THE SUGAR CAMP ON LONE MOUNTAIN
It was nearing March, but deep snow still covered the hills up in the
North country, and there were, as yet, scant signs of spring; not
even a bird was to be seen, excepting occasionally a solitary crow.
When the sun shone out in the middle of the day, the brown fence tops
began to show above the white drifts down in the clearings. By night
the freezing cold returned; everything froze up solid, and upon the
snow crusts which were thick and glossy it was just the best kind of
slide.
There were other important things for boys to think about besides fun
and tobogganing; it was just the right sort of weather to begin
making maple sugar. For when it freezes hard, then thaws, the sap
will run; so up near the lumber camps, where Dick and Joe lived, the
sugar season was commencing. Several miles beyond the camps upon the
side of a wild mountain, rightly called Lone Mountain, grew a great
forest of maples. The spot was too far away for most of the campers
to bother about sugar making, but Dick and Joe did not mind
distances, and as all the spending money which the boys had they were
expected to earn for themselves, they were only too glad to have the
privilege of tapping the maples on Lone Mountain. Even before the
sap began to flow, they had actually counted over the money they
would earn with their sugar and had really spent almost every cent.
They whittled out hundreds of fine ash spills to run the sap, then
borrowed every crock and pail their mother could spare from the camp
to hold it, besides two great black iron kettles, which they would
set over an arch built of large flat stones, where they would boil
their syrup. After packing provisions and all their outfit upon a
sledge, off they started for Lone Mountain, a day's journey from camp.
Wild and lonely enough was Lone Mountain, a kind of scary spot at
best for two boys to camp out alone, but they were not at all afraid,
for they were used to wild places: having lived so long in the great
spruce forests they felt quite at home. Several years before, they
had found the remains of an old sugar house standing in the maple
grove on the mountain below a great overhanging crag. Here they
would live, and boil the sap outside the shack. After tapping their
trees, they drove in the spills, hanging the buckets beneath. As
fast as the sap collected they had to boil it, or it would soon sour
and be wasted. So, as you can well imagine, both boys were kept very
busy, collecting sap, keeping up fires under the great iron kettles,
watching the boiling sugar, and testing it upon the snow to find out
when it was boiled enough. When night came they were very tired, but
they kept at their sugar making as long as the sap continued to run
from the trees. They had been on Lone Mountain over a week. With
the continued thawings and freezing, the sap kept on running, and the
boys were glad, for it meant a fine lot of sugar and they were
greatly elated over their good luck. They would carry back more
sugar to camp than ever before.
"If we can only have two days more like to-day's run of sap, we'd
make a pile of money this year," spoke Dick happily; "we could buy
two fine overcoats, and have something toward our new sugaring outfit
that we talked with father about buying."
"Yes, I know; great!" replied Joe, as he ladled out a great waxy
spoonful of amber sugar upon a pan of snow, and after it had cooled a
bit divided it with Dick.
"Bully, ain't it?" said Dick, cleaning off the spoon. "Best we ever
made--fine and white; it'll fetch top price. But say, we could make
it still better if we only had a new up-to-date outfit. We've got to
get it somehow, I guess, even if we don't buy new coats this year;
guess our old ones will go another year; we ain't dudes."
Sure enough, that day, to the delight of the boys, another thaw came
and the sap ran as it never had done before and kept them jumping
well to save it all.
"One of us will have to stay awake and tend fires and watch to-night.
We can't finish up anyhow, and we can't afford to waste all this sap.
I'll boil all night," said Dick, tucking the embers in around the
great kettle.
"You won't tend alone. If you stay up all night I shall too," said
Joe stoutly. "Guess we're partners on this sugar making, ain't we?"
"Of course. Tell you what we will do: I'll tend till midnight, while
you sleep, then you can work the rest of the night while I sleep,"
suggested Dick. To which his brother agreed willingly.
The boys ate their supper, boiling their eggs in sap, and finishing
up with brown bread spread thickly with soft, new maple sugar. And
oh, how fine it tasted to the two tired boys. Soon Joe was fast
asleep in the shack upon his fragrant bed of balsam boughs, rolled up
in an old patchwork quilt his mother had made him take, for it always
grows bitterly cold in the mountains before morning. Dick grinned to
himself, as he worked alone and heard Joe's tired snores coming from
the shack, and he made up his mind to let him sleep after midnight
and get well rested. He kept very busy himself tending the bubbling
syrup in both kettles and bringing firewood. It was somewhat lonely
off up there in the mountain, now there was no one to talk to,
thought Joe to himself. The wind sighed and whined in the tops of
the spruces. Occasionally he heard a mysterious crack upon the snow
crusts, off in the woods, where some hoof or paw broke through.
