over one or another of these pools, waiting for a chance to catch a
trout. Where an overhanging rock or a jutting root came out into deep
water, he would lie as motionless as the rock or log itself, his round
face bent close down to the glassy surface, his bright eyes intently
following the movements of the big, lazy trout in their safe deeps.
Once in a long while, often enough to keep his interest keen, a
May-fly or a fat worm would drop close past his nose and lie kicking
on top of the water. Up would sail a big trout, open-jawed to engulf
the morsel. At that instant the clutching paw of the watcher would
strike down and around more swiftly than eye could follow--and the
next instant the fish would be flopping violently among the underbrush
up the bank, with leaves and twigs clinging to its fat, silvery,
dappled sides. The sport was one which gave the big wildcat
never-failing delight; and, moreover, there was no other food in all
the wilderness quite so exquisite to his palate as a plump trout from
the ice-cool waters of the Guimic. When, therefore, he found his pools
covered, all day long, with the whitey-yellow grains of sawdust, which
prevented the trout feeding at the surface or drove them in disgust
from their wonted haunts, he realized that his range was ruined. The
men and the mills were the conquerors, and he must let himself be
driven from his well-beloved Guimic slopes. But first he would have
revenge. His caution somewhat undermined by his rage, he crept much
nearer to the main camp than he had hitherto dared to go, and hid
himself in a low tree to see what opportunity fate might fling to
him.
Belonging to the camp was a brindle dog, a sturdy and noisy mongrel
whose barking was particularly obnoxious to the wildcat. Of a surly
yet restless temper, the mongrel was in reality by no means popular in
the camp, and would not have been tolerated there but for the fact
that he belonged to the Boss. In the wildcat's eyes, however, as in
the eyes of all the wild kindreds, he seemed a treasured possession of
the menkind, and an especially objectionable expression of all their
most objectionable characteristics. Moreover, being four-footed and
furred, he was plainly more kin to the wild creatures than to man--and
therefore, to the wild creature, obviously a traitor and a renegade.
There was not one of them but would have taken more satisfaction in
avenging its wrongs upon the loud-mouthed mongrel than upon one of the
mongrel's masters; not one but would have counted that the sweetest
and completest form of vengeance.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the big cat quivered with eager
hate when he saw the dog come lazily out of the cook-house and wander
toward the spring--which lay just beyond the thick tree! His eyes
blazed green, his fur rose slightly, and he set his claws into the
bark to gain firm foothold.
Confident and secure, the dog approached the tree. On the way he
jumped savagely at a chipmunk, which dodged in time and whisked into
its hole. For a minute or two the dog pawed and scratched at the hole,
trying to dig the little fugitive out. Then he gave up the vain task,
and moved on toward the spring.
The wildcat gave one quick glance on every side. There was not a man
in sight. The cook was in the cook-house, rattling tins. Then the dog
came beneath the tree--and stopped to sniff at the wildcat's track.
There was a sharp scratch in the tree above--and in the next instant a
brown furry shape dropped upon him noiselessly, bearing him to the
ground. This thing was a mass of teeth and claws and terrific muscles.
It gave one sharp screech as the dog's yelping howl arose, then made
no sound but a spitting growl as it bit and ripped. From the first the
brindled mongrel had no ghost of a chance; and the struggle was over
in three minutes. As the cook, astonished by the sudden uproar, came
rushing axe in hand from his shanty, the wildcat sprang away with a
snarl and bounded into the cover of the nearest spruce bushes. He was
none the worse save for a deep and bleeding gash down his
fore-shoulder, where his victim had gained a moment's grip. But the
dog was so cruelly mauled that the woodsman could do nothing but
compassionately knock him on the head with the axe which he had
brought to the rescue.
Savage from the struggle, and elated from his vengeance, the wildcat
with no further hesitation turned his back upon his old haunts,
crossed the Guimic by great leaps from rock to rock, and set southward
toward the wooded slopes and valleys overlooked by the ragged crest of
Ringwaak.
The indignant exile, journeying so boldly to confront the peril of
which he had no suspicion or forewarning, belonged to a species
confined to the forests of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia or the
neighbourhood of their boundaries. He was a giant cousin of the common
wildcat, and known to the few naturalists who had succeeded in
differentiating and classifying his species as _Lynx Gigas_. In weight
and stature he was, if anything, more than the peer of his other and
more distant cousin, the savage Canada lynx. The cook of the camp, in
telling his comrades about the fate of the dog, spoke of the great
wildcat as a "catamount," to distinguish him from the common cat of
the woods. These same woodsmen, had they seen the lynx who ruled on
Ringwaak Hill, would have called him a "lucerfee," while any
Madawaska Frenchman in their company would have dubbed him _loup
cervier_. Either catamount or lucerfee was respectfully regarded by
the woodsmen.
