THE BEAR’S TRAIL
Bert Wilson was carefully examining his camera, sitting at a table in
the cozy quarters of Cabin No. 2, where he and his chums had gathered
after the day’s hunt. When he had adjusted the shutter, which had stuck
several times of late, thereby spoiling some fine pictures, Bert took
up his gun, and began taking that apart to clean it.
“I say! What’s up?” questioned Tom, who was lying lazily on his back on
a blanket-covered couch, staring at the flicker of the flames on the
ceiling. “Getting ready for an expedition, Bert?”
“Well, I sort of feel it in my bones that I’ll get a bear to-morrow, or
a deer anyhow, and I’m taking no chances,” was the answer.
“Going to get the game with your gun or your camera?” asked Jack.
“Both,” was the quick answer. “I’ll snapshot him first and pot him
afterward.”
“If he lets you,” laughed George. “But I’d like to see any healthy bear
stand for having Bert poke a camera in his face, and then shoot a slug
of lead into him.”
“You watch my smoke--that’s all,” said Bert significantly, as he went
on cleaning his gun.
“What’s the program for to-morrow?” asked Jack, who, like Tom, was
doing nothing, and taking considerable pains at it.
“Well, I thought we’d go off on an all-day hunt again,” was the young
host’s answer, for Tom was really in that position, it being on his
invitation, through his father, that the boys had come to the hunting
camp.
“That idea suits me,” responded Jack. “But take along more grub than we
did last time. I was hungry before we got back.”
“Why don’t we shoot what we want to eat?” suggested George. “I never
read of a party of hunters having to depend on canned stuff or the
grocery when they were really good shots, as we are!” and he puffed
himself up with pretended pride. “What’s the use taking a lot of grub
along when you can shoot a partridge or two, and broil ’em over the
coals of an open fire? Doesn’t that sound good?”
“It _sounds_ a great deal better than it really is,” spoke Tom. “That
sort of thing is all right to read about, but I like my game to stand
a little after being killed. And it’s hard to dress and get ready
anything when you’re on a tramp. So I think we’ll just take our grub
along. We’ll have more time for hunting then.”
“That’s right,” assented Jack.
Bert’s interest in his gun prompted George to look after his weapon.
Jack and Tom declared theirs were already in perfect shape for the
morrow’s sport, providing they saw any game.
“I do wish we’d spot a bear,” said Jack, with an envious sigh.
“Not much chance of that,” came from Tom. “I asked Sam about that, and
he said while bears were plentiful in this part of the Adirondacks,
at certain seasons, this wasn’t exactly the time for them. They’re
probably in their caves, or hollow logs, waiting for Candlemas Day, to
come out and look for their shadows.”
“Do you really believe in that superstition--that if a bear, or a
ground hog, does see his shadow on that day, there’ll be six weeks more
of Winter, and if he doesn’t, there won’t?” asked George.
“There you go again--shooting questions at us!” laughed Tom. “No, I
don’t believe it, but lots of folks do.”
“Did Sam say anything about the chances for getting more deer?” Bert
wanted to know.
“Well, yes, he admitted there were plenty this year. But I’ve shot
mine, so I’m not interested,” Tom said.
“I’m counting on a bear-skin rug to put in front of my bed,” remarked
Jack. “Then when I have to jump up in the cold, I can warm my feet
before I start to dress.”
“Nothing like comfort,” spoke Bert. “Going to have your bear’s skin
tanned with the head on, Jack?”
“Yes, I think I will.”
“Better get your bear first,” said Tom grimly. “Well, let’s lay out
plans for to-morrow’s hunt. What trail shall we take? I rather fancy,
from what Sam said, that the old lumber road will be best to start on.
Maybe we can make Camp No. 3 in the day’s tramp, and do some hunting
along the way.”
“That’s rather too much of a risk, isn’t it?” asked Jack. “We could
easily make Camp No. 3 in a day’s tramp, if we started out from here
early enough, and didn’t waste any time following game trails. But if
we try to do any hunting, we’re likely to be delayed. Then we won’t be
able to start for camp until late. We may not reach it, and not be able
to get back here and then----”
“Great Scott!” cried Tom. “Have you any more if and but calamities up
your sleeve, old man? If you have, trot ’em out. We can make Camp No. 3
all right, and do some hunting, too. Why, it’s a good trail once we get
over the mountain and strike the road to Ramsen. That’s what Sam said.”
Tom spoke of going over the mountain, but what he meant was going
over the ridge of the highest range which they were then among. For
the mountains were all around them, differing in height and rugged
appearance only.
“Well, go ahead and let’s try it, then,” said Jack, with a shrug of his
shoulders. “And if anything happens, don’t blame me!”
“We won’t, as long as you don’t say ‘I told you so!’” exclaimed Bert.
“That always makes me mad.”
“All right--let it go at that,” suggested Tom. “Then we’ll take as much
time as we want for hunting to-morrow, and strike for Camp No. 3 when
we feel like it. We’ll take along some grub, and make coffee as usual.
That sounds good.”
“And I do hope I get a bear--or deer,” murmured Bert. “If I don’t I’m
going to----”
“Hark!” suddenly interrupted Tom. He sat up quickly, in a listening
attitude on the couch.