Finally, an old owl began its lonely hoot above the shack somewhere,
and once he heard a long, whimpering yell, far across the valley. He
knew what that meant; a lynx was abroad, venturing down into the
clearings after a sheep perhaps. Joe looked back into the shack
rather longingly after the lynx yelled; he was almost tempted to
awaken Dick, but decided, unselfishly, not to.
At last, long after midnight, Joe himself began to feel extremely
worn out and sleepy. A great stillness had settled over everything;
even the wind seemed to soothe him to drowsiness, while the sap
bubbled and blubbered softly and monotonously in the iron kettles.
In spite of all he could do, Joe's tired eyes closed together, and,
untended, the fires under the black kettles burned lower and lower.
Out beyond the camp, breaking through the snow crusts, unheard, stole
a huge, black, shambling figure, closely followed by two smaller
ones. A great black mother bear and her two very young cubs, and she
was heading them straight for the boys' sugar camp. The cubs were so
young they had difficulty in keeping up with their mother, for they
were tired. It had been a long distance down from the den, but the
mother bear did not spare them, and kept nosing them along
impatiently when they halted along the trail. Now if there is one
thing on earth a bear loves even more than honey it is maple sugar.
The scent of the boiling syrup arose even above the woody, odours,
and delicious enough it seemed to the old bear; she was eager to
reach the camp.
At last the little trio came out into a small clearing surrounding
the shack. The old bear halted, warily, but all was now silent.
Inside the shack lay one boy fast asleep, rolled in his patchwork
quilt, while half leaning against a tree slept another. The sugar
had ceased to bubble and heave in the great kettles, for the fires
were almost out. Between the kettles shuffled the old bear, followed
by the cubs, whimpering wearily and crossly. The old bear arose upon
her hind feet snuffing and grunting, but never offering to disturb
the sleeping boys; all she cared about now was to find maple sugar.
She was of monstrous size, and when she finally entered the shack,
she completely filled up the rude doorway with her huge form. She
nosed about, but did not find the stored sugar, so out she shambled,
and cautiously approaching a great black kettle, she sniffed long and
deliriously at its contents, blowing out the whitened ashes in clouds
from the blackened embers with her breath. The cubs meantime seated
themselves close by and watched her movements curiously.
Then the old bear did a very foolish thing. So eager was she to get
a taste of the sugar in the kettle that she reached in with one great
furry paw, burning it severely. She immediately lost her head, and
in her rage upset the whole kettle full of hot syrup all over
herself. _Then_ there was something doing! With a terrific howl of
pain and sudden terror, which made such a racket that the mountains
fairly echoed back her cries, the old bear tore off into the woods in
a perfect frenzy of agony, her heavy coat soaked with hot syrup,
which burned its way deeper and deeper at every step. Without
heeding the cubs, or what became of them, she ran wildly on, only
seeking water where she might cool her burning flesh. As soon as
Dick and Joe heard the first yell of the bear, they were wide awake,
you may be sure. Joe saw the old bear just as she disappeared in the
woods, and scared almost out of his wits he shouted:
"Hi, Dick, bears! Look! There goes one big as a house, and see,
there's another one," pointing out one helpless, whimpering little
cub which had been left behind by the old bear in her madness.
"Where?" inquired Dick sceptically, as he appeared from inside the
shack, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "What, _that thing_? It couldn't
hurt a fly; it's just a baby. I hope you aren't afraid of a bear cub
that size."
"Well, I didn't say I was," replied Joe, rather touchily. "You just
ought to have seen the big one I saw, and heard its yells. It was
awful. It turned over almost a whole kettle of hot syrup. Look!"
and Joe pointed to the overturned kettle.
"No wonder it yelled," grinned Dick; "though come to think, it got
pretty well scalded; that's why it yelled so, I guess. And say, it
won't come back here right off either, I'll bet. But look, he's
wasted almost a whole kettle full of good syrup--meddling old thing.
Say, why in creation didn't you wake a fellow up?"