For an hour the great cat journeyed on, wary and stealthy from habit
rather than intention, as he was neither hunting for prey nor avoiding
enemies. But when he found himself in strange woods--a gloomy cedar
swamp, dotted with dry hardwood knolls like islands--with true cat
instinct he delayed his journey to look about him and investigate.
Prowling from side to side, and sniffing and peering, he presently
found something that he was not looking for. In a hollow beneath a
granite boulder, behind the roots of two gnarled old cedars, he came
upon two glossy black bear cubs, fast asleep. The mother was nowhere
in sight, but the intruder shrank back with an abashed and guilty air
and ran up the nearest tree. Thence he made his way from branch to
branch, and did not return to the ground till he had put three or four
hundred yards between him and the den. He had no mind to bring
relentless doom upon his trail.
Not till he was well clear of the cedar swamp did the catamount
remember that he was hungry. The idea of being suspected of an
interest in young bear's meat had taken away his appetite. Now,
however, coming to a series of wild meadows, he lingered to hunt
meadow-mice. Among the roots of the long grass the mice had
innumerable hidden runways, through which they could travel without
danger from the hawks and owls. Crouching close to one of these
runways, the big cat would listen till a squeak or a faint scurrying
noise would reveal the passing of a mouse. Then a lightning pounce,
with paws much wider apart than in his ordinary hunting, would tear
away the frail covering of the runway, and usually show the victim
clutched beneath one paw or the other. This was much quicker as well
as craftier hunting than the more common wildcat method of lying in
wait for an hour at the door of a runway. Three of these plump
meadow-mice made the traveller a comfortable meal. Forgetting his
wrongs, he stretched himself in the full sun under the shelter of a
fallen tree, and slept soundly for an hour. Once only he awoke, when
his ears caught the beat of a hawk's wings winnowing low over his
retreat. He opened wide, fiercely bright eyes, completely alert on the
instant; but seeing the source of the sound he was asleep again
before the hawk had crossed the little meadow.
His siesta over, the exile mounted the fallen tree, dug his claws deep
into the bark, stretched himself again and again, yawned prodigiously,
and ended the exercise with a big, rasping miaow. At the sound there
was a sudden rustling in the bushes behind the windfall. Instantly the
catamount sprang, taking the risk of catching a porcupine or a skunk.
But whatever it was that made the noise, it had vanished in time; and
the rash hunter returned to his perch with a shamefaced air.
From this post of vantage on the edge of the meadows he could see the
crest of old Ringwaak dominating the forests to the south; and the
sight, for some unknown reason, drew him. Among those bleak rampikes
and rocks and dark coverts he might find a range to his liking. He
resumed his journey with a definiteness of purpose which kept him from
squandering time on the chase. Only once he halted, and that was when
the cries and flutterings of a pair of excited thrushes caught his
attention. He saw their nest in a low tree--and he saw a black snake,
coiled in the branches, greedily swallowing the half-fledged
nestlings. This was an opportunity which he could not afford to lose.
He ran expertly up the tree, pounced upon the snake, and bit through
its back bone just behind the head. The strong, black coils
straightened out limply. Carrying his prize between his jaws, the
catamount descended to the ground, growling and jerking savagely when
the wriggling length got tangled among the branches. Quick to
understand the services of their most unexpected ally, the desperate
birds returned to one surviving nestling, and their clamours ceased.
Beneath the tree the exile hurriedly devoured a few mouthfuls of the
thick meat of the back just behind the snake's head, then resumed his
journey toward Ringwaak.
It was close upon sunset when he reached the first fringes of the
northward slope of the mountain. Here his reception was benign. On the
banks of a tiny brook, rosy-gold in the flooding afternoon light, he
found a bed of wild catnip. Here for a few minutes he rolled in
ecstasy, chewing and clawing at the aromatic leaves, all four paws in
air, and hoarsely purring his delight. When, at last, he went on up
the slope, he carried with him through the gathering shadows the
pungent, sweet aroma of the herb. In a fierce gaiety of spirit he
would now and then leap into the air to strike idly at some bird
flitting high above his reach. Or he would jump and clutch
kittenishly with both paws at a fluttering, overhanging leaf, or
pounce upon an imaginary quiet mouse crouched among the leaves.
