THE FLASHLIGHT PICTURE
“But didn’t they tell us that wolves had been pretty much cleaned out
of Maine in the last twenty years?” ventured Will, looking uneasy.
“Yes, that’s a fact,” Frank admitted; “but once in a while there seems
to be a raid from Quebec Province, or New Brunswick, and from
different sections reports come in of packs being seen. There’s a
bounty on wolf scalps up here; but not much money is paid out for
them—that is, for animals killed in a wild state.”
“In what other way could they be killed, Frank?” demanded Bluff,
thinking that perhaps he had one on the other just then.
Frank, however, smiled at him, as he explained:
“It happened that they once discovered a wolf ranch in a secluded part
of the State. A smart chap was actually breeding the animals for the
sake of the skins and the bounty that the State allowed him. Of
course, they put a stop to his business. But that reminds me I didn’t
think to tell you about the fur farms we have up here.”
“That sounds interesting!” Jerry declared.
“Of course you mean where they raise all sorts of fur-bearing animals
for the sake of their pelts?” Bluff suggested.
“Yes; and they say that good money is made at the business, too,” he
was told. “One man I knew had a fox farm. He had managed to get hold
of a few black foxes, and told me that if they bred true his
everlasting fortune was made; because, as we know, the skin of a good
black fox is worth all the way from five hundred to two thousand
dollars.”
“How about skunks—I understand there are farms where they raise them
by the thousand?” Bluff ventured, with an upturning of the nose.
“I’m told they pay good dividends,” Frank explained, “but can’t say
from my own observation, because I’ve never dared to visit one. But
you must remember that a polecat is only dangerous when frightened.
They say that if you treat them gently they get to know you and are
not to be feared any more than so many puppies.”
“Excuse me from trying to follow that occupation,” chuckled Jerry;
“but I wonder if that really was a genuine wolf, or a snow owl
hooting?”
“Let’s go outside and listen, because I want to know,” suggested Will,
into whose eyes an eager glow had crept, as he remembered he had a
camera trap baited with some fresh venison and that if there were
hungry wolves around he stood a chance of obtaining a remarkable
picture.
They clapped on caps and sweaters, and all went outside. The night was
fairly dark, and still. Overhead a million stars shone and the soft
breeze sighed itself to sleep among the pines.
“There it goes again!” exclaimed Bluff suddenly.
“And it sure is a wolf—eh, Frank?” Jerry cried.
“Oh, I hope so!” Will was heard to say, at which the others were
surprised until Frank guessed the reason.
“You’re thinking of that flashlight trap, are you, Will, and hoping to
catch bigger game than you set it for? Well, if any of those hungry
chaps come smelling around in this direction I wouldn’t be surprised
if you did. They can find a piece of fresh meat that’s half a mile
away.”
“Just like those buzzards down in Florida could discover where there
was any dead animal, and would come flying from every direction,”
Bluff remarked.
They soon grew tired of staying out in the cold, and listening to the
occasional mournful sound that all had decided came from the throat of
a gray pilgrim from Canada.
Now and then it seemed closer; and Bluff even declared that he could
distinguish several different grades of howls.
“Must be a pack of the rascals!” he ventured to say. “Who knows but
some of us may run up against the bunch while we’re around here? I’d
like nothing better, take it from me, than to knock over a few of the
measly things. They’re a mean lot and without a single redeeming
quality, like a fox.”
Once more returning to the warm cabin, they sat around until finally
Frank drove them all to their bunks.
“I’ll never be able to get you out at a decent hour in the morning,”
he told them, “if you keep on sitting here, blinking at the fire, and
yawning every little while.”
If the wolves came closer to the cabin during the night, no one seemed
to be aware of the fact. At least, their howling certainly did not
keep a single boy from enjoying his customary sleep.
Will hurried out as soon as he was dressed. Frank knew what he meant
to do, and stopped him long enough to advise him to carry his gun
along.
“You never know what you may meet when you least expect it,” was the
burden of his warning. “And when there’s an ugly bobcat ready to jump
on your back or fight for the game that’s in your trap, you’ll wish
you’d been wise enough to come prepared.”
“I guess you’re right about that,” Will admitted, as he returned for
his weapon. He knew what wolves were like, and the possibility of
meeting one in the big timber gave him a panicky feeling.
Shortly afterward he came hurrying in, breathless and excited.
Although none of the others had heard so much as a shot, the first
thing they thought was that Will must have run up against a thrilling
adventure of some kind.
