It was on a cold winter morning that Robin Gore entered his parlour and
sat him down to breakfast.
It was not only cold--very cold; colder than ever was experienced in our
favoured British isles--but it was also very dark. Robin had risen
before daybreak in order to visit his traps, and shoot some game as
early in the day as possible. The larder chanced to be nearly empty
that day, a fact which was all the more to be regretted that it was New
Year's day, and, as Robin remarked, "that day didn't occur more than
once in the year." This statement Larry O'Dowd disputed, affirming that
it occurred "at laste twice ivery year--wance at the beginnin' an' wance
at the end of it!"
"Come along, lad," said Robin, trimming the candle as his nephew Walter
entered, "we'll ha' to make the most of our time to-day, for we dine at
sharp five p.m., an' our dinner--leastwise the most of it--is at this
moment alive an' kickin', if it's not sleepin', in the forest, and has
got to be found and shot yet. Hallo! boy, where are _you_ bound for?"
"For the woods, father, with you and Walter," replied his son Roy,
sitting down and coolly helping himself to a portion of bear's meat,
with which the hunter was regaling himself.
"Nonsense, boy," said Robin, somewhat gruffly.
"You'll not be able to keep up with us," added Walter, "for we've little
time before us, an' a long way to go."
"If I break down I can turn back," retorted Roy.
"Very good; please yourself;" said Robin in a tone of indifference,
although his glance seemed to indicate that he was not sorry to see his
boy determined to attempt an expedition which he knew from experience
would be very trying to a lad of his years.
Breakfast over, the three hunters clothed themselves in habiliments
suitable to the climate--leathern coats and trousers which were
impervious to the wind; cloth leggings to keep the snow from the
trousers; leather mocassins, or shoes with three pairs of blanket socks
inside of them; fur-caps with ear-pieces; leather mittens with an
apartment for the fingers and a separate chamber for the thumb,
powder-horns, shot-pouches, guns, and snow-shoes. These latter were
light wooden frames, netted across with deerskin threads, about five
feet long and upwards of a foot wide. The shoes were of this enormous
size, in order that they might support the wearers on the surface of the
snow, which was, on an average, four feet deep in the woods. They were
clumsy to look at, but not so difficult to walk in as one might suppose.
In silence the three hunters entered the dark woods in front of Fort
Enterprise. Robin went first and beat the track, Walter followed in his
footsteps, Roy brought up the rear. The father sank about six inches at
every step, but the snow which fell upon his snow-shoes was so fine and
dry, owing to the intense frost, that it fell through the net-work of
the shoes like dust. Walter and Roy, treading in the footsteps, had
less labour in walking, but Walter, being almost as strong as his uncle,
took his turn at beating the track every two hours.
Through the woods they went, over mound and hollow, across frozen swamp
and plain, through brush and break, until near noon, when they halted
for rest and refreshment. While Walter cut firewood, Robin and Roy
cleared away the snow, using their snow-shoes as shovels, and prepared
their meal. It was simple; a few mouthfuls of dried meat and a tin can
of hot tea--the backwoodsman's greatest luxury, next to his pipe. It
was short, too. Half an hour sufficed to prepare and consume it.
"Let's see, now, what we have got," said Robin, counting the game before
resuming the march.
"More than enough," said Walter, lighting his pipe for a hurried whiff,
"ten brace of white grouse, four rabbits, six red foxes and a black one,
and two wolves. We can't eat all that."
"Surely we won't eat the foxes and wolves!" cried Roy, laughing.
"Not till we're starvin'," replied his father. "Come, let's go on--are
ye tired, lad?"
"Fresh as Walter," said the boy, proudly.
"Well, we won't try you too much. We'll just take a sweep round by the
Wolf's Glen, an' look at the traps there--after which make for home and
have our New Year's dinner. Go ahead, Walter, and beat the track; it is
your turn this time."
Without speaking, Walter slipped his feet into the lines of his
snow-shoes, extinguished his pipe, and led the way once more through the
pathless forest.