The White Buck.
It was a week before Frank was able to travel, during which time
George and Archie had been sent back to Uncle Joe's after supplies of
bread, coffee, and salt. Early one morning they again set out, the
trapper leading the way more slowly than at the former part of the
journey, so as not to weary his young companion. They halted at noon
for dinner, and about four o'clock in the afternoon they reached a
dilapidated cabin.
"This yere is to be our camp for awhile," said Dick, throwing his
rifle into the hollow of his arm. "I camped here last winter; but I
see the shantee is well-nigh broke down. But we can soon set it to
rights agin."
They leaned their guns against the logs of the cabin, and Archie and
George cut down some saplings with which to repair the roof; while the
others cleared out the old pine boughs that covered the floor, and
erected a new crane over the fireplace, which was a hole about four
feet in diameter and a foot and a half deep, that had been dug in the
middle of the floor. An opening in the roof directly over this did
duty both as chimney and window. Before dark the cabin was put in
order again, and the hunters began to prepare their supper.
The next morning the trapper, after giving Frank emphatic directions
to remain quiet during the day, set out, with Useless at his heels, to
look for "otter signs." George and Archie followed him with their
fox-traps; and Frank and Harry, being left to themselves, shouldered
their guns, and strolled slowly through the woods, and amused
themselves in shooting rabbits, which were very abundant. In a short
time they had secured game enough for dinner, and were about to
retrace their steps toward the cabin, when the dog, which was some
distance in advance of them, suddenly stopped, and, after listening a
moment, uttered a low whine, ran back to his master, and took refuge
behind him.
"What's the matter with the dog, I wonder?" said Frank, patting the
animal's head, and endeavoring to encourage him.
"I don't know," answered Harry, clutching his gun more firmly; "he
must have seen or scented some wild animal. Perhaps it would be safer
to go back a little way. I shouldn't like the idea of meeting a bear
or panther;" and Harry began to retreat.
"Hold on," said Frank; "don't be in a hurry. If it is a panther, we
are certainly a match for him. Our guns are loaded with buck-shot."
"I know it; but if I should see one of the 'varmints,' as Dick calls
them, I should be so excited that I couldn't shoot at all. I think we
had better"--
"Hush!" interrupted Frank. "Don't you hear something?"
The boys listened, and a faint cry, like the yelping of a pack of
hounds, was borne to their ears.
"It can't be dogs," said Frank, "for if it was, Brave would not have
been so frightened; besides, it does not sound exactly like them, and
I know of no hunter in this part of the country that keeps hounds."
"I wonder if that is what Brave heard?" said Harry.
"It must be," replied Frank, watching the motions of his dog, which
appeared to grow more excited as the sound came nearer. "I would like
to know what it is."
"We shall soon find out, for it seems to be coming this way. Let's
hide behind some of these trees."
The boys, accordingly, concealed themselves, and waited impatiently,
with a great deal of anxiety, for the animals to come in sight. Louder
and louder grew the noise, and Harry, turning to his companion, with
blanched cheeks, exclaimed:
"It's the cry of a pack of wolves. Let's get away from here."
"O, no," said Frank. "They must be in pursuit of something. Let us
wait and see what it is."
There was something appalling in the sound, which now began to echo
loudly through the woods, and it was no wonder that Harry wished to
retreat. Even Brave, although he was a very courageous dog, seemed
struck with terror, and crept up behind his master, as if endeavoring
to get out of sight. But Frank, with his usual recklessness,
determined to stand his ground as long as possible.
The wolves seemed to be running directly toward them, and the boys
held their guns to their shoulders, ready to shoot the first one that
appeared. In a few moments there was a crashing in the bushes, and a
white object was seen gliding among the trees, while behind him
followed a pack of a dozen wolves. They ran with their ears laid close
back to their heads, and their mouths open, displaying frightful rows
of teeth. Frank gazed at them a moment, and then turned his attention
to the game. Could he believe his eyes! It was a _white buck_. He was
running at the top of his speed; but his tongue was hanging out of his
mouth, and his legs were horribly lacerated by the sharp crust, into
which he sank at every step. He was evidently almost tired out, and
the wolves were gaining on him rapidly. Frank had often heard of white
deer, but had never seen one before, and he determined to take a hand
in the affair, and, if possible, rescue the buck from his pursuers.
