Visiting the game warden, Joe Wilson, and listening to his old friend's
sage advice had started Andy on a whole fresh train of thought and
furnished new ideas. He sat at the table in his little house and devoted
himself to serious thinking.
Muskrat pelts were fairly valuable in the fall, as soon as the weather
turned cold enough to make them so. But they were far and away at their
best, and brought the highest prices, if taken in late winter or early
spring. In order to realize the maximum profit from his venture--and
even to think about anything else would be silly--the entire crop of
pelts would have to be harvested in a comparatively short time. This
posed a problem which, until now, Andy had not even considered.
Nor had he thought of sharing with his neighbors, he admitted honestly.
He now saw this as a near necessity, aside from being a kindly gesture.
Though everything looked favorable, as yet he could not possibly know
whether his plan to turn the swamp into one big muskrat ranch would end
in success or failure. But he did know that there could be no
intermediate point. Muskrat pelts, which, depending on the fur market,
might bring a little more or a little less than two dollars each--and
probably would average that--were not so valuable that a few, or even a
few dozen, would be worthwhile. He had to take a great many. But if he
restricted himself to the best part of the trapping season--even though
he worked as many hours as possible seven days a week during that
time--how many pelts would one man, working alone, be able to handle?
Without knowing the limit, he was sure that there had to be one.
Merely setting enough traps and moving them whenever a sufficient number
of muskrats had been taken from any one portion of the swamp would,
within itself, be no small task. In fact, though most of it could be
done before trapping started, just patrolling the swamp and deciding how
many pelts might safely be taken, and still leave an adequate foundation
breeding stock, would be a big job. Then there would be skinning the
catch, making stretching boards and stretching the pelts. All of this
not only had to be done, but it must be well done. A poorly cleansed or
badly stretched pelt was not worth nearly as much as one cared for
expertly.
It would be to his benefit--and theirs, too--if he accepted Joe Wilson's
advice and asked the Casman brothers and Old Man Haroldson and his sons
whether they cared to participate. Since Andy was furnishing the swamp,
all the initial investment and all the basic work, it would be feasible
and acceptable to work something out on a share basis. It would,
naturally, be useless to ask Luke Trull to cooperate with anybody in
anything. Andy caught up a stub of pencil and a scratch pad and began to
figure.
He had planted twelve muskrats, of which he had six, two pairs and two
lone females, left. They had produced thirty-eight young, and though
Andy could not be sure--he had found the remains of two baby muskrats
without identifying what had killed them--he thought that at least
thirty remained. He intended to plant twenty more mated pairs, and
judging from past experience, he could expect to lose half of them. If
the rest, and supposing ten females survived, propagated in proportion
to the first planting, there would be somewhat more than ninety young.
If each adult female produced at least one more litter--
Andy threw his pencil down and stared across the table. So many factors
entered into the picture that there was about as much possibility of
accurately forecasting how much increase there would be as there was of
knowing definitely which cow in a herd would switch its tail to the left
first. If he could keep furred and feathered predators down and Luke
Trull out, and if he were lucky, there might be anywhere between 150 and
200 muskrats in the swamp with the coming of spring. That would not be
nearly enough to start reaping a harvest of pelts. It wouldn't even be
an adequate breeding stock, and perhaps there would not be enough
muskrats to start trapping the following spring. But by the third year,
always assuming that luck was on his side, the venture should show at
least a modest return.
At any rate, he would see Ira and Jud Casman and Old Man Haroldson and
his five strapping sons in the near future. He would explain what he
was doing and what he hoped to do and he would point out that, if he had
their co-operation, which he thought he'd get, nobody would become rich
but there would be something for all who cared to join in. Coming in the
spring, when other work was slack, such funds would be welcome. Luke
Trull was and would have to remain Andy's problem.
Rising, the boy walked to the window and peered into the darkness. He
hadn't seen the frost-coated kitten since early morning, and in addition
to anxiety, he felt an unaccountable sense of disappointment. Somewhat
irritably, he tried to shrug it away. Why should he have sensed a
powerful bond between the kitten and himself? And why was he forever
getting ideas and fancies which no one else seemed ever to entertain?