About twilight, as he was nearing the summit of the hill, he came
across a footprint which somewhat startled him out of his
intoxication. It was a footprint not unlike his own, but distinctly
larger. Being an old sign, there was no scent left to it--but its size
was puzzling and disquieting. From this on he went warily, not knowing
when he might be called upon to measure forces with some redoubtable
possessor of the range. When the moon rose, round and white and
all-revealing, and threw sinister shadows from rampike and rock, he
kept to the densest thickets and felt oppressed with strangeness. But
when he succeeded in surprising a hen partridge hovering over her
brood, with the blood warm in his mouth he began to feel at home. This
fine range should be his, whoever might contest the sovereignty.
Coming across a deer trail leading beneath an overhanging rock, he
climbed the rock and crouched in ambush, waiting to see what might
come by.
For an hour he crouched there, motionless as the eternal granite
itself, while the moon climbed and whitened, and the shadows of the
rampikes changed, and the breathless enchantment deepened over
Ringwaak. At long intervals there would be a faint rustling in some
near-by clump of juniper, or a squeak and a brief scuffle in the
thickets; or, on wings as soundless as sleep, a great owl would pass
by, to drop sharply behind a rock, or sail away like a ghost among the
rampikes. But to none of these furtive happenings did the watcher on
the rock pay any heed. He was waiting for what might come upon the
trail.
At last, it came. Stepping daintily on her small, fine hoofs, her
large eyes glancing timorously in every direction, a little yearling
doe emerged from the bushes and started to cross the patch of
brilliant light. The strange, upright pupils of the catamount's eyes
narrowed and dilated at the sight, and his muscles quivered to sudden
tension. The young doe came beneath the rock. The cat sprang,
unerring, irresistible; and the next moment she lay kicking helplessly
beneath him, his fangs buried in her velvet throat.
[Illustration: "SOMETHING MADE HIM TURN HIS HEAD QUICKLY."]
This was noble prey; and the giant cat, his misgivings all forgotten,
drank till his long thirst was satiated. His jaws dripping, he lifted
his round, fierce face, and gazed out and away across the moonlit
slopes below him toward his ancient range beyond the Guimic. While he
gazed, triumphing, something made him turn his head quickly and eye
the spruce thicket behind him.
III.
It was at this moment that the old lynx, master of Ringwaak, coming
suddenly out into the moonlight, saw the grim apparition beneath the
rock, and flattened to the ground.
Through long, momentous, pregnant seconds the two formidable and
matched antagonists scrutinized each other, the lynx close crouched,
ready to launch himself like a thunderbolt, the catamount half risen,
his back bowed, one paw of obstinate possession clutching the head of
his prey. In the eyes of each, as they measured each other's powers
and sought for an advantage, flamed hate, defiance, courage, and
savage question.
Seen thus near together, catamount by lucerfee, they were obviously
akin, yet markedly different. The cat was heavier in the body,
outweighing his rival by perhaps not far from ten pounds, but with
shorter and more gracefully shaped legs, and smaller feet. His head
was more arched, seeming to indicate a greater intelligence, and his
flaming eyes were set wider apart; but his mouth was smaller, his
fangs less long and punishing. His fur was of a browner, warmer hue
than that of the lynx, whose gray had a half-invisible ghostliness in
the moonlight. The tails of both were ridiculously short, not six
inches in length, but that of the catamount was straight and stiff,
while that of the lucerfee had a curious upward twist that somehow
mocked the contortions of his huge and overlong hind legs. The eyes of
the lynx, under his flatter forehead, were the more piercing, the less
blazing. Altogether the great wildcat was the more beautiful of the
two beasts, the more intelligent, the more adaptable and resourceful.
But the lynx, with his big, uncouth, hind quarters, and great legs
gathered under him, and exaggerated paws, looked to be the more
formidable fighting machine.
Thus, unstirring, they eyed each other. Then with a strident screech
that seemed to tear the spell of the night to tatters, the gray body
of the lynx shot through the air. It landed, not upon the catamount,
but squarely upon the carcass of the doe, where, a fraction of a
second before, the catamount had stood. The wary intruder had not
waited to endure the full shock of that charge, but lightly as a puff
of down had leaped aside. The next instant he had pounced, with a yowl
of defiance, straight for the lynx's neck.