"Oh, well, I guess, come to think of it, I must have been asleep. I
seem to remember closing my eyes once or twice," confessed Joe.
"Great Scott! I should think you did. Let a bear come into camp and
not wake you up; ha! ha!" jeered Dick. "But look here; we're _in_
something, if we did lose some sugar; we've got a bear cub, and my,
ain't he a dandy?"
"Look, look, Dick! He's sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his paw
and crying, just like a little kid. My, ain't he the funniest little
fellow?" spoke Joe delightedly, watching the cub, and both boys had
great fun over their new pet, which they meant to take back with them
to the lumber camps.
"Sugaring all finished to-day," commented Dick, as the sun rose over
the tops of the tall spruces, and they ate their breakfast, sharing
their bacon rinds with the bear cub, which had seemed to take to them
at once.
"Won't we surprise the folks when we lug all this sugar home, and a
bear cub too?" spoke Joe. "Say, look at his head, Dick; see, he's
got a funny mark from his nose to the back of his ears; I'll bet when
he sheds his woolly baby fur, it'll be a regular white streak right
across his face. I heard Indian Pete tell once about a white-faced
bear; they're awful rare."
"Hope the folks will let us keep this fellow in camp," said Joe.
"He'll make a fine pet, and Indian Pete 'll help us to teach him
tricks perhaps."
"Say, what if the old bear comes back for her cub? She'll be awful
mad at us, and I guess we better make tracks and leave here soon as
we can," suggested Dick, peering back into the thick woods, almost
expecting to see the old bear making for them.
"Huh, I ain't afraid; she's probably so badly burned, she won't think
of anything else for a while. Just the same, we'll break camp,"
replied Joe.
So back to camp they went in triumph, their sugar packed on the
sledge, and on top of the load sat the little, furry bear cub, which
they had already named Whitey. Because Whitey was such a cunning
little fellow he was accepted in camp, and soon became a perfect pet.
He was full of mischief, however, and could never be left within
reach of the sugar crocks. He broke and filched eggs, and even
gnawed whole sides of bacon. To make up for his mischief he acquired
many taking tricks. He soon learned to stand on his head, and beg
for lumps of maple sugar, and was beginning to take a few clumsy,
capering steps, which Indian Pete called dancing.
Evil days came, and as Whitey grew older he became cross, and would
often bite and scratch roughly. So finally, the boys were told they
would have to part with their pet. Now, as good luck would have it,
an opportunity came to sell the bear to a man who dealt in trained
animals. Dick and Joe went sadly to work, and built for him a rough
coop with slats in front. In this coop Whitey was placed, and the
following day he would be taken away. For the last time the boys
visited him in his crate, which had been set behind the camp, in the
edge of the woods, so that his whines might not disturb the camp
through the night. Early the next morning before sunrise the team
would take him away. The boys threw in lumps of sugar and things
which their pet fancied most, and after shaking his rough paw, sadly
they said good-bye to him, for Whitey would be gone before they were
astir in the morning.
That very night, when everybody was asleep, from far across the
valley travelled a great, shambling black bear. She had come from
far over the other side of Lone Mountain. She shuffled her way to
the boys' sugar camp first. In and out of the desolate shack she
stole, stopped to sniff at the blackened firebrands, nosed anxiously
about the spot where her cub had rested so long ago, when one cub had
followed her back to the den and the other had been lost. Then,
wheeling suddenly about, she took an almost worn-out, indistinct
trail which led into the forest; and starting into a broken canter
she headed toward the lumber camps.
Thus it happened when the team halted to pick up the wooden crate and
carry the bear cub to town, there was no cub to be found. All that
remained was a heap of broken, splintered boards. The boys soon
spied out the small tracks of Whitey, and then Indian Pete pointed
out two other great broad marks--the tracks of a full-grown bear.
The mother bear had never forgotten her cub; she had come back for it
at last, and just in the nick of time. The boys were secretly glad
that their pet had regained his freedom. Surely, in the great, green
spruce forests, where the red raspberries grew thick and sweet on the
mountain sides, and the wild honey may be taken any day, Whitey would
be far, far happier than capering and doing tricks to amuse a curious
crowd.
Years after, a white-faced bear boldly approached the boys' sugar
camp, and was seen by them, but they did not fear him, for they were
almost certain it must be their old pet Whitey, who gained his
freedom long before.