AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
When I looked from my door the next morning I found a blizzard raging,
while the snow was drifted almost to the eaves of my tiny cabin.
I was indeed thankful that I had enough food on hand to satisfy my wants
for a number of days, for to hunt or trap in such weather was an utter
impossibility. My stock of fire-wood was none too large, however, and I
decided it would be wise to gather more before the storm prevented me
from leaving my hut.
Accordingly, I bundled up in my furs and started out, but before I had
traveled a hundred feet I gave up in despair and retraced my way toward
the cabin, for the snow was up to my waist and to plow my way through it
was absolutely impossible.
I was hopelessly snow-bound, for the present at least, but I cheered
myself with the thought that when the storm eased the surface of the
snow might freeze and form a crust which would support my weight.
For a day or two, at any rate, I would not suffer, and as the snow,
banked around the hut, prevented the chill wind from entering, I was
able to keep comfortably warm with a smaller fire than usual and could
thus save a great deal of fuel. I was thinking on such matters, while
working at my bow, when the idea of snow-shoes occurred to me. It was
strange that I had not thought of them before, for I had used snow-shoes
for sport and knew that every camp and house in the northern woods had
snow-shoes hanging upon the walls for winter use. To think of snow-shoes
was easy, but to make them was a very different matter, as I soon
discovered.
I knew full well that I would not be able to produce a really fine pair
of shoes, such as were used by the guides and dwellers in the north, but
I thought that I would have no trouble in making some sort of affairs
which would serve my purpose and would prevent me from sinking into the
snow. My idea was to make the frames of elastic green wood, and string
or net them with strips of hide or bark. To secure the withes for the
frames I was obliged to face the storm and after a terrific struggle
succeeded in reaching a little clump of young growth close to the cabin.
Cutting a number of the slender shoots of birch, I fought my way back to
the hut and, utterly exhausted by my exertions, threw myself on the bunk
to recover my breath and strength.
I found little trouble in bending the birch withes in oval form. Lashing
the two ends of each together, I placed braces or spreaders between the
sides to hold them apart and then started to put on the netting. But
here my troubles commenced. If I drew the thongs tight in one direction
it loosened those which ran the other way; the strips of hide slipped on
the frames; the frames sprung out of shape and twisted, and finally I
discovered that to cover the frames with netting, even if I succeeded in
fixing it in place, would require more thongs of hide or more strips of
bark than I could furnish. Until I attempted the work I had no idea of
the quantity of material which was required to cover snow-shoes with
their netting, nor of the immense amount of labor necessary to make
them. My respect for the makers of snow-shoes was vastly increased by
the time I had labored for a few hours at my clumsy attempts, and I
marveled that articles entailing so much work and such ingenuity could
be sold at the prices I had heard quoted.
At last I _did_ succeed in producing a nondescript, ridiculous thing
which bore a remote resemblance to a snow-shoe, and, anxious to test its
practicability before attempting to make its mate, I placed it on the
snow outside my door and stepped cautiously upon it. For a moment it
supported me upon the surface of the snow, and I was just commencing to
congratulate myself upon my success when, without warning, the frame
doubled up, the netting collapsed, and my foot plunged into the snow,
throwing me sprawling in the drift. Floundering about, I extricated
myself, fished up the wrecked thing upon which I had spent so much toil,
and re-entered the cabin, heartily sick of snow-shoe making.
But as I busied myself preparing a meal my thoughts constantly reverted
to the snow-shoes, for I realized that they were a real necessity, and I
strove to reason out the causes for my failure and to devise some method
of overcoming the difficulties. My experience with stone arrow-heads had
taught me a lesson and had showed me how simple an apparently difficult
thing may be, once you discover the secret of doing it properly, and I
had little doubt that to make a serviceable pair of snow-shoes would
prove very easy, if I only knew how.
I decided that the main difficulty lay in making a network which was
strong enough to support my weight and which brought an equal strain
upon all sides of the frame. Then I began to wonder why a net was really
necessary and why an unbroken flat center would not serve the purpose as
well or even better. The Norwegian skees, I knew, were merely narrow,
flat boards, and yet they supported men upon the snow, and if this was
the case why shouldn’t any flat object of the same area support my
weight, regardless of its form? This led me to enumerate the objects
which were within my reach and which would present a broad, flat surface
to the snow, and I thought of birch bark. This, however, I felt sure,
was too soft and pliable for the purpose, and I bent all my energies to
devising some method of stiffening the bark and keeping it spread flat.
I thought of lashing sticks across it, but I realized that unless the
bark was crisscrossed by a number of sticks such a method would be
useless, and that so many sticks would make the shoes far too heavy.