Lightning quick though he was, the lynx recovered in time to meet the
attack with deadly counter-stroke of bared claws, parrying like a
skilled boxer. In this forearm work the catamount, lighter of paw and
talon, suffered the more; and being quick to perceive his adversary's
advantage, he sought to force a close grapple. This the lynx at first
avoided, rending and punishing frightfully as he gave ground; while
the solemn height of old Ringwaak was shocked by a clamour of spitting
and raucous yowling that sent every sleepy bird fluttering in terror
from its nest.
Suddenly, perceiving that the lynx was backing dangerously close to
the face of the rock, the great cat sprang, took a frightful, ripping
buffet across the face, broke down his foe's guard and bore him to the
ground by sheer weight. Here, in this close embrace, the hinder claws
of both came into play with hideous effect. The clamour died down to a
tense, desperate, gasping snarl; for now the verdict of life or death
was a matter of moments. But in this fearful and final test, when
there was no more room for fencing, no more time for strategy, the
more powerful hind legs and longer, more eviscerating claws of the
lynx had the decisive advantage. Though borne down, and apparently
getting the worst of the fight, the master of Ringwaak was in reality
ripping his enemy to pieces from beneath. All at once the latter
sprang away with a scream, stood for a second erect and rigid, then
sank limp beside the torn carcass of the doe.
The lynx, badly torn and bitten, but with no fatal injury, pounced
upon the unresisting body of the catamount and mauled it till well
assured of the completeness of his victory. Then, heedless of his
wounds, he mounted the carcass of the doe, lifted his head high, and
screeched his challenge across the night. No answer coming, he tore a
mouthful of the meat to emphasize possession, stepped down, and crept
off to nurse his hurts in some dark retreat; for not easy had been the
task of defending his lordship. When all was still once more on
Ringwaak, presently descended again the enchantment of the mystic
light. And under its transforming touch even the torn bodies lying
before the bright face of the rock lost their hideousness, becoming
remote, and unsubstantial and visionary.
The Decoy
High above the flat-spread earth, their strong wings driving them at
tremendous speed through the thin, cold air of dawn, the wild-goose
flock journeyed north. In the shape of an irregular V they journeyed,
an old gander, wise and powerful, at the apex of the aerial array. As
they flew, their long necks stretched straight out, the living air
thrilled like a string beneath their wing-beats. From their throats
came a throbbing chorus, resonant, far-carrying, mysterious,--_honka,
honka, honka, honk, honka, honk_. It seemed to be the proper utterance
of altitude and space.
The flight was as true as if set by a compass; but the longer limb of
the V would curve and swerve sinuously from time to time as the weaker
or less experienced members of the flock wavered in their alignment.
Flat, low-lying forests, and lonely meres, and rough, isolated farms
sped past below the rushing voyagers,--then a black head-land, and
then a wide, shallow arm of the sea. For a few minutes the glimmer of
pale, crawling tides was everywhere beneath them,--then league on
league of gray-green, sedgy marsh, interlaced with little pools and
lanes of bright water, and crisscrossed with ranks of bulrush. The
leader of the flock now stretched his dark head downward, slowing the
beat of his wings, and the disciplined array started on a long decline
toward earth. From its great height the flock covered nearly a mile of
advance before coming within a hundred yards of the pale green levels;
and all through the gradual descent the confusion of marsh, and pool,
and winding creek, seemed to float up gently to meet the long-absent
wanderers. At length, just over a shallow, spacious, grassy mere, and
some thirty feet above its surface, the leader decided to alight. It
was an old and favoured feeding-ground, where the mud was full of
tender shoots and tiny creatures of the ooze. The wings of the flock,
as if on signal, turned out and upward, showing a flash of paler
colour as they checked the still considerable speed of the flight.
In that pause, just before the splash of alighting, from a thick cover
of sedge across the pool came two sharp spurts of flame, one after the
other, followed by two thunderous reports, so close together as to
seem almost like one. Turning straight over, the leader fell upon the
water with a heavy splash; and immediately after him dropped his
second in leadership, the strong young gander who flew next him on the
longer limb of the V. The flock, altogether demoralized, huddled
together for a few seconds with loud cries; then rose and flapped off
seaward. Before the hunter in the sedge could get fresh cartridges
into his gun, the diminished flock was out of range, making desperate
haste to safer feeding-grounds.
