BACK TO THE PRIMITIVE
The sound of my own voice was a great relief. Suddenly my foolish terror
vanished, and with a sudden reaction of feeling I broke into peals of
laughter as I realized that the blood-curdling cry was that of a lynx
and not the wail of a banshee or anything supernatural.
No doubt my screams frightened the creature quite as much as his cries
had terrorized me, for there was no further sound from the roof and the
howling was not repeated.
Feeling confident that the lynx had left the vicinity, I again snuggled
down in my bunk and slept undisturbed until morning.
But when I stepped out of my cabin the next day the effects of the
lynx’s visit were evident. The deadfall was sprung and the bait had been
taken, the snow was covered with the big footprints of the creature, and
my store of frozen meat was torn to pieces and scattered upon the snow,
while a good portion of it had been devoured or carried off by the great
cat.
That he would return for more food when darkness fell I was convinced,
and I determined to capture him if it was possible. As long as he was at
large I could not keep a store of frozen meat in safety, and I thought
longingly of his thick fur coat, which would be a most welcome addition
to my wardrobe.
As I went into the woods to look at my traps and snares I traced the
lynx tracks for some distance, until I reached a spot where he had
leaped into a partly fallen tree and the trail was lost.
Thinking this tree might be a regular runway for the creature, I spent
some time setting a large and heavy deadfall upon it and then made the
rounds of my traps. But I was doomed to disappointment, for a thieving
fisher-cat had been before me and only fragments of torn skin and fur, a
few drops of blood, and some scattered feathers remained as proofs that
my snares had captured hares and partridges.
As long as this thief was about I could not expect to obtain game, for I
well knew that once the rascal had discovered my traps he would visit
them as regularly as myself, and that it would be necessary to capture
him to insure my food-supply.
I had often heard Joe and the other woodsmen tell tales of the sagacity
and cunning of the fisher-cats and I realized that I would have a hard
task to capture the creature which robbed my traps. Nevertheless, I
could but try, and with the greatest care I set a deadfall near each of
my traps and arranged the triggers as I had that of the beaver-trap.
Then behind each trap I built a little inclosure or fence of sticks,
covered this with slabs of bark, and within these placed pieces of the
frozen hares left by the lynx.
I then returned to the cabin and in the afternoon set two large
deadfalls and baited them with the remains of the hares’ carcasses.
During the day I had given a great deal of thought to the capture of the
lynx, and various plans had occurred to me which I cast aside as
impracticable. Had I possessed any sort of serviceable weapons it would
not have been such a difficult matter to kill the beast, for I knew
that, driven by hunger, a lynx will become very bold, and that by lying
in wait I might easily obtain a good shot at him from within the cabin.
I could not throw my spear from inside the hut, however, and I knew how
hopeless it would be to attempt to approach the lynx in the open, while
to fire at him with my flimsy, bone-tipped arrows would be utterly
useless.
This led me to consider the possibility of making a more powerful bow
and better arrows. I knew that the Indians used stone-headed weapons in
former times and I had often seen the stone arrow-heads and had even
found many myself, and, while I was familiar with their appearance, I
had no idea how the savages formed them.
But I was convinced that if a naked primitive Indian could make a stone
arrow-head, a white man who had overcome as many difficulties as myself
should be able to accomplish the same feat, and I decided to try my hand
at making stone arrow-heads at once.
I had seen arrow-heads of white quartz, of flint, and of various other
stones, and I therefore came to the conclusion that the kind of rock
made little difference; and as there were more pebbles and stones around
the borders of the lake than anywhere else in the vicinity, I made my
way to the shore and picked up a number of stones which I thought might
serve my purpose.
Again inside my hut, I proceeded to crack the pebbles with a large
stone. While some of the rocks broke into small bits, or thick, squarish
pieces, others split into flakes or slivers which were quite thin and
bore a remote resemblance to the forms I desired.
I reasoned that the Indians must have worked with stones for tools, and
my common sense told me that the simplest and easiest method of
transforming a rough flake of stone to an arrow-head would be to chip or
break off the edges by nicking them with a rock.