“Did anything tackle you?” demanded Jerry, showing immediate interest.
“Was it a wolf or a wildcat; and did you shoot him?” asked Bluff.
Frank said nothing. He saw how the other was carrying his camera under
his arm, and could give a good guess as to the cause of his
excitement.
“Nothing tackled me!” exclaimed the picture taker indignantly. “I was
only going to tell you that the trap was sprung and my flashlight must
have worked.”
“But of course you don’t know whether it was a muskrat, a fox, a mink,
or perhaps a prowling ’coon that grabbed your bait,” Bluff commented.
“I’ll know after I’ve had a chance to develop the film,” he was told.
“You know I have single ones that fit in frames, so they act like
glass plates; only there’s no weight, and no danger of breaking them
when you tumble.”
“Was the bait gone?” pursued Bluff.
“Yes, the string was broken across the middle; and it was a good
strong cord,” Will informed him.
Frank saw Bluff nod his head as though pleased. He said nothing more,
however, but as soon as breakfast had been disposed of they missed
Bluff. He came in presently with a grin on his face.
“Guess you’re in luck to-day, Will,” he remarked carelessly.
“What makes you say that, Bluff?”
“Your visitor wasn’t a mink, nor yet a fisher, a fox, or a ’coon,”
Bluff went on.
At that, Will began to show signs of excitement.
“Do you mean it was a wolf?” he demanded eagerly.
“Either that or a dog,” replied Bluff; and then seeing that it was
only fair to explain further, he continued: “I found his trail as easy
as falling off a log. Of course, I don’t pretend to be an authority on
wolf tracks, because they look pretty much like a dog’s; but there
were plenty around, so I figured there must have been a fair pack.”
“They were wolves, then, take it from me,” Frank asserted. “We only
know of one dog in the woods besides a couple at Lumber Run Camp, and
they keep them tied up most of the time.”
Will could not wait a minute longer. He had carried a little tank into
the wilderness with him, by means of which it was possible to develop
films in the daytime as well as by ruby light in a dark room.
When he reappeared later on there was a look on his face that
announced his complete satisfaction with the results. The others did
not bother asking him to show them, knowing that in good time, when
his film had had a chance to dry, Will would surprise them with a
blueprint.
Everybody found plenty to do, it seemed, that morning. The cold
weather had kept on, and as there was a small pond not far away from
the cabin they found that the ice would bear them.
Bluff and Jerry had managed to fetch their skates along, although
Frank had attempted to dissuade them, on account of the extra weight
and the fact that they could have all the skating they wanted at home
on the river.
The two boys wanted to say they had tried Maine ice, so they fastened
their skates and whirled around innumerable times, making the circuit
of the little pond.
Frank had partly arranged with Jerry to go on another hunt after the
midday meal. Will did not care to go, and Bluff had a sore heel from
his shoe chafing on the previous occasion, so he concluded to rest a
little.
After the skaters had returned to camp, they amused themselves with
the ax for a spell, Frank and Will having done their part earlier in
the day. It was good healthy labor; and, besides, they needed the wood
in their business of keeping the fire burning on the hearth inside the
cabin.
Will could be seen watching a printing frame which he had set in the
sun. Every little while he would snatch it up to look, and then place
it once more.
Finally he approached the others.
“Anything doing?” questioned Frank, smiling as he saw the other trying
as hard as he could to look unconcerned.
“Oh, I just thought I’d like to get somebody’s opinion about what this
beast is, that’s all,” remarked Will, suddenly flashing the blueprint.
“Whew! Doesn’t he look sassy, though!” exclaimed Jerry.
“It’s a wolf, all right, and as fine a picture as you could dream of
getting!” Frank said.
“The flash has startled him, and he’s showing his teeth like
anything!” was the verdict of Bluff. “Will, take my word for it, your
wolf picture will win you the first prize they offered of a flashlight
animal taken by himself!”
“Oh, do you think so, Bluff? It’s nice to hear you say that. So you
like it, do you, Frank? Everything seemed to work like magic. Why,
that trap is perfect, that’s what it is! A greenhorn photographer
could get good results with that arrangement.”
“Now, don’t you believe it,” Jerry told him; “I’d make a mess of it,
for one. You know every little wrinkle of the business, and this is
what comes of it. That’s sure a dandy picture.”
They were all feeling unusually happy as they sat down to eat the
midday meal. As a rule, this might be called a lunch; but with such
ferocious appetites as all of them seemed to have developed since
arriving in camp, it was necessary to do considerable cooking.