Obviously the kitten, at best a half-wild thing, had gone back into the
wilderness out of which it had come. That was its privilege.
Andy resumed his seat at the table and again took up his pencil and
scratch pad. A second time he started calculating as to exactly what was
going to happen, and a second time he gave it up as useless. He'd
thought everything was carefully planned and well executed, but all the
books he had read and all the information at his disposal, while
definitely valuable, could at the very best only help guide him. No book
ever written could tell him exactly what muskrats would do in his swamp,
for the simple reason that there had never before been any muskrats
there. Though he would certainly apply what he already knew, experience
alone could teach him the rest. Andy started suddenly.
He listened, sure he'd heard the cry of a cat, but when the sound was
not repeated he decided he had heard only the wind whining around a
corner of his house. Two minutes later, and there was no mistake this
time, he heard the cry again. He walked to the door, opened it, and
Frosty padded in.
As meticulously clean as though he had done nothing all day long except
groom himself, tail erect and eyes friendly, but at the same time
managing to preserve his own great dignity, he came straight to Andy and
arched against his legs. But when Andy stooped to pick him up, the
frost-coated kitten dodged aside. He retreated about four feet, sat down
on the floor with his tail curled around his legs and regarded Andy with
grave eyes.
Understanding, Andy grinned. Some cats might love to be fondled and
cuddled, but obviously Frosty was not one of them. He was a partner, not
a possession, and his were a partner's rights. The boy's grin widened.
Again, as he had this morning, he saw something about this proud kitten
that fitted exactly his own ideas. Independent, intelligent and
spirited, Frosty knew what he wanted and what he did not want, and
certainly he wanted no condescension or patronizing. Andy spoke to him.
"I don't know where you've been all day, Frosty, but wherever it was,
you should be hungry now. How about some grub?"
He himself had dined on chicken, and he took a leg from the cold remains
that were stored in his icebox. Cutting the meat away from the bone, he
laid it on a clean saucer and placed the saucer on the floor. After a
moment's grave deliberation, Frosty padded forward and ate daintily. He
cleaned his face and whiskers and came over to settle himself near
Andy's chair. The closed door and the fact that he was shut in were of
little importance, for he had satisfied himself that the door would be
opened again.
Purring, he gave himself over to slumber as sound as he would ever enjoy
after Andy had reached down to stroke him gently. He would never be
satisfied always to stay in the house; he had large ideas which called
for ample space in which to execute them. But again he had found a
refuge. As long as he was in the house, he need not be constantly alert,
for no danger threatened here.
Andy picked up a magazine devoted to furs and fur raising and thumbed
through it, but his mind was not on the printed pages. When encroaching
civilization forced them to change their way of life, the Gates clan had
scattered. But two of the Gates clan, Andy and his father, had been
unable to leave the swamp. It was a home to which they were bound by
unbreakable ties--but it was also a way of life that nobody else would
have chosen and nobody at all understood. Even to the hillmen, far
closer to it than any town dweller could possibly be, anyone who elected
deliberately to live in the swamp was throwing his life away.
Andy could not live elsewhere, but he knew suddenly that his life had
taken a turn for the better. He not only had a companion, but one that
had chosen of its own free will to join him. In addition, although Andy
had no way of knowing where Frosty had been, it went without saying that
he must have been prowling somewhere, and his new partner was evidently
not only able to cope with but to triumph over the rigors and challenges
that such a life offered. Andy needed to know no more.
After a while he rose, undressed, gave himself a sponge bath with warm
water from the stove's reservoir, put on his pajamas and went to bed.
He lay wakeful in the darkness, and when something jumped on the bed he
put out a hand to touch Frosty. He smiled contentedly and went to sleep.