Selecting a promising flake of quartz, I attempted to work it into shape
and chipped away steadily for half an hour or so. It was work to which I
was not accustomed, and I scratched, bruised, and cut my hands, but the
bit of stone gradually assumed a rough, spear-like shape. I was becoming
elated at my success when, without warning, the quartz split in two. I
was thoroughly disgusted. Tossing the two pieces petulantly into the
fire, I tried another piece of stone. This was even more disappointing
than the first, for with the third blow of my stone hammer the rock flew
to pieces and this followed the other into the flames. Then it occurred
to me that I might grind the stones on my grindstone, and I at once
tried this scheme. Instead of cutting the rock the grindstone was cut by
the rock, and I realized that this method was impracticable. Then I
thought that possibly some softer stone might be ground into shape, and
I made another trip to the edge of the lake and returned with a number
of pieces of a slate-like stone which seemed fairly soft. This gave way
rapidly to the grindstone and I soon succeeded in grinding out two
arrow-heads which pleased me greatly. These I bound on to my arrows in
place of the bone heads, and then, in order to test them, I fired one at
a piece of hide. The arrow flew much straighter and harder than those
with the bone heads, but when it struck the skin the slate splintered
and the arrow fell to the earth without even penetrating the hide.
I was now thoroughly convinced that my attempts at making stone
arrow-heads was a complete failure and I seated myself before the fire
to rest and think. As I sat there, gazing idly at the flames, I noticed
the bits of quartz glowing red among the coals, and, impelled by a vague
curiosity, I raked them out upon the hearth. Thinking to cool the stones
so I could examine them, I poured some water upon them and instantly the
hot quartz flew into pieces. Surprised at this, I picked up one of the
fragments and was struck by its knife-like edge and smooth surface, and
like an inspiration it dawned upon me that here, perhaps, was a solution
of my problem.
If water poured upon hot quartz would cause the stone to sliver off in
this way, why would it not be possible to heat stones, drop water upon
them in the proper places, and thus break off pieces until the desired
shape was produced? It was certainly worth trying, and without more ado
I set to work to try the experiment.
Placing a lump of quartz in the fire, I waited until it was red-hot, and
then, pulling it out, I poured a little water upon it. With a sharp
crack it burst into several pieces. Selecting the best of these, I again
placed them on the coals. When they were well heated I drew one out and
very carefully dropped water upon one edge. Pieces flaked from it
wherever the water touched the hot stone. While my first attempt was a
failure and the piece of quartz refused to assume the form of an
arrow-head, yet I realized that this was due to my lack of skill and
care and that my theory was correct.
Over and over again I heated stones and flaked them into shape by means
of drops of cold water, and although I did not succeed in making a
single arrow-head before darkness came and I was obliged to cease, yet I
felt convinced that with practice I could produce keen, well-shaped
arrow-points, and I went to bed determined to resume my labors on the
morrow and to persevere until I was successful.
I heard no sound from the lynx, or any other prowler, that night, and
found the deadfalls undisturbed when I opened my door in the morning. As
I approached the tree where I had placed the lynx-trap, I saw it was
sprung, but the lynx was not in it, although a few wisps of dark-brown
hair and numerous bloodstains proved that some creature had been struck
by the heavy descending log. All about there were lynx tracks in the
snow. Here and there I saw smaller tracks, and for a few moments I was
puzzled, for the hairs upon the tree trunk did not look exactly like
those of a lynx and much of the blood was trodden into the snow by the
creature’s feet. Then, as I examined the trap more carefully, I
discovered the tip of a bushy black tail and realized what had happened.
The fisher-cat had been caught in the deadfall and had been found and
devoured by the lynx. I smiled as I thought how one thief had made away
with another, but I regretted the loss of the fisher’s warm skin. I
reset the deadfall and then visited my other traps. Three hares were
hanging in the twitch-ups, and the fact that they had not been disturbed
proved that my surmises in regard to the fisher’s fate had been correct.
