THE BOYS GO FISHING FOR THE FIRST TIME--AN IDEA SUDDENLY
STRIKES ROB--ROB'S QUEST AND LUCK--THE ISLAND OF
WILLOWS--ROB'S BIG CAT--JOE'S TUSSLE WITH A PANTHER
CUB--KILLS HIM--IS WOUNDED--SKINS THE ANIMAL, AND GETS
HOME AT LAST--GIVES THE BEAUTIFUL ROBE TO HIS MOTHER
THE winter, contrary to their expectations, was not a severe one. The
family had been used to the long, dreary, cold months of a New England
winter, and were agreeably surprised when April arrived with its sunny
skies, delicious breezes, and wild flowers covering the prairies.
One morning, when his father was just starting for the little village of
Ellsworth, six miles distant, for a load of lumber, Rob asked him to buy
some hooks and lines.
"Father," said he, "Oxhide Creek is just full of bull-pouts, perch, cat
and buffalo fish. Joe and I want to go fishing to-day, if you return in
time."
Mr. Thompson told the boys that he would not forget them, and as he
drove off, they took their spades to dig in the garden as their father
had directed them to do while he was away.
Both Joe and Rob worked very industriously, anxious to make the time
slip away until their father's return, when, if he was satisfied with
what they had done, they knew he would let them go fishing.
Just before twelve o'clock Mr. Thompson came back. The boys had worked
for more than three hours, but it seemed only one to them, so quickly
does time glide along when we are engaged in some healthful labor.
When Mr. Thompson saw how faithfully his boys had worked, he told them,
as he handed to each a line and some hooks, they might have the
afternoon to themselves and go fishing if they wished to, but must wait
until they had taken the lumber off the wagon and eaten their dinner.
The boys were all excitement at the idea of going fishing. When they sat
down to dinner they hurried through it, asked to be excused, and went
out and unloaded the lumber before their father had done eating.
When they returned to the house and told their father they had unloaded
the boards and run the wagon under the shed, he said they might go, but
were to be sure to return in time to do the chores.
They took a spade from the tool-shed and an old tomato can their mother
had given them, and started for the creek, where in the soft, black soil
of its banks they dug for white grubs for bait. They were not very
successful, however. They turned over almost as much soil as they had
dug in the garden that morning, but found only three or four worms; not
enough to take out on their excursion. They were disgusted for a few
moments, fearing that they would have to give up their fishing, so stood
staring at each other, their faces filled with disappointment.
At last an idea struck Rob. He said:--
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Joe. I read in one of father's books the
other day about the Indians out in Oregon catching trout with crayfish.
It said that the savages commence to fish far up at the head of the
stream, lifting, as they walk down, the flat stones under which the
little animals hide themselves. They look like small lobsters, only
they are gray instead of green. Then they break them open and use the
white meat for bait. The book said they catch more trout in an hour than
a white man will in a week with all his flies, bugs, and fancy rigging."
"Let's try 'em for luck," answered Joe. "I don't know whether there are
any crayfish in the Oxhide, but we can go and find out; and if there
are, I guess cat and perch will bite at 'em as well as trout."
"All right," said Rob, the look of disappointment instantly vanishing
from his face as he listened to his brother's suggestion. "But I tell
you, Joe," continued he, "we've got to have poles. You go up to that
bunch of willows yonder," pointing with the old can he held in his hand,
to the bunch of willows growing as thick as rushes on a little island in
the creek, about an eighth of a mile from where he stood; "and here,
Joe, take my line and hooks, too. Fix yours and mine all ready for us,
while I go and hunt for the crayfish. I know where they are; I saw a
whole lot crawling in the water near the house the other day."
The two brothers then separated,--Joe, jack-knife in hand, going toward
the willows, and Rob to the creek with the tomato can.
As soon as Rob arrived at the bank of the stream, he took off his boots
and stockings, rolled his trousers above his knees, tied the can around
his neck with a string, and waded in. The creek was not at all deep, and
the water as clear as crystal. He could see shoals of perch dart ahead
of him, and many bull-pouts rush under the shadow of the bank as he
waded toward the island of willows. In the bed of the creek were
hundreds of flat rocks; some that he could easily lift, others so large
that he could not budge them.
The first stone he turned over had three of the coveted crayfish hidden
under its slimy bottom, and excited at his luck, he quickly caught them.