Then it occurred to me that the bark might be lashed within a frame, but
this idea I also discarded, as I knew the bark would split and break
under my feet, and then, like a flash of light, I thought of skins. Why
was it not feasible to cut a piece of stout hide to the proper form,
lash it within an oval frame to hold it taut, and thus make snow-shoes
without the labor and difficulties of weaving a netting?
I was so pleased at my idea that I immediately started to put my plan
into concrete form. Feeling that the frames must be far stronger than
those I had used before, I selected heavier poles, and then, finding it
was impossible to bend them in a complete circle or oval, I made each
frame of two separate pieces, each forming half an oval, and joined the
ends together by lashings. Stout braces were then placed within these
frames to spread them apart and to strengthen the ends of the withes
where they were joined, and these were firmly secured by additional
lashings.
[Illustration: HOW THE SNOW-SHOES WERE MADE]
The next thing was to fit the hide inside the frames, and here I once
more came face to face with a problem which took some time to solve. Of
rabbit or hare skins I had an abundance, but these, I knew, were too
frail and delicate to serve my purpose. The ’coon-skins were about my
limbs as leggings, the two porcupine-skins had been converted into
moccasins, and nothing else remained save the bear-skin robe.
I disliked cutting into this, and, moreover, I wanted hide minus hair,
but there was nothing else to be done and, with some misgivings, I cut
two oval pieces, of the size and shape of the frames, from my bear-skin.
With my knife I cut and shaved the hair from these pieces of hide, and
then, by means of roots, thongs, and strips of bark, I lashed the oval
pieces of skin inside the frames. The result of all this work was a pair
of platter-like objects of rawhide, and, while the stiff skin was far
from smooth or tight, I judged that they might hold me up. I hurried out
to try them. Placing the two queer contraptions upon the snow, I
clambered upon them, and to my great delight found they scarcely sank
into the snow at all around the edges, but the centers sagged badly, and
I found it difficult to maintain my balance upon them.
I had not yet fitted straps or fastenings for my feet, but I felt sure
that to travel over the snow would be quite impossible if the centers of
the snow-shoes sagged to such an extent, and that, while the principle
was all right, I must manage to draw the hide smooth and tight before my
invention would prove a success.
It was now growing dark and I was compelled to stop work, but all
through the preparation of my evening meal I was busily thinking and
trying to evolve some means for perfecting the shoes. Not until I had
climbed into my bunk did the simple expedient of wetting the skin, while
lashing it in place, occur to me. This I felt positive would result in
stretching the skin as tight as a drumhead when it shrunk in drying.
Having thus seemingly overcome this difficulty, I tried to conjure up a
mental picture of the arrangement of foot-straps on the snow-shoes I had
used years before. As my brain visualized the graceful, racquet-shaped
shoes, with their amber-colored netting, their tiny, ornamental, worsted
tassels, and their glossy hickory frames, each detail slowly came back
to me. I remembered the slightly upturned toes, the broad, buckskin
foot-straps, and—yes—the open spaces in the centers of the network into
which one’s toes sank as one’s feet bend when walking. As all this came
back to me I wondered that I could have forgotten it, and then, feeling
that I would have a practical pair of snow-shoes before the next night,
I fell asleep to the roar of the gale outside.
Morning found the storm over, but with fully four feet of snow covering
the earth, while the drift before my door was so high that I could not
see over it. With the memories of the night before still fresh in my
mind I unlashed the pieces of skin from the frames and placed them to
soak in water while I ate my breakfast. Now that I remembered that a
hole _must_ be left for one’s toe in the center of a snow-shoe the task
seemed greatly simplified. As soon as I had eaten I drew a piece of the
soggy, softened hide from the water and, cutting it in two, proceeded to
lace one portion of it in the frame between the bowed, semicircular rim
and the nearest brace. As soon as this piece was in place I laced the
other piece in the opposite end, hung the shoe to the roof of the cabin
to dry, and repeated the operations with the other shoe.
By the time this was completed the first shoe was partly dry, and I was
well pleased to find that, as I had foreseen, the skin was shrinking as
tight and hard as a sheet of iron. I then busied myself with my bow and
worked steadily until late in the afternoon, when, the snow-shoes having
dried thoroughly, I hurried out to test them. They were a great success
and supported my weight perfectly, scarcely sinking beneath the surface
of the snow as I stood upon them. Tying the straps about my ankles, I
started forward. For a few minutes I had some difficulty in walking, yet
the knack soon came back to me and I found no trouble in traveling about
on the primitive snow-shoes I had evolved.
My first need was fire-wood and I shuffled off across the snow to the
woods. It was a strange sensation to be thus walking into the forest on
a level with the “second floor,” so to speak, but it enabled me to
obtain a fine lot of dry, resinous branches which had previously been
far beyond my reach.
