ON THE TRAIL
“This is easy enough work, Bluff!”
Jerry said this as the two plodded along, following the trail left by
the clumsy animal that had looked in on Will so unexpectedly.
“So far, we haven’t had any particular trouble,” Bluff replied. “The
snowfall is what is called good tracking snow—that is, it’s just
heavy enough without holding you up and making it hard traveling.”
“I wonder how much farther the old fellow means to go?” Jerry
whispered, for he had been already warned by his chum that loud
talking was unwise when on the trail of any animal with such keen
hearing as a moose.
“Give it up,” Bluff replied. “I was just thinking how lucky it is for
us he keeps heading straight into the wind. But I know how that is. A
deer nearly always goes that way, because he can tell by means of his
nose whether there’s any danger waiting for him ahead.”
“It makes it easier for the trackers, doesn’t it, Bluff?”
Bluff only grunted. He wanted to discourage his companion from trying
to carry on a conversation. It was pretty hard to squelch Jerry under
ordinary conditions, but his own good sense as a hunter must surely
tell him how necessary it was they keep quiet.
They had been going along for more than two hours, and in such a
direct line that they figured they must be some miles from camp.
Neither of them recognized their surroundings, which would seem to
indicate that they were in a section of the Big Woods they had never
visited before.
Bluff was considerable of a woodsman. He consulted his compass
frequently, and took various notes of his surroundings. Jerry saw all
this, and had the utmost confidence in their ability to return to camp
at any time the notion struck them.
If they were bothering their heads about anything just then, it must
have been in connection with the chances they had of overtaking the
big moose. Every little while Jerry would beseech his comrade to tell
him how close he thought they had come to the quarry. On such
occasions Bluff would prove true to his name. Although he actually did
not know for certain, he would look wise, take another keen
observation, wrinkle his nose, and then hazard some opinion.
“We’re gaining, all right,” he was pretty sure to tell Jerry, though
declining to commit himself to any particular figures.
Both were by now beginning to feel the effect of the tramp. While the
snow was hardly deep enough to interfere to any marked degree with
their progress, in the long run it added to the labor of lifting their
feet countless times. Its weight, whenever it clung to their heavy
shoes, made an additional burden to be reckoned with.
“Bluff, it’s beginning!” whispered Jerry, after another spell of
silence had reigned between them and they had covered still more
ground.
“What is?” demanded Bluff, turning around to look at his chum
uneasily, for he had detected a ring of uncertainty in Jerry’s
utterance.
“I saw a snowflake drifting down just then; and—yes, there’s another;
you can tell for yourself, Bluff!”
“Huh! Hang the luck, if it begins to come down on us now and blots out
our trail, we’ll be in the soup!”
The flakes came down pretty heavily for a few minutes, while the boys
continued to press on with mingled emotions.
It proved to be a false alarm, however. In five minutes Jerry
remarked, again in an excited whisper:
“She’s letting up, Bluff; sure she is! I don’t believe we’re due for
any big storm yet. The sky’s brightening a lot.”
Bluff saw that things were commencing to look better; but he fancied
this was only a temporary relief. It might hold back for an hour, and
even be delayed longer; but Bluff was almost as certain as Frank had
been that a storm was impending.
“If the blooming old thing’d only keep away till we’d bagged our game,
I wouldn’t say a single thing,” he muttered, and then fell silent
while following the trail.
Fortunately there had not been enough snow to hinder them from seeing
the plain tracks of the moose. So heavy an animal was bound to sink in
and leave a trail that even a greenhorn could follow fairly well.
“What time is it, Bluff?” asked Jerry, upon seeing the other snatch a
look at the little gun-metal watch he carried.
“Close on three,” he was informed.
“And we’ve been walking since noon, nearly,” Jerry continued. “We must
have gone miles and miles.”
Bluff did not answer. He hoped in that way to convince his talkative
chum that while there was a time for everything, a tracking
expedition, with a wary old bull moose ahead, was not the occasion for
carrying on a general conversation.
Occasionally flakes of snow would drift down. Jerry always observed
their coming with fresh apprehension, and was correspondingly relieved
when they stopped. It was as if the weather were holding off, though
when the storm did break it was apt to prove all the more fierce on
account of the delay.
Bluff had ceased examining his compass now. In fact, he was caring
precious little whether they found themselves lost or not. Looking
ahead, a night in the Big Woods did not appall him; being fond of
adventure, Bluff might even welcome the experience for a change.
Being thrown on their own resources would bring out their ability to
take care of themselves. Bluff was vain enough to want to show Frank
he could be trusted when off in the timber, and get out of any tangle
that might envelop them.
Perhaps when Jerry happened to feel the little package of food thrust
into one of his pockets by thoughtful Frank, he no longer had that
inclination to laugh. Knowledge that they carried their supper along
with them was growing more and more inspiring the farther they walked.