"Shoot the wolves, Harry," he exclaimed, "and save the deer. We want
him ourselves."
"Don't shoot--don't," urged Harry. "The wolves will turn on us."
But it was too late. Frank's gun was at his shoulder in an instant,
and the foremost of the pack leaped high in the air, and fell to the
ground, dead. The others stopped and ravenously attacked their fallen
comrade, and in a moment every vestige of him had disappeared. The
white buck kept on his way, and soon disappeared from their sight.
"Shoot 'em, Harry," exclaimed Frank, excitedly, turning to his
companion, who stood holding his gun in his hand, and gazing at the
wolves as though he had suddenly been deprived of all action; "shoot
'em, and don't be standing there like a bump on a log. They'll pitch
into us, sure, and the more we kill now, the less we shall have to
deal with by-and-by."
This seemed to bring Harry back to his senses, and he hurriedly raised
his gun to his shoulder and endeavored to cover one of the wolves with
the sight. But he was trembling violently, and his gun swayed about
like a leaf in a storm.
"Why don't you shoot?" exclaimed Frank.
Harry pressed the trigger, and the loud yell that followed showed that
the shot had not been thrown away. One of the wolves was severely
wounded. Maddened by the pain, he dashed toward the place where the
boys were standing, followed by the whole pack.
"Take to a tree, quick!" exclaimed Frank, who began to be surprised at
his own coolness; "it's our only chance. Be sure and keep a good hold
of your gun." Suiting the action to the word, he swung himself into
the lowest branches of a small pine that stood near, and, reaching
down, seized Brave by his long hair and pulled him up after him. It
was slow climbing among the thick branches, with a gun in one hand and
a dog nearly as heavy as himself in the other; and he had scarcely
ascended out of reach before the wolves were around the tree. Several
of the pack leaped among the branches, and made desperate efforts to
reach him, while their dismal howls made his blood run cold.
"Hold on, down there," muttered Frank. "Wait until I get Brave fixed,
and then I'll soon be even with you."
After feeling in all his pockets, he found a stout strap, with which
he tied his dog fast to the branches, so that he would not fall down
among the wolves.
"I say, Frank, where are you?" shouted Harry, from his tree.
"Here I am," answered Frank. "Are you all right?"
"Yes; but I had a narrow escape, I tell you. The wolves pulled off one
of my boots as I was climbing up this tree. You're always getting a
fellow into some scrape or other, ain't you?"
"I don't call this much of a scrape," answered Frank. "We're safe, at
any rate."
"I know it," replied Harry, who seemed to be regaining his courage.
"But we may have to stay up here a week."
"No we won't--not if our ammunition holds out," answered Frank,
pushing his gun through the branches of the tree. "I'm going to
commence shooting them."
"That's a good plan; I did not think of that."
The report of Harry's gun followed his words, and feeling safe in his
tree, he made a good shot, the largest of the wolves receiving the
entire charge in his head. The boys continued to load and fire until
the last wolf was killed, when they dropped down from the trees, and
took a survey of their work. Nine wolves were lying dead on the snow,
which was saturated with blood, and a tenth was endeavoring to crawl
away on two legs. Brave immediately commenced a battle with him, but
the wolf had plenty of fight left in him, and was killed only after a
hard struggle.
"Now," said Frank, "let's follow up that white buck. I would give
almost any thing to catch him alive. He is pretty well tired out, and
can't run far."
"Lead on, then," said Harry; "but, if Dick was here, he would say it
was no use. You know hunters are inclined to be superstitious about
such things."
The boys had often heard extravagant stories told about the incredible
speed and tenacity of life possessed by white deer, and had heard old
hunters say that it was impossible to kill or capture them. But Frank
was not superstitious. He could not see why a white deer should be so
widely different from one of the ordinary color. At all events, he
determined to make an attempt to capture the white buck--which would
make a valuable addition to his museum. So, leaving the wolves where
they had fallen, he led the way along the trail, which could be easily
followed by the blood on the snow. They had run nearly a mile, when
they discovered the white buck a short distance ahead of them, making
his way slowly through the snow, and staggering as though he were
scarcely able to keep his feet.
