traveled alone.
Then one night, when the wilderness lay in the merciless grip of winter,
and famine stalked the trails, the white wolf joined the pack. It came
about in this wise.
Gray Wolf, leader of the pack, had taken up the trail of a lynx. In an
encounter between the two, the latter would scarcely have been a match
for the big wolf; but it chanced that soon after Gray Wolf sprang to the
attack, the mate of the lynx appeared and joined the fray. Thus the wolf
became the victim of a double set of raking claws and sharp teeth. He
fought savagely but the claws of the male lynx gashed him horribly from
beneath, while its mate bit and tore from above.
The double punishment was too much for the wolf. Exhausted and
bleeding, he raised his voice in the rallying call of the pack. As the
call rang out over the silent wood the lynxes, knowing that they would
soon be hopelessly outnumbered, sprang clear. With great leaps they
vanished among the shadows of the forest, lost to sight even before the
foremost wolf appeared.
Thus when the members of the pack had gathered, they found, not the game
which they had anticipated, but only their leader, sorely wounded. The
winter had been a hard one, with food unusually scarce. The gaunt bodies
of the wolves gave evidence of their fast and their tempers had become
very uncertain. Accordingly the sight and smell of blood, though that of
one of their own number, almost drove them to a frenzy.