* * * * *
Andy was up with the dawn, and as he built a fire in the kitchen stove
he started pondering a new problem that faced him. His own way of life
had for so long been so well worked out that it had fallen into a
routine pattern. In summer, since he had only an icebox and visited the
town infrequently, he never bought fresh meat which he himself would be
unable to use before it spoiled. He depended on staples, ham and bacon,
a very few canned meats, eggs, fish from the swamp, an occasional
chicken and vegetables from his garden. After hunting season opened and
icy weather set in, he froze the game he shot and occasionally he
purchased from or traded with the Casman brothers or one of the
Haroldsons for a side of pork. Having Frosty meant that he must make
provision for him, but it was not an urgent matter and it could be taken
care of when he went into town. Possibly he would buy some cans of
commercial cat food to supplement what he already had to offer.
Andy breakfasted on eggs, opened a can of milk for Frosty and washed the
dishes. Frosty slipped out with him and composed himself on the porch
when his companion left the house. Andy gave him a farewell pat and set
his face toward the Casman brothers' farm.
Ira and Jud, bachelors, lived two miles back in the hills. The various
abandoned farms Andy passed on his way to them were sufficient evidence
that, in their own way, the Casman brothers were as hard as the granite
boulders that reared humped gray backs out of their fields and
pastures. The Gateses had not been the only ones to leave the hills.
Many of the Casmans and Haroldsons, and all the Trulls excepting Luke,
had gone, too. Ira and Jud, like Old Man Haroldson and his sons, had not
only managed to hang on but even did quite well. They never had more
than modest sums of money, but they never knew want either, and they
were happy with the life they led.
Andy passed the one-room, one-teacher country school which he had
attended and which was now kept open solely for the numerous offspring
of Old Man Haroldson's sons. He swung up a hill, descended the other
side and saw the Casman farm.
The house and outbuildings were well back from the dirt road. Five
cattle and about sixty sheep grazed in a pasture and the fields were
green with various crops. Andy swung up the lane toward the house and
the Casmans' big, friendly dog--there were far fewer rattlesnakes away
from the swamp--bounded forward. He barked a happy welcome and Andy
stooped to pet him. Straightening, he saw Jud Casman standing in the
doorway.
Jud was lean as a greyhound, tough as an oak knot, suspicious and
approximately as talkative as a wary buck. There was no certain way to
determine his age. He had taken an active part in the Trull-Casman-Gates
feud, but, like Andy, he knew that belonged to the past. He murmured,
"Mawnin', Andy."
"Good morning, Jud."
"You et?"
"I've had breakfast, Jud. I've come to talk with you and to ask
something from you and Ira."
"Ira's afield. Call him in if'n you like."
"That isn't necessary. You can tell him. I'm trying to do something in
my swamp. Now--"
Andy described his project. He spoke of the muskrats he had already
liberated, and of the increase in them. He told of the twenty pairs that
were due in a few days. If the plan worked, Andy said, it would work
very well--so well, in fact, that he would need help. Therefore, he
would share with any hillman who cared to join him. He himself must
retain complete control and he would say how many muskrats might be
taken from any one section of the swamp. It would be the trapper's job
to take the muskrats, pelt them and stretch the pelts. For so doing, he
would receive half the value of such pelts as he handled and Andy would
do the marketing.
Jud listened in attentive silence. When Andy was finished, he spoke.
"What you want of Ira'n me?"
"A chance," Andy said frankly, "and nothing more. The best way I can
figure it, there won't even be an adequate breeding stock next spring.
There can't possibly be any trapping; maybe there can't even be any the
following spring. But we should be able to start the spring following
that. All I want from you, or anyone, is to leave the muskrats alone
until the time is right."
"Me'n Ira got no call to pester 'em."
"Thanks, Jud."
"M-_mm_. You're gittin' twenty mo' these mushrats?"
"Forty. Twenty mated pairs."
"Quite a passel to tote."
"I'll make three trips."
"You needn't," Jud declared. "Come get our Tom horse. He packs good
an' just turn him loose when you're done. He'll come home."
