shabby, and his large round head terminated in sharp, pointed ears, set
off by coarse, tassel-like tufts of black hair, which gave him a sly,
sinister expression. Although Solomon the lynx was half the size of a
full-grown panther, he could creep through the forest so silently that
the soft pad, pad of his feet upon the soft mosses, and the time of his
passing was known to few. He never extended any polite courtesies to
anything he met, for his disposition was so ugly and mean that should he
chance to meet a bobcat or a porcupine, he would always bare his cruel
teeth in an ugly snarl, and slink away into the shadows. He mated with
none but his own family, two interesting kitten cubs, and their mother.
Solomon Lynx was the oldest and almost the last one left of his tribe in
the section of Tamarack Ridge. Once they were plentiful enough in the
Canadian forests, but they had all disappeared, leaving only Solomon and
his family as keeper of the ridge. Each year he and his wild mate raised
their family there. Half-way up the side of the mountain lay the ridge,
one of the wildest places in that section, covered over by a thick
growth of tamarack and mountain hemlocks. At the foot of the ridge,
scooped out in a basin between the mountains, lay a small, deep lake,
and beyond the lake is Balsam Swamp.
To the small lake the boys come occasionally to fish for trout or
catfish, and here, when the deer laws are off, come hunters from afar.
Excepting for these rare intrusions, Tamarack Ridge, the lake, and
Balsam Swamp, are inhabited only by the wild dwellers of the forest,
creatures of feathers and fur.
The den of Solomon the lynx lay concealed in the thick tamaracks,
beneath a jutting ledge of rock, the remains of an abandoned lime
quarry. Their den was not a pleasant spot; just a deep, dark hole, which
runs far under the ledge, from the entrance of which often peered forth
Solomon’s crafty face, lighted with yellow eyes which flashed fire upon
dark nights. The floor of the den was strewn over with bones, the
remains of cruel, snarling feasts, when the whole family fought over the
possession of a carcass. Sometimes it would be a young rabbit, a
raccoon, or some other timid little wood neighbor, and most of them knew
the place of Solomon’s den, and always made a wide détour when possible,
not caring to cross his path; so he remained absolute monarch of the
ridge.
One day, late in fall, two village boys came into the swamp to set
snares for muskrats. They knew about the keeper of Tamarack Ridge and
his evil reputation. For often his horrid yell might be heard on the
outskirts of the village on moonlight nights, and they knew the lynx was
abroad. And sometimes, if hard pressed, Solomon was overbold, and he and
his mate even ventured out of the swamp, and carried off lambs from the
farmyards, and once even a young calf. So that finally the farmers
offered a bounty to any one who would put an end to the old lynx. So the
boys had brought along a large steel trap with them, weighing about
eighty pounds, strong enough to hold any lynx once he was caught in its
great steel teeth. But when the boys came to set the trap they
discovered, to their dismay, that some of the steel teeth were so badly
worn off that the trap could not be made to catch properly. Finally by
stuffing beneath the plate some leaves, they raised it enough to make
the teeth meet, and then baiting their trap with a fresh sheep’s head,
they hastened away, for it was by that time nearly dark, and they were
afraid that the old lynx might even then have been watching them, and
might leap down upon them from some overhanging tree, as he had a way of
doing when it suited him.
To tell the truth, Solomon had seen the boys, and his curiosity had been
aroused as to just what they had been about down on the edge of the
lake. From his place of concealment, lying out flat upon the lime ledge
just above his den, he had watched and peered at them between the
overhanging tamaracks. And then as the boys started to leave, just as a
pleasant warning to them, that they might not approach the ridge, he
raised his head and sent out, one after another, a series of his
blood-curdling, horrid yells, which so terrified the boys that they
took to their heels and ran, as fast as they were able, away, away from
those awful cries.
That night it was clear and keen, with frost in the air and young ice in
the lowlands, so that when Solomon at last leisurely took his way down
from the ridge, with strong, sure leaps, he finally came to where the
trap was set, and by this time bait, trap, and all were frozen solid. So
Solomon had no difficulty about the trap; it could not spring, and he
devoured the bait unharmed, tossing the trap far aside in contempt when
he had secured the sheep’s head.
