On the day of that last Chicken, Thor was all morning carrying water
enough for the coming three fevers. The chill attacked him sooner than
it was due and his fever was worse than ever before.
He drank deeply and often from the bucket at his head. He had filled
it, and it was nearly emptied when about two in the morning the fever
left him and he fell asleep.
In the gray dawn he was awakened by a curious sound not far away--a
splashing of water. He turned his head to see two glaring eyes within a
foot of his face--a great Beast lapping the water in the bucket by his
bed.
Thor gazed in horror for a moment, then closed his eyes, sure that he
was dreaming, certain that this was a nightmare of India with a Tiger
by his couch; but the lapping continued. He looked up; yes, it still
was there. He tried to find his voice but uttered only a gurgle. The
great furry head quivered, a sniff came from below the shining
eyeballs, and the creature, whatever it was, dropped to its front feet
and went across the hut under the table. Thor was fully awake now; he
rose slowly on his elbow and feebly shouted "Sssh-hi," at which the
shining eyes reappeared under the table and the gray form came forth.
Calmly it walked across the ground and glided under the lowest log at a
place where an old potato pit left an opening and disappeared. What was
it? The sick boy hardly knew--some savage Beast of prey, undoubtedly.
He was totally unnerved. He shook with fear and a sense of
helplessness, and the night passed in fitful sleep and sudden starts
awake to search the gloom again for those fearful eyes and the great
gray gliding form. In the morning he did not know whether it were not
all a delirium, yet he made a feeble effort to close the old cellar
hole with some firewood.
The three had little appetite, but even that they restrained since now
they were down to part of a Chicken, and Corney, evidently he supposed
they had been to Ellerton's and got all the food they needed.
Again that night, when the fever left him weak and dozing, Thor was
awakened by a noise in the room, a sound of crunching bones. He looked
around to see dimly outlined against the little window, the form of a
large animal on the table. Thor shouted; he tried to hurl his boot at
the intruder. It leaped lightly to the ground and passed out of the
hole, again wide open.
It was no dream this time, he knew, and the women knew it, too; not
only had they heard the creature, but the Chicken, the last of their
food, was wholly gone.
Poor Thor barely left his couch that day. It needed all the querulous
complaints of the sick women to drive him forth. Down by the spring he
found a few berries and divided them with the others. He made his usual
preparations for the chills and the thirst, but he added this--by the
side of his couch he put an old fish-spear--the only weapon he could
find, now the gun was useless--a pine-root candle and some matches. He
knew the Beast was coming back again--was coming hungry. It would find
no food; what more natural, he thought, than take the living prey lying
there so helpless? And a vision came of the limp brown form of the
little Fawn, borne off in those same cruel jaws.
Once again he barricaded the hole with firewood, and the night passed
as usual, but without any fierce visitor. Their food that day was flour
and water, and to cook it Thor was forced to use some of his barricade.
Loo attempted some feeble joke, guessed she was light enough to fly now
and tried to rise, but she got no farther than the edge of the bunk.
The same preparations were made, and the night wore on, but early in
the morning, Thor was again awakened rudely by the sound of lapping
water by his bed, and there, as before, were the glowing eyeballs, the
great head, the gray form relieved by the dim light from the dawning
window.
Thor put all his strength into what was meant for a bold shout, but it
was merely a feeble screech. He rose slowly and called out: "Loo,
Margat! The Lynx--here's the Lynx again!"
"May God help ye, for we can't," was the answer.
"Sssh-hi!" Thor tried again to drive the Beast away. It leaped on to
the table by the window and stood up growling under the useless gun.
Thor thought it was going to leap through the glass as it faced the
window a moment; but it turned and glared toward the Boy, for he could
see both eyes shining. He rose slowly to the side of his bunk and he
prayed for help, for he felt it was kill or be killed. He struck a
match and lighted his pine-root candle, held that in his left hand and
in his right took the old fish-spear, meaning to fight, but he was so
weak he had to use the fish-spear as a crutch. The great Beast stood on
the table still, but was crouching a little as though for a spring. Its
eyes glowed red in the torchlight. Its short tail was switching from
side to side and its growling took a higher pitch. Thor's knees were
smiting together, but he levelled the spear and made a feeble lunge
toward the brute. It sprang at the same moment, not at him, as he first
thought--the torch and the boy's bold front had had effect--it went
over his head to drop on the ground beyond and at once to slink under
the bunk.
This was only a temporary repulse. Thor set the torch on a ledge of the
logs, then took the spear in both hands. He was fighting for his life,
and he knew it. He heard the voices of the women feebly praying. He saw
only the glowing eyes under the bed and heard the growling in higher
pitch as the Beast was nearing action. He steadied himself by a great
effort and plunged the spear with all the force he could give it.
It struck something softer than the logs: a hideous snarl came forth.
The boy threw all his weight on the weapon; the Beast was struggling to
get at him; he felt its teeth and claws grating on the handle, and in
spite of himself it was coming on; its powerful arms and claws were
reaching for him now; he could not hold out long. He put on all his
force, just a little more it was than before; the Beast lurched, there
was a growling, a crack, and a sudden yielding; the rotten old
spear-head had broken off, the Beast sprang out--at him--past
him--never touched him, but across through the hole and away, to be
seen no more.
Thor fell on the bed and lost all consciousness.
He lay there he knew not how long, but was awakened in broad daylight
by a loud, cheery voice:
"Hello! Hello!--are ye all dead? Loo! Thor! Margat!"
He had no strength to answer, but there was a trampling of horses
outside, a heavy step, the door was forced open, and in strode Corney,
handsome and hearty as ever. But what a flash of horror and pain came
over his face on entering the silent shanty!
"Dead?" he gasped. "Who's dead--where are you? Thor?" Then, "Who is it?
Loo? Margat?"
"Corney--Corney," came feebly from the bunk. "They're in there. They're
awful sick. We have nothing to eat."
"Oh, what a fool I be!" said Corney again and again. "I made sure ye'd
go to Ellerton's and get all ye wanted."
"We had no chance, Corney; we were all three brought down at once,
right after you left. Then the Lynx came and cleared up the Hens, and
all in the house, too."
"Well, ye got even with her," and Corney pointed to the trail of blood
across the mud floor and out under the logs.
Good food, nursing, and medicine restored them all.
A month or two later, when the women wanted a new leaching-barrel, Thor
said: "I know where there is a hollow basswood as big as a hogshead."
He and Corney went to the place, and when they cut off what they
needed, they found in the far end of it the dried-up bodies of two
little Lynxes with that of the mother, and in the side of the old one
was the head of a fish-spear broken from the handle.