Well pleased with the success of my snow-shoes, and with a great load of
wood, I returned to the cabin, and then spent the time until dark
digging away the drift before my door and using a snow-shoe for a
shovel.
Realizing that it would be useless to attempt to trap in the deep snow,
I determined to set out on a hunt the next morning, hoping to find some
birds or animals which I might be able to kill with my bow and arrows.
My new bow was far from completed, but for my immediate purposes the old
bow would serve and within a few days the new one would be ready for
use.
When I started out the following morning I found numerous tracks of
small creatures, and was soon within the forest searching each snowladen
evergreen for partridges or other game.
I had traveled for some distance without success when I came upon the
unmistakable tracks of the lynx. His broad, padded, furry feet had
served him as well as snow-shoes and he had sunk but slightly into the
snow, but I could not tell whether he had passed that way within a few
minutes or the day before. I felt that there was little danger of the
creature attacking me here in broad daylight, and I commenced trailing
his steps, glancing keenly at each tree as I proceeded. Presently I came
to a spot where the lynx had crouched low, and then, for the first time,
I realized that he had been trailing some other creature. Partly
obliterated by the marks of the cat’s feet were other tracks, small,
deep, and with a furrow between them as if some animal had dragged
himself slowly through the snow into which his feet had sunk. I was
puzzled to know what had made these tracks, and, curious to learn the
outcome of the tragedy indicated by the telltale marks in the snow, I
crept cautiously forward.
I had gone scarcely a hundred yards when I rounded a projecting ledge
and came within sight of a little, open glade. Near the center of the
swale a dark spot stood boldly out upon the snow, and before I had time
to realize what it was the lynx leaped up and, bounding off, disappeared
in the thick woods beyond. But the dark object still remained in the
center of the glade, and, approaching it, I discovered that it was a
full-grown deer. It was evident that the lynx had overtaken and killed
the buck while the latter was floundering in the deep snow and was
unable to travel rapidly enough to escape, for the deer’s throat was
torn open and a good portion of the shoulder had been eaten by the lynx.
There was plenty of good, fresh meat left upon the carcass, however, and
the skin was scarcely injured, and I congratulated myself upon having
followed the lynx tracks, for my curiosity had thus led me to a supply
of food which would last me for a long time. The lynx had unwittingly
saved me a deal of trouble, and I forgave him all the fright and loss he
had caused me hitherto.
Immediately I set to work cleaning the deer, leaving the entrails for
the lynx, and then, tying the legs together, I shouldered the carcass
and commenced my return journey. It was a heavy load, and the additional
weight caused my snow-shoes to sink deeply into the snow. I found
progress slow and difficult, and decided to try dragging the deer
instead of carrying it.
As I stood resting for a few moments before resuming my journey, I had a
strange, uneasy sensation of being watched and I peered nervously about,
but no sign of a living thing could I see. Laughing at my own
foolishness, I picked up the strip of bark which I had fastened to the
deer’s antlers and resumed my journey. The deer slid along over the snow
quite easily and, by keeping to the more open parts of the woods and
avoiding trees and branches which might catch upon the deer’s legs and
feet, I made fairly rapid progress. But despite every effort, I could
not shake off the feeling that I was being watched and followed. Several
times I wheeled about quickly and swept the surrounding forest with my
eyes, but I saw nothing tangible, although once I thought I caught a
glimpse of a flitting, shadowy form behind a clump of thick firs.
Perhaps, I thought, the lynx _is_ following me in the hope of regaining
his lost prey, and I began to fear that the creature might actually
gather sufficient courage to attack me.
Then that demoniacal face which I had seen outside my cabin in the
moonlight began to haunt me, and unconsciously I hurried faster and
faster until, as I approached the edge of the woods and saw the clearing
with my hut before me, I was making the best speed which my clumsy
foot-gear and the deer’s carcass would permit.
Once in the open, and with the forest behind me, I felt easier, and,
panting for breath, stopped and wheeled about, and as I did so I knew
that my vague, unreasoning fear had not been unfounded. Squatting at the
edge of the woods was the lynx, every hair bristling with fury, his
green eyes gleaming with cruelty and hate, and his lips drawn back
across the great, white teeth in a threatening snarl.
For an instant he sat there, as if half minded to leap forth to the
attack, and then, with a mighty spring, he bounded into a near-by
spruce. The branches swayed and the snow came down in avalanches as he
leaped from bough to bough, and from the shelter of the woods the
creature’s fearful cry of defiance rang out.
Even there in the sunshine and within a few yards of my hut I shivered
at the eerie sound, but I realized that, after all, the lynx was too
cowardly to attack me in the open. Relieved, now that I knew my
phantom-like pursuer was the lynx, I dragged the deer to the cabin,
slammed the door to, and threw myself upon the bunk, thoroughly
exhausted with my hard morning’s work.