So many were there as he lifted stone after stone, that he soon filled
the tomato can, and by that time he had arrived at the willows. Joe was
anxiously waiting for him with two handsome rods, at least ten feet
long, the lines already attached and the hooks nicely fastened to their
ends.
"Golly! Rob, you must have had awful good luck," said Joe, as he looked
at the can full of struggling crayfish.
"Pshaw!" answered Rob. "Why, Joe, I could have got a bushel of 'em; the
Oxhide was just swimming with 'em."
"Let's go to that little lake that was so nice where we went swimming
last autumn," suggested Joe. "I know there are lots of cats in there;
big ones, too."
"All right, Joe," said Rob, as he commenced to put on his stockings.
When he had got his boots on, the two boys walked briskly toward the
so-called lake, which was a mere widening of the creek, forming quite a
large sheet of water, where they arrived in about seven minutes. It was
a very delightful spot. The whole surface of the water was shaded by the
gigantic limbs of great elms a hundred years old, growing on its margin,
and all around the edge was a heavy mat of buffalo grass, soft as a
carpet.
It required only a dozen seconds or so for the boys to unwind their
lines, bait the hooks, seat themselves on the cushioned sod, and cast
the shining white meat in the water.
There they anxiously waited for results, as the catfish is not game like
the trout, but is slow and deliberate in all its movements. The trout
rushes at anything that touches the surface of the water, but the
catfish carefully investigates whatever comes within reach of its great
jaws, before it opens its ugly mouth to take it in.
In a few minutes, Rob felt a tremendous tugging at his line, and in
another instant he skilfully landed a large channel cat on the grass at
his feet.
"Look, Joe, look! see what a big one I've caught," said Rob, as he
dexterously extracted the hook from the creature's great mouth, and then
held the fish at arm's length so that his brother could have a good look
at it.
Rob's catch weighed at least four pounds, and no wonder he was delighted
at such success, as it showed considerable skill to land a fish of that
size.
Joe had not yet had a nibble, and a shade of disappointment began to
creep over his face when suddenly, just as he was about to go over to
examine his brother's catch more closely, he was nearly jerked off his
feet by a tremendous pull at his own line. He recovered himself
immediately, and by dint of a hard struggle, hauled in a cat that was
almost as big again as that which Rob had caught.
It was Joe's turn to yell now; he held up the big fish as high as he
could,--its tail touched the ground even then,--and sung out:--
"I say, Rob, just look at this, will you? Yours is only a minnow
alongside of mine. When you go fishing, why don't you catch something
like this?"
Unfortunately, at the instant he was so wild with excitement, he stood
on the very edge of the bank, and so absorbed was he in the
contemplation of the great fish, that his foot slipped and both he and
the cat were thrown into the water at the same moment. The cat made a
terrible lunge forward when it found itself once more in its native
element, and before you could say "Jack Robinson," was out of sight.
If ever disgust was to be seen on a boy's face, that face was Joe
Thompson's; he only glanced at the water, did not say a word; his
feelings were too sad for utterance.
Rob looked over at his brother and sarcastically said, as he held up his
cat and stroked it:--
"I say, Joe, who's got the biggest fish now?"
In an instant he saw that he had touched Joe in a tender spot; he was a
very sensitive boy, so Rob quickly added: "Well, never mind, Joe. You
remember what mother often says to us, 'There is as good a fish in the
sea as was ever caught,' and I'll bet there's just as big cats in here
as the one you lost. Try again, Joe, but stand away from the edge of the
water with the next one you haul out."
Joe, thus encouraged and comforted, sat down again in his old place,
threw his line to try once more, and in the excitement soon forgot his
misfortune.
In less than three hours the boys caught more than a dozen apiece, none
so large, however, as that which escaped from Joe. It was now nearly six
o'clock, the sun was low in the heavens, and as they had as many fish as
they could conveniently carry, they decided to go home. Arriving there
in a short time, they at once went to work at their chores. Their
customary evening's task was to drive the cows into the corral, feed the
horses and their own ponies, and bring water from the spring for their
mother, so that it should be handy when she rose in the morning.
While Joe and Rob were at their work, their father cleaned some of the
fish, which their mother then cooked for supper, and they certainly
tasted to the young anglers better than ever did fish before. While at
the table they related every little incident that had befallen them on
this their first angling expedition in the new country.