* * * * *
Andy led Tom, the Casman brothers' gentle brown pack horse, off the road
and down the trail to his house. The halter rope was slack. Tom knew he
had a job and was entirely willing to do it. Sure-footed as a goat, he
threaded his way among the boulders in his path and matched his pace to
Andy's. Since it was unnecessary to watch the horse, Andy gave himself
to reflection.
There was a change in his relations with the Casman brothers and Old Man
Haroldson and his sons. Nobody had mentioned it and it could not be
seen, but it could be felt. His reception by each of the Haroldsons had
been approximately the same as that which the Casmans had accorded him.
None had been loquacious, but all had listened and all had promised to
leave Andy's muskrats alone until he himself gave the word. Through that
simple understanding, the change was worked.
Formerly considered at least queer, if not an outright crackpot, he had
now advanced to being respected. Nobody except himself had thought his
swamp anything except a worthless marsh. He had not only seen
possibilities there but was in the process of developing them. Time
might very well prove that it was they, not he, who had been
short-sighted.
When he arrived at his house, Andy tied Tom to the porch railing.
Frosty, napping in the sun, glided silkily over, regarded the horse with
haughty and the muskrats with haughtier disdain, then sat down to watch
the proceedings. Unstrapping the ropes that bound the crates to Tom's
pack saddle, Andy lifted them to the ground, one by one. When they were
all unloaded, he untied Tom, looped the lead rope through his bridle so
it wouldn't drag and patted him on the rump. The horse started
cheerfully up the trail toward his home.
These muskrats were designed for the most inaccessible ponds and sloughs
in the swamp and it was too late even to think of taking them in today.
Two at a time, one under each arm, Andy carried the crates inside. He
stepped back to look at them with pleased satisfaction.
An almost visible sneer on his face, Frosty paraded up and down the row
of crates, looked intently at the occupants of each and turned loftily
away. Andy laughed.
"I take it you don't think they're your social equals?"
Disdaining to glance again at the crated muskrats, Frosty curled up in
his favorite place near Andy's chair. He lost himself in his own
meditations and the young man gave him an affectionate glance. The
further this partnership progressed, the better he liked it.
Andy was up and had breakfasted before daylight. He let Frosty out and
then gave his attention to the muskrats. Twenty crates meant four loads
of five crates each. That many was by no means a heavy pack, but it was
as much as could be carried comfortably through the swamp. Besides, Andy
had in mind four different sections of the swamp where he wanted to
plant these animals. Strapping five crates to his pack board, he went
outside.
Always before, as soon as he was let out of the house, Frosty had gone
about his own affairs of the day and usually Andy had not seen him again
until after nightfall. This morning he was surprised to find the kitten
still waiting, and even more astonished when Frosty fell in beside him.
Andy raised puzzled brows.
"What are you aiming to do here, fella?"
Tail high, eyes friendly, Frosty stayed beside him. Andy grinned
good-naturedly. Dogs were supposed to accompany their masters wherever
they went, but nobody expected a cat to do so. However, this one had
evidently made up his mind to go along and he was welcome. Maybe, Andy
thought whimsically, he wants to see for himself what is going to happen
to the muskrats.
Andy made his way toward the north end of the swamp, a wild and tangled
place, with not too many sloughs and ponds but more trees and brush than
any other part of the whole area. It was also the most dangerous part of
the swamp because safe trails were few. The boy worked his way through a
tangle of brush and came to a slough.
He stopped. Frosty halted beside him and Andy looked speculatively at
his companion. So far, the kitten had shown not the slightest desire to
let himself be handled or to permit any undue familiarity. But when Andy
stooped and picked him up, Frosty settled contentedly in his arms. Safe
on the other side of the slough, of his own accord he jumped down.
Andy grinned in appreciation. While respecting his own self, Frosty had
no objection to hitchhiking when that was in order. He'd known very well
that Andy could carry him securely across the slough. Again on the
ground, he paced contentedly beside his partner.
He sat on the bank and watched solemnly when Andy released the first
pair of muskrats in a weed-grown pond. Confused at first, the liberated
animals quickly gave way to the usual wild delight and for the next few
moments devoted themselves to sporting in the slough. Then, swimming to
the bank, they began to satisfy their hunger. Aside from keeping a wary
eye on Andy, they made no attempt to hide and offered not the slightest
indication that they knew danger might lurk here.