As you can well imagine, the boys, when they dared come back to see if
their trap had been sprung, and if they had actually caught a lynx, were
thoroughly disgusted at the outcome of their well-laid plans, and almost
gave up all hope of ever capturing the lynx. All through the winter
months, after snowfall, Solomon’s tracks might be found, as they were
readily distinguished from those of the foxes and other wild things
because Solomon always took long, flying leaps across the snow, leaving
a set of deep, round holes wherever his tufted feet struck. More than
once his awful yell had been heard upon moonlight nights close to the
traveled roads, and many were afraid to venture out late at night
because of the lynx, and the little children would whimper and cry, and
hide their heads in terror beneath the quilts, when they heard Solomon’s
screech in the night.
When early spring came, the boys came again to the lake, this time for
the mountain trout, which were running well. They came with a team,
intending to camp in the balsams all night, and tethered their horse
securely between two rocks, tying him with a double halter that he might
not stray. The fish were biting splendidly along about twilight, and the
boys were out on a raft some distance from shore. They carried a lantern
with a reflector to attract the fish, and were having great sport. They
thought about the lynx, but the sport was so keen that they forgot their
fears. The trout would make a circuit of the round lake traveling in
schools, and when a school of fish came their way, the boys were kept
busy with their lines, hauling in trout. Then they would wait idly until
the next school came around. During these periods of inactivity the boys
were quiet, and a deep stillness settled over everything. Once a loon
screeched, and then regularly, over in Balsam Swamp, commenced the old
hoot owl’s lonely cry, “Waugh, waugh, waugh, hu, hu-hu, hu,” and then
an old settler or a bullfrog “zoom, zoom’d,” over in the marshes.
Then all at once, in the awful stillness which had settled over the
lake, came a crashing sound in the spruce bush along shore, close to
where the boys had tethered their horse, followed by the well-known,
awful yell of the lynx.
“It’s after the horse, perhaps,” suggested one of the boys. Awful
thought; they must pull to shore and find out. So, in spite of their own
terror, they poled ashore, and when they reached the spot where their
horse had been tied he was no longer there, for the animal, terrified
out of its senses by the near-by yell of Solomon, had broken his halters
and made off. The boys decided then and there that they did not care to
remain over night, so one of them took the wagon shafts, while the other
boy pushed behind, and they tore down the road toward the village.
Half-way down the mountain road they came across their frightened horse,
and, minus their fish, finally reached home.
Thus did Solomon hold the fort, and remain on as undisputed keeper of
the ridge. Never could he be trapped or shot, until finally the patience
of the farmers was at an end, and they resolved to rally and have a
grand hunt for the lynx family; but even then they failed to catch him,
and this is how it happened.
One night that fall, Solomon and his family had been out upon one of
their bold raids. Right into a farmer’s barn-yard Solomon ventured this
time, while his mate waited for him farther up the trail. When he met
her he dragged after him a fine, fat sheep, and together they made their
way to the den to share the great feast with the waiting cubs. When it
was finished, they all curled themselves up for a long, gluttonous
sleep, which would last probably until their pressing hunger again
awakened them.
Gradually a brooding silence settled over mountain and swamp. The moon
was setting and hung, a slim crescent, just over the edge of the dark
spruces. Always, before dawn, there comes a hush, when even the owls and
frogs are quiet, and the hermit thrush has finished her all night
lullaby. It is as if all Nature waited; waited for the birth of a new
day.
Then down from the lime ledge, just above Solomon’s den, slipped a dark,
lithe figure, slim, with small, sinister eyes; it half-scrambled,
half-clawed its way down to a level with the den of the lynx. It moved
leisurely but surely, in and out among the tall, rank ferns, threading
its way with unerring scent, the scent being fresh meat. Like a shadow,
the long, slim body stole inside the bone-strewn den of the lynx, nosing
about among the gnawed, discarded bones of the sheep in disdain, and
uttering a hissing, baffled growl of disappointment.
Suddenly a low, rumbling growl of warning came from the half-awakened
lynx, who had somehow scented the presence of an intruder in the den,
but the growl did not frighten off the small, slim visitor, who must be
very brave indeed to face Solomon. The eyes of the lynx, mere slits of
sleepiness, gradually opened wider and wider. He had caught sight of the
stranger, and now thoroughly awake he bared his teeth in an ugly snarl
of rage at being disturbed from his slumbers.
The next instant, like a flash of lightning, before Solomon knew how to
prepare himself for attack, the slim, dark body had sprung straight for
his