“Even if we did come up on the moose soon,” Jerry observed, keeping
his voice low, “I don’t believe I’d be equal to the job of going all
the way back to our cabin again this afternoon.”
“Huh! Camp, then!” grunted Bluff.
“If we have to do that, I’ll surely forgive Frank for making me tote
my little camp hatchet along, because it will come in handy for
chopping firewood, don’t you think so, Bluff?”
“Sure,” was all the other could be induced to say, and he snapped that
out as though he had a special grievance against the poor little word.
Jerry looked at him with gloomy brow.
“You’re not very sociable, it strikes me,” he ventured.
“And you’re too much that way,” he was told bluntly. “When you want to
hear yourself talk so much, why don’t you hire a hall? But when you’re
going to all this trouble to overtake an old bull moose, please,
please shut up!”
“I won’t say another word for ten minutes!” declared Jerry, in a huff.
“Make it fifteen and I’ll thank you double,” whispered Bluff.
After that they walked on and on, neither as much as whispering.
Bluff, in the lead, was bending part way over, so that his tired eyes
could the better see the trail. All that whiteness was beginning to
dazzle him considerably. Bluff felt a little alarmed, and hoped that
he might not go snow-blind just when they were drawing near the
quarry.
The wind was increasing, and it felt colder than at any time since
they had arrived in the Big Woods. Should the snow start to descend,
and the gale grow in volume, they must unite to form what Frank had
called a blizzard.
Bluff knew something about such a storm. He had even been through an
experience of the sort, though at the time he happened to be close to
home, and on a well-traveled road, so there had been no such thing as
getting lost.
It would be vastly different here, where the trees looked pretty much
alike and all sense of direction must depend on a compass.
Jerry was, to tell the truth, pretty near the point where he would be
willing to call a halt. A big moose was all very well, if only you
could overtake him; but this thing of pushing on and on everlastingly,
without seeming to get a yard nearer your intended game, seemed
foolish.
That was what Jerry had begun to tell himself. He wondered how much
farther his chum meant to go. Jerry would have asked the question, but
really he was afraid Bluff would turn on him and snap him up in that
quick way he had. Besides, he had said he did not mean to speak for at
least ten minutes.
While he cast frequent looks ahead, it was more in the hope of seeing
signs of the westering sun peeping out from the gray clouds that
covered the heavens everywhere than that he dreamed of making any
other agreeable discovery.
Once they had actually seen a deer jumping off through the timber.
Bluff had half raised his gun to his shoulder, perhaps through
instinct, and then lowered it again instantly, with a negative shake
of his head.
Having started out for big game, he did not mean to be diverted from
his course. A deer they could secure almost any time, but never again
would such a glorious chance arise for getting a shot at a moose—and
such a moose, in the bargain!
Frank had advised Bluff to leave his pump-gun behind this time, and
carry the repeating rifle which Frank owned, a very serviceable and
reliable weapon.
“A shotgun is all very well,” he had argued, “and some of them will
shoot charges of twelve buckshot in a satisfactory way; but when it’s
a tough old bull moose you’re after, or like that grizzly out West,
you need something better. These soft-nosed bullets will mushroom when
they strike, and fetch even a lion. They’re the kind they call dum-dum
bullets, and are not allowed in warfare any more, but can be used for
big-game hunting.”
And so it came that Bluff was carrying another firearm than his
favorite pump-gun. Frank knew how tough these old moose may prove to
be, and what sort of missiles it took to bring them down to their
knees. That was why he had insisted on Bluff’s making the change in
weapons at the last moment.
Jerry was soon wondering if that ten minutes must not be up, and
whether Bluff would scold if he ventured to make just one little
remark. He was getting tired, and he certainly did not mean to keep up
this merry chase indefinitely. If he had a good chance, he wanted to
tell Bluff that.
Then he observed that Bluff was showing signs of fresh interest. Yes,
he even displayed more or less excitement, and bent lower than ever
while examining the tracks before him.
Jerry, being held up momentarily by this action on the part of his
comrade, assumed the easiest position he could, so as to rest his
tired muscles, and then patiently waited for the other to start on
again.
It was while standing in this attitude and looking carelessly beyond
that some slight movement attracted the attention of Jerry. He
started, and looked again. Then he felt an icy chill run over his
frame, to be followed instantly by a burning sensation.
Yes, it moved again, he could be positive! His startled eyes traveled
over the immensity of the brownish figure that was outlined there
against the snowy background. Not daring, and really unable, to say a
single word, Jerry simply reached out a quivering hand and, jerking at
his chum’s coat, pointed directly forward.
And Bluff, looking, saw the moose before them, looking, as Will had
said, “as big as a barn.”