Andy went on. Previous experience had taught him that, with rare
exceptions, pen-raised muskrats--and probably most other pen-raised
creatures--would react in just this fashion. Never having known danger,
they could not possibly understand that it existed. But they would learn
if they escaped the first few perils that threatened, and though some
would surely die, some would live.
Making his way to the next slough, where once more Frosty watched
gravely, Andy released another pair of muskrats. He liberated a third
pair, and was about to free a fourth when he discovered that the kitten
was no longer beside him. Andy swung to look for his companion.
Thirty yards away, Frosty had leaped to the top of a moss-covered
boulder and flattened himself on it. His tail was straight behind him,
and he was so still that not even a hair rippled. His attitude was one
of watchful alertness.
The short hairs on the back of Andy's neck rippled and he had a
presentiment of danger. At once he dismissed it. There were plenty of
dangers in the swamp, but he knew all of them and understood how to cope
with them. Still, Frosty had heard or sensed something of which he
remained unaware. Andy started toward him. He had covered less than half
the distance when the kitten slipped from the boulder, melted into the
brush, and disappeared.
A second time, Andy had a premonition of danger and a second time he
forced it from his mind. Certainly, Frosty knew something he did not
know. However, it was not only possible but highly probable that the
kitten might be greatly alarmed by something which would not trouble him
at all. Andy strained to hear a rattlesnake or to see evidence of a
coyote, bobcat, great horned owl, or anything else that might have
frightened Frosty.
He could neither see nor hear anything at all, and anxiety for the
kitten rose within him. He was not greatly concerned about whatever had
caused his partner to flee. Frosty had lived in the wilderness a long
while and the very fact that he had lived was evidence that he knew how
to stay alive. But as far as Andy knew, the only ways out of this
section of the swamp led across sloughs and he was certain that, of his
own accord, Frosty would not cross water. Therefore, unless he could be
found, he was marooned here.
Andy hurried to liberate his two remaining pairs of muskrats, then
hastened back to the boulder upon which Frosty had crouched. He called,
"Frosty."
There was no response and the boy's anxiety mounted. He'd lived with his
partner long enough to assure himself that the quality which he had
first seen in Frosty was indeed a part of him. The kitten was not only
capable of deciding for himself and acting as he felt best, but once he
had made up his mind to do a certain thing, he would do it and nothing
whatever would swerve him. Even though he heard his friend calling, he
would respond only if he was satisfied that that was the proper thing to
do. Andy began methodically to cast back and forth.
An hour and a half later, he gave up the search as hopeless. No human
could find a cat that did not want to be found, and the day was wasting.
The boy hurried hopefully back to the slough over which he had carried
Frosty. But the frost-coated kitten was not waiting for him. Andy
deliberated.
He should turn back and resume the hunt for his partner. Sooner or
later, no matter where he hid or what his reason for hiding was, when
that reason no longer existed, Frosty would show himself. At the same
time, and aside from their practical value, he had an obligation to the
remaining muskrats. They'd been imprisoned in the little crates for as
long as anything should be, and it was only right and just to release
them. Andy made up his mind.
Hurrying back to the house, he strapped five more crates on the pack
board and took them into the swamp. He did not stop for lunch because he
wanted to finish as soon as possible and go look for Frosty. He took a
third load and went back for the last one.
These he carried to a remote but relatively open section of the swamp.
There were few trees and little brush here, but swamp grass grew tall
and the ponds and sloughs were choked with succulent aquatic growth that
would enable his released captives to live richly. He freed four pairs
and was about to liberate a fifth when he straightened.
Again, and for no apparent reason, he felt a strong sense of danger. The
short hairs on his neck resumed prickling. Something was indeed in the
swamp, but it was not stalking Frosty. It was on his trail.
Andy whirled suddenly to see Luke Trull, who had been peering cautiously
over the swamp grass, throw himself down in it.
8