After that very successful excursion the brothers sometimes spent whole
mornings or portions of the afternoons at some place on the creek or
river, when the work on the ranche was not pushing, and so expert did
they become with hook and line, that the family was never at a loss for
a supply of fish during the proper seasons.
Joe was a close observer of nature, and he very quickly learned the
habits of all the animals, birds, and fish that were common to the
region where he lived. Being the eldest son, too, he was intrusted with
a small but excellent rifle and a shot-gun which his father bought one
morning in the village, on the fifteenth anniversary of his birthday. He
would get up very early in the morning and with his pony and the hounds
have many a lively chase after the little cottontail rabbit or the
larger "jack," improperly so called, for it is really the hare. The
rabbit burrows in the ground, while the jack-rabbit does not, but makes
his nest on the top, in a bunch of grass, or in the holes in the rocky
ledges of the bluffs that fringe nearly every stream on the great
plains. Out on the open prairies the grouse congregated in large flocks
at certain seasons, and in every covert in the woods the quail could be
found. Joe had really handled a gun long before he left Vermont, but the
superior chance for practice out on the ranche soon made him a
magnificent shot; consequently the table at the ranche was never without
game if the family desired it.
Beside the smaller game I have mentioned, there were immense herds of
buffalo and antelope, and in some places in the deep woods was the only
long-tailed specimen of the genus felis on the continent,--the cougar,
or panther. All the wildcats, so called, are lynxes, with short tails.
With one of the first mentioned Joe once had a severe tussle, which
nearly proved disastrous to him. It happened in this way.
One afternoon in November shortly after the cabin was finished and the
family had moved in, he was out on the range with his father's horse,
the Spencer carbine, and about twenty rounds of ammunition. Even at that
early stage of his life at Errolstrath he was always careful never to
ride far away from home, without taking a gun with him; for he was
always sure to see something in the shape of game worth killing for the
table; and as its main support in that particular very soon depended on
his prowess as a hunter, he was always on the lookout.
Joe had ridden a long way from the cabin. He had really forgotten how
far away he was and was becoming very thirsty, for the day had been
warm, so he commenced to hunt for water.
He was riding along the bank of the Smoky Hill in the thickest of the
timber which grows on its banks, and by certain signs he had studied
since he had lived on the ranche, knew that he was near some springs,
though he had never been in that vicinity before.
He got off his horse, slipped the loop of the bridle-rein over his left
arm, slung the carbine across his right shoulder, and cautiously walked
on. There was, of course, no trail or path at the base of the bluffs
along which he was travelling, so he stopped at the mouth of every
ravine he came to, hoping to find a pool of water, or to discover some
hidden spring whose source was high up among the great rocks that
towered above his head.
Presently he arrived at a depression in the earth in the bottom of a
gully, evidently made by the claws of some animal, for beside those
marks were the imprint of foot-tracks. Joe intuitively guessed they were
those of a panther, as he had been told by the old trapper, Tucker, that
that animal knows by instinct when the water is near the surface, and
scratches with his claws until he reaches it. Joe knew, too, that the
panther was not a very large one; his footprints were too small; so he
did not feel at all alarmed at their sight. On the contrary, boy-like,
he was delighted at the idea of a possible tussle with one of the
dreadful creatures, and he thought that if he could succeed in killing
it he would add another feather to his cap by taking its hide home.
Joe felt himself equal to a possible struggle. He knew that he was fully
armed, and at once examined his carbine, took out the knife which he
always carried in his belt for skinning, and finding everything in
perfect order, he was really anxious to find the animal that had been
digging for water only a little while before his arrival at the spot.
A few rods further on, in the same ravine, he saw a little pool of
water, evidently clear and cool, and after looking cautiously all around
him, dipped the rim of his hat into the pool before him and indulged in
a long drink of the delicious fluid. Then after having satisfied his
thirst, he stood still for a few moments undecided as to what course he
should pursue.
[Illustration: "With one vigorous thrust of his knife he struck the
animal's heart."]
He concluded that if he was to remain and fight the panther if the
animal made his appearance, it would be best to tie his horse to a
sapling a short distance from the pool. After doing this he placed a
fresh cartridge in his carbine and walked slowly on, following the
beast's tracks, which had grown plainly visible a few paces from the
edge of the water, and which soon led him into a rocky cañon.