One of the deadfalls contained a skunk, which I did not use, although
its fine coat of black-and-white fur was a great temptation despite its
odor. Another deadfall contained a marten, while the others had not been
disturbed.
The rest of the day I devoted to working at my arrow-heads and before
noon I had the satisfaction of producing a very creditable arrow-head of
quartz. I was anxious to test this, but I hesitated for fear of breaking
it and thus wasting all the time and labor I had spent. Finally I
decided to take the risk and, having bound it to one of the
arrow-shafts, I fired it at one of the hares I had caught. With a thud
it struck the carcass, penetrated skin, muscle, and bone, and came to
rest with half its length projecting beyond the farther side of the
hare. I hurried forward to examine the point, expecting to find it
chipped or broken, but it was absolutely uninjured. I shouted with joy
as I realized that my perseverance was rewarded, that I now possessed a
weapon of real penetrating power, and that, provided my aim was true, I
could successfully bring down many a creature that otherwise would have
been beyond my reach.
I argued if my crude, weak bow could drive this stone-headed shaft
completely through a half-frozen hare, that with a stronger bow I might
even kill a deer or the lynx, and I at once went to work on more
arrow-heads, wisely deciding that I had best complete this work while I
was in practice and leaving the making of a new bow until later.
[Illustration: A PRIMITIVE ARROW]
By nightfall a half-dozen arrow-points were finished, for, once I had
discovered the “knack” of making them—by touching the red-hot flakes of
stone with a wet stick where I wished to chip off the edges—I found I
could produce excellent results rapidly and easily. I had thought the
tip which I tested on the hare was perfect, but by comparison with the
last one I made it seemed crude and rough, and I retired that night well
pleased with my success and skill, and I fell asleep planning the bow
which I promised myself I would make the following day.
That night I was again aroused by the piercing scream of the lynx, and
although I knew well what it was, yet I could not avoid shivering as the
weird cadence rose and fell, echoing from the forest and ending in its
unearthly moan, like a soul in mortal torment. I had always thought of
lynxes with a feeling of contempt, and had looked upon them as cowardly,
overgrown cats—sneaking thieves and destroyers of small game—and I tried
to laugh away my unreasonable fear. I told myself that I was perfectly
safe here in the cabin and that even outside the creature would turn
tail and bound off at sight of a human being, but despite every effort,
when the cries again rang out from close at hand I felt my knees shake,
while strange, crawling sensations ran up and down the back of my neck.
Listening intently, I could plainly hear the light creak of snow beneath
the beast’s feet as he moved about outside, and, finding inaction
utterly unbearable, I slipped out of my bunk, tiptoed to the door, and
peered out through a crevice.
Outside it was as bright as day, with the full moon shining upon the
snow, and there, within a dozen feet, was the lynx; a huge, tawny
creature whose strength showed in every movement.
He was nosing about near the deadfall, and his attitudes as he peered at
the trap, cocked his tufted ears forward, and turned his head first to
one side and then another—as if reasoning out a method of securing the
coveted bait without injuring himself—made him appear unnaturally human.
At sight of the creature my unreasonable fears disappeared, for here was
something tangible and he was so close, so plainly visible, and
presented such a splendid mark, that I determined to try a shot at him
with my stone-tipped arrow.
The crevice between the door and wall was very narrow, scarce an inch in
width, and, had I stopped to think, I would have known that to attempt
to fire an arrow through this and strike the mark was utterly foolish.
Placing the arrow on the bowstring, I slipped the head through the
opening and started to draw the bow. As I did so the arrow touched the
side of the crevice and dislodged a tiny bit of old bark, which dropped
to the floor. Slight as the noise was, the keen ears of the lynx heard
it, and with a startled growl he faced toward me. Never shall I forget
the fierce, malevolent gleam in those great, green eyes, the snarling
lips and gleaming teeth, and the bristling fringe of white beard. No
longer did I see only a hulking lynx out there upon the snow; instead I
seemed to gaze upon some supernatural, awful monster whose baleful eyes
stared into mine and made me feel defenseless in spite of my shield of
stout logs. His gaze filled me with a strange fear, an unnamed dread,
and yet fascinated me as with hypnotic power.