Of the two birds thus suddenly smitten by fate, the younger, shot
through the heart, lay motionless where he had dropped, a sprawl of
black and white, and ashen feathers tumbled by the little ripples of
the pool. But the older bird was merely winged. Recovering himself
almost instantly from the shock of the wound and the fall, he made one
pathetically futile effort to rise again, then started swimming down
the pond, trailing his shattered wing behind him and straining his
gaze toward the departing flock.
Immediately after the two shots, out from the shelter of the rushes
had sprung a large, curly-coated, brown retriever. With a yelp of
excitement he had dashed into the water and dragged ashore the body
of the dead bird. Now the hunter, standing up and stretching his legs
as if cramped from a long lying-in-wait, started on a sharp run down
the wet shore of the pond, whistling the retriever after him. He had
noted the splendid stature of the wounded bird, and wanted to capture
him alive.
Not without cause had the great gander achieved the leadership of the
flock, for he possessed not only strength but intelligence. When he
saw that his trailing wing so hampered his swimming that he would
presently be overtaken, he turned and darted into the sedges of the
opposite shore, trusting to the difficulties of the swamp to protect
him. He did not know that the big brown retriever was almost
amphibious, and more cunning than himself.
The hunter stopped, and pointed to the spot of waving reeds where the
bird had disappeared.
"Fetch him, Pete!" he commanded,--"But gently, boy, ge-e-ently!" And
the wise old dog understood, either from the words or from the tone in
which they were uttered, that this was to be a bloodless capture.
Barking joyously, he tore around the pond to the place where the
gander had vanished, and dashed splashing into the reeds. A few
seconds later a tumult arose, the reeds were beaten down, and the dog
reappeared, dragging his prize by the uninjured wing.
The great bird, powerful and dauntless, made a gallant fight; but he
was hopelessly handicapped. His most formidable weapons were the bony
elbows of his strong, untiring wings; and of both these he was now
deprived, one wing being shattered, and the other in the grip of the
enemy's jaws. He struck and bit and worried with his hard bill; but
the dog, half-shutting his eyes, took the mauling grimly and dragged
his troublesome captive into the water.
Here, however, he made a mistake. The great bird was a mighty swimmer,
and indomitable; and in half a minute his captor was glad to drag him
to land again. Then the hunter arrived on the scene; and the dog,
gladly relinquishing so unmanageable a prisoner, sat back on his
haunches, with tongue hanging out, to see what his master would do.
The dauntless gander bit furiously, and pounded with his one undamaged
wing, and earned his adversary's unstinted commendation: but in a
minute or two he found himself helpless, swathed like a cocoon in a
stout, woollen hunting-coat, and his head ignominiously bagged in one
of the sleeves. In this fashion, his heart bursting with fear and
wrath, his broken wing one hot throb of anguish, he was carried under
the hunter's arm for what seemed to him a whole night long. Then he
was set free in a little open pen in a garden, beside a
green-shuttered, wide-eaved, white cottage on the uplands.
The hunter was so kind to his captive, so assiduous in his care, that
the wild bird presently grew almost indifferent to his approach, and
ceased to strike at him savagely with his free wing whenever he
entered the pen. The other wing, well cleaned and salved, and bound in
cunning splints, healed rapidly, and caused no pain save when its
owner strove to flap it,--which he did, with long, desolate, appealing
cries, whenever a wild-goose flock went honking musically across the
evening or morning sky.
At length, while the injured wing was still in bandage, the hunter
took the bird in spite of all protest, tucked the long neck and
troublesome head under his arm, and attached to one leg a little
leather wrapping and a long, strong cord. Then he opened the pen. The
big gander strode forth with more haste than quite comported with his
dignity. Straight down the slope he started, seeking the wide marshes
where he expected to find his flock. Then suddenly he came to the end
of his cord with a jerk, and fell forward on his breast and bill with
a _honk_ of surprise. He was not free, after all, and two or three
violent struggles convinced him of the fact. As soon as he realized
himself still a prisoner, his keen, dark eyes turned a look of
reproach upon his jailer, who was holding the other end of the cord
and watching him intently. Then he slackened on the tether, and fell
to cropping the short grass of the lawn as if being tied by the leg
was an ancient experience. It was a great thing, after all, to be out
of the pen.
"He'll do!" said the man to himself with satisfaction, as he fixed the
tether to a young apple-tree. When he had gone into the house the bird
stopped feeding, turned first one eye and then the other toward the
empty sky, stretched his long, black neck and clean white throat, and
sent out across the green spaces his appealing and lonely
cry,--_honka, honka, honka, ho-onka_!