"There he is," exclaimed Frank, joyfully. "Catch him, Brave."
The dog was off in an instant, and although the buck made an effort to
run, he was speedily overtaken, and pulled down without a show of
resistance. The boys hurried forward to secure their captive, which
struggled desperately as they approached. But at length Frank
succeeded in fastening his belt around his neck. The buck staggered to
his feet, and, after a few ineffectual attempts to escape, seemed to
submit to his fate, and suffered himself to be led toward the cabin.
He was one of the most noble specimens of the common deer that the
boys had ever seen. He stood nearly five feet high at the shoulders,
and his head was crowned with antlers, which Frank had learned, from
experience, would prove no mean weapons in a fight. He was evidently
an "old settler," and had seen some stirring times during his life,
for his body was almost covered with scars. They reached the camp
without any mishap, and Harry brought from the cabin a long rope with
which the captive was fastened to a tree. After a short struggle,
during which the boys received some pretty severe scratches from the
buck's sharp hoofs, his legs were rudely bandaged, and he was left to
himself.
After a hastily-eaten dinner, the boys returned to the scene of their
late fight with the wolves, to procure some of the skins, which Frank
wished to mount in his museum. They got back to the cabin just before
dark, and found Dick leaning on his long rifle, and closely examining
the buck. Useless was seated at his side, and near him lay three
otter-skins, which they had captured during the day.
"See here, youngsters," exclaimed the trapper, as the boys came up,
"what's all this yere?"
"O, that's our day's work," replied Frank.
"Give us your hands, youngsters," continued Dick. "Shoot me if you
hain't done somethin' that I tried all last winter to do an'
couldn't. If I shot at that buck onct, I shot at him twenty times. Do
you see that scar on his flank? I made that. An' there's another on
his neck. When I hit him there I thought I had him sure; for he war
throwed in his tracks, an' when Useless come up to grab him, he war up
an' off like a shot. If you war with some trappers I know, they would
tell you to cut that rope an' let him get away from here as fast as he
could travel. Some fellers think these yere white deer have got the
Evil One in 'em."
"O, that's all nonsense," said Frank; "a white deer isn't a bit
different from any other, only in the color."
"That's what I used to tell 'em," said Dick. "But this yere is my
day's work," he added, lifting the otter-skins from the ground; "and a
good one it is, too. But five mile back the woods are full of otter,
an' a little further on is a beaver-dam--eight houses in it--forty
beaver at the least kalkerlation."
As the trapper finished speaking, he shouldered his rifle and led the
way into the cabin, where a fire was soon started, and some choice
pieces of venison, which had been brought in by him were laid on the
coals to broil. In a few moments, George and Archie entered, and the
latter inquired:
"Who caught that white buck?"
Frank gave him the desired information, and also related their
adventure with the wolves; when Archie continued:
"I'm glad you caught him, for you always wanted one for your museum.
We came near catching a black fox for you."
"A black fox!" repeated the trapper.
"Yes; the largest one I ever saw," said George. "He's black as a
coal--hasn't got a white hair on him, except the very tip of his
tail."
"I know him," answered the trapper. "Him an' Useless had more'n one
race last winter. You found his trail down by that little creek that
runs through that deep hollow."
"Yes," answered Archie.
"An' lost it up here in the woods but two mile back."
"Yes," said Archie again.
"An' that's the way you'll keep doin' as often as you chase him. You
can't ketch him. He's an ole one in these parts, an' I guess he'll
stay here till he dies a nat'ral death."
"No, I'll be shot if he does," said Archie, decidedly, as he deposited
his gun on a couple of pegs in one corner of the cabin, and began to
divest himself of his overcoat. "I've got a dog that was never fooled
yet. There was a fox that used to live on Reynard's Island, a short
distance from Lawrence, and he had been chased by all the best dogs in
the country; but the first time he got Sport on his trail, he was a
gone sucker. I'm going to start out early to-morrow and try that black
fox again, and if I don't catch him the first day, I'll try him the
next, and keep it up till I do succeed. I don't mean to leave these
woods without him."
"Then you'd better send home for plenty of grub," said the trapper,
"for you'll have to stay here all winter."
"Supper's ready," said Frank; and this announcement cut short the
conversation.