Joe came in sight of the panther much sooner than he expected. As he was
turning the sharp projecting corner of a mass of rocks which formed the
walls of a ravine, there was the panther sitting on a shelf of
sandstone, not forty feet away from him. He was busy licking his paws
cat-fashion, his ears cocked as if listening, and his small green eyes
turned toward the intruder, but evidently not much concerned at the
sight of his greatest enemy, man.
Joe was rather taken aback at first, but as the brute was only a little
over half-grown, and appeared so indifferent to his presence, he
uncocked his carbine, which he had a moment before hastily cocked, and
both boy and panther stood quietly gazing at each other for ten seconds
before either made any demonstration.
Presently the panther rose and turned sideways toward Joe, and edging up
toward the top of the ledge, gave vent to a low growl, and showed a
beautiful set of long, sharp teeth, evidently intending to let Joe know
that he wasn't afraid of him. This movement on the part of the panther
somewhat excited Joe, and cocking his carbine again, he deliberately
took aim at the place where the heart of the beast should be, as the
animal had now turned its left side toward the young hunter. Quick as a
flash Joe pulled the trigger, but the ball glancing upward, only grazed
the end of the beast's shoulder-blade and shattered it, the panther at
the same instant tumbling over on its side. This made Joe yell with
delight, for he thought he had killed it at the first shot.
The panther lay on the ground only for about ten seconds when the aspect
of affairs for Joe was suddenly changed. The brute staggered to its
feet, and, maddened with rage and pain, made for the boy. Although the
beast was evidently very lame from the effect of the shot, Joe saw to
his amazement that he was far from dead, and for a moment his usual
presence of mind forsook him, and he made a bolt for his horse, feeling
that the dreadful animal was close to him.
In his fright he dropped his carbine, but in another moment was on his
horse, who, on being so unceremoniously mounted, and seeing the
panther, gave a wild snort and a desperate kick which sent Joe heels
over head to the ground, and then dashed down the trail for home!
Joe was now all alone, on foot, and with nothing but his knife to defend
himself from the attack of the panther, who was almost upon him as he
got up from the ground after having been so hurriedly tossed from his
saddle. Although the panther was lame and bleeding profusely, he waddled
along as best he could toward Joe, his mouth wide open and his great
jaws covered with froth in his rage. Joe was somewhat bruised by his
fall, and seeing very quickly that he could not escape a tussle with the
beast, made up his mind that he would fight him to the best of his
ability. There was no other chance, for the panther was now upon him,
trying to get at him so that he could claw and bite at his leisure. But
Joe, who had now gained his normal coolness, turned deliberately, and
facing the savage brute, whose hot breath he could feel, with one
vigorous thrust of his knife he struck the animal's heart and
fortunately killed him instantly.
In the close struggle the panther was so near Joe, that in his death
throes, having fallen right on top of the boy, his sharp claws tore the
sleeve of his coat off and scratched a goodly piece of flesh from his
arms, as with one convulsive shudder the ferocious animal had rolled
over dead.
There was never a more delighted boy than Joe, despite his really
painful wounds, and rising with some difficulty to his feet, he went
back for his carbine, and returned with it to the dead panther. He
picked up his knife which had fallen on the ground when the fatal thrust
was given, deftly skinned him, suspended the beautiful hide to a limb of
a cottonwood tree to keep the wolves from it, and then turned away and
followed his trail towards the ranche. Of course, in a little while he
began to grow stiff in his arms from the severity of his wounds, and not
knowing exactly how far he was from the cabin, he was disturbed, not so
much for himself as at the thought that when the riderless horse arrived
there it would alarm his parents.
Joe was correct in his conjectures. As the horse dashed up to the stable
without his rider, both his father and mother were terribly frightened.
They plucked up courage, however, and immediately saddling another
horse, led back on his own trail the one Joe had ridden, and soon came
up to where Joe was resting at the side of a large spring, and suffering
considerably with the pain caused by his wounds.
They all arrived at the cabin by sundown, with the skin of the panther,
Joe's father having gone back to the tree where the boy had hung it.
That was a red-letter day in Joe's young life. He had to tell again and
again how he happened to come on the panther and his awful fight with
the enraged creature.
Joe soon recovered under the devoted nursing of his mother; his arm
healed nicely, but a good-sized scar was left where the panther had dug
its sharp claws into the flesh. The hide was smoke-tanned, and for many
years afterward adorned the floor at the foot of his mother's bed.