Motionless I stood there, as if transfixed, my bow half drawn, my arrow
poised, while for a brief space the lynx stared at the blank wall. Then,
as he crouched low as if about to spring, the spell was broken, my
fingers released the string, there was a sharp twang, the rustle of the
speeding arrow, and the next second the cabin shook as the vicious brute
hurled himself against the door with a piercing scream of rage. For an
instant I feared the door would give way if the lynx sprang again, and,
terror-stricken at the fury I had aroused by my action in firing at him,
I grasped my spear and knife, determined to sell my life dearly if the
beast gained entrance. But there was no repetition of the attack, and at
last, gathering up courage, I again looked forth from my peephole, but
no sign of the lynx was to be seen. Still, I was afraid that he might
return, and before climbing into my bunk I piled the table, all the
fire-wood, the iron pot, and the grindstone against the door.
For a long time I lay awake, listening for some noise which would betray
the return of the lynx, but no sound, save the distant bark of a fox and
the querulous note of a screech-owl, broke the silence of the winter
forest, and finally I fell asleep.
When I again opened my eyes and, glancing about, saw the pile of things
against the door, I laughed at my fears of the night, and, jumping out
of bed and wrapping myself in my robe, stepped out of doors to see what
signs had been left by my midnight visitor.
Evidently the brute had vented his ill-temper on my arrow, for the shaft
was broken and bitten to pieces, but the head was uninjured, and as no
blood-spots were visible I decided that the lynx had not been hit. The
deadfall was still unsprung and the bait within it was untouched. By the
distance between his footprints I knew the first blind rage of the lynx
had been superseded by terror and that he had used all his speed in
getting as far from the cabin as possible.
Upon the door deep, white grooves were cut into the wood where the sharp
claws of the lynx had struck and I shuddered to think of the injuries
those keen talons could inflict on human flesh. I was thankful indeed
that stout wood was between me and the giant cat when he launched
himself forward in a frenzy at being disturbed in his prowling.
Judging by the fate of the fisher-cat, I rather expected to find that
any game which I had captured had gone to feed the hungry lynx, and in
this surmise I was not at fault. Bits of white fur were all that
remained of at least two hares, while scattered feathers told the tale
of a snared partridge which had also helped to satisfy the lynx’s
appetite.
Matters now began to look serious. If the lynx was to rob my traps
nightly there was little use in setting them and I would soon be face to
face with the problem of killing the lynx or starving. He was evidently
too wise to be caught in any trap which I could make, and my only hope
lay in securing a supply of game by means of my bow and arrows, or of
killing the lynx by the same method.
Fortunately I had quite a supply of frozen meat on hand, which I kept
inside the cabin at night after freezing it during the day, and as I had
no wish to become a purveyor to the lynx I left my snares unset and
returned to the hut prepared to make a new bow.
Now that I was comfortably clothed and housed and could not hope to get
out of the woods for a long time, I could devote more skill and time to
my bow-making. In the three months which had passed since I made my
first bow I had learned a great deal about the forest’s resources, the
properties of various woods, and the skilful use of my knife.
Now I determined to make a weapon which would be worth while and I spent
several hours searching through the young growth at the edges of the
woods and near the lake for a suitable staff from which to make my bow.
Finally I found what I sought, a thoroughly seasoned, but sound, pole of
hornbeam which was so tough, springy, and hard that I felt confident it
would work into a bow of exceptional strength and power.
As I returned with this, I noticed that the sky had grown overcast and
that a few great flakes of snow were falling lazily through the cold,
motionless air. A short time before I would have been greatly troubled
by the indications of a heavy snowfall, but now, with my foot completely
recovered, well clothed, and fully convinced that it was useless to
think of making my way to the settlements before spring, a few inches or
feet of snow, more or less, was of little moment.
I found the hornbeam very hard to work, and by the time I was compelled
to put it aside, on account of darkness, I had accomplished little save
to whittle the staff to half-round form.