“Nothing but the wind,” murmured George, as a shutter rattled.
“Hark!” ordered Tom again.
There was some sound outside. All the boys heard it plainly, and a dog
they had borrowed that day from Sam, to help them in tracking any game
on the trail of which they might get, sat up and growled.
“Someone is out there,” said Tom in a whisper.
“Some animal--a skunk, maybe,” suggested Bert. “I’m going to stay in. I
don’t like him--not for a scent!” and he laughed at his own joke.
Tom, however, was softly getting up from the couch. He looked fixedly
toward one certain window.
“Jack, turn the light out suddenly!” he ordered in a whisper. “Bert,
have your gun ready.”
“Do you really think it is--anyone?” asked Bert, as he reached for his
gun, which he had finished cleaning, and put together again.
“Someone or--something,” went on Tom, and his voice did not rise above
a whisper. He moved slowly over toward the window.
“Here goes the glim!” Jack announced, and at once the cabin was
darkened. It took but a minute, however, for the boys’ eyes to become
accustomed to the change, and they saw moonlight streaming through the
window toward which Tom was moving. The others followed him, walking
softly.
“There he goes--it _is_ someone!” hoarsely whispered Bert, and he
pointed to a black figure stealing over the snow. It was plainly in
sight, for the ground was deeply covered with snow.
“It’s a bear!” George burst out. “It’s a bear! Where’s my gun? Where do
you shoot a bear, anyhow? I don’t want to spoil the skin. Say, where’s
my gun?”
“Dry up!” ordered Tom sharply. “It isn’t a bear!”
“It is so!” began George. “Where’s my----”
Before anyone could stop him, or object, Bert had slipped to the door,
opened it, and had fired his gun at the retreating black object.
“Look out!” Tom cried. “You might kill him! That’s a man--not a bear,
Bert!”
“I know it,” was the calm answer. “I only fired over his head to scare
him. Look at him scoot, would you?”
And indeed the black object that George had thought was a bear suddenly
straightened up, revealing itself to be a man. He ran with fast strides
toward the circle of woods that were all about the hunting cabin. The
man reached the shelter of the black trees a little later, and was soon
lost to sight.
“A man!” gasped George. “It was a man!”
“That’s what it was,” added Bert.
“Well, what do you know about that?” demanded Jack. “Was he sneaking
around this cabin?”
“That’s about it,” answered Tom.
“But who was he?”
“That’s for us to guess,” went on the young hunter. “But I fancy I can
come pretty near it.”
“You mean Professor Skeel?” asked Bert.
“Him, or one of his two friends.”
“But what would he, or they, be doing around our cabin?”
“That,” said Tom, and he spoke more soberly than he had for some time,
“that is something I’d give a great deal to learn. It’s a mystery
that’s been bothering me for some time.”
The chums looked at their friend in silence for a moment, and then Jack
remarked:
“I’m going to have a peep around outside.”
The others followed, two of them carrying guns. They made a circuit
of the cabin in the moonlight, but no other uninvited callers were
observed. There were footprints about the shack, however, which showed
that the man, whoever he was, had been listening under several of the
windows.
“Well, he didn’t hear any secrets, for we weren’t talking any,” Tom
said with a laugh, as he and his chums went indoors again.
“Except to say that we were going to Camp No. 3 to-morrow,” said Bert.
“That’s no secret.”
But it was the very information the man, who had been eavesdropping
under the window, had come to obtain. He ran off with a smile of
satisfaction on his evil face.
“They’ve got nerve--firing at me!” he muttered, not thinking of his own
“nerve” in doing what he had done.
The boys were rather alarmed for a while, and quite indignant. They
decided to take some harsh measures, if need be, to keep Skeel and his
cronies off the game preserve. And with this resolve they went to bed,
for they wanted to make an early start the next morning.
Ten o’clock the next day found our four friends well on their way to
Camp No. 3. They had started their hunt in that general direction.
It was an hour later, when, after several false alarms, the dog gave
tongue to a peculiar cry.
“What’s that?” asked Jack.
“It’s a bear!” decided Bert. “Sam said the dog would yelp that way when
he struck the trail. Come on, fellows!”
They ran forward to rejoin their dog, that had gone on ahead. He was
now barking fast and furiously, and had evidently gotten on the track
of something.
“Yes, it is a bear!” decided Tom, when he had noted the tracks in the
snow. “And they’re fresh, too, otherwise the dog couldn’t smell ’em!
They won’t lie long on snow. Go on, old sport!” and thus encouraged
the dog bounded forward.
How the bear came to be out at that time of the year, the boys did not
stop to think. But they eagerly followed the trail. It led on through
the woods, and they hardly noted their direction.
At noon they stopped for a hasty lunch, grudging the time it took, for
they were anxious to get sight of the big game. Once more they were on
the trail.
“But it seems to be getting dark suddenly,” commented Jack. “I wonder
if we’d better keep on?”
“Certainly--why not?” asked Bert. “The trail is getting fresher all the
while. Come on, we’ll have him soon. He’s a big one, too!”
Again the boys pressed forward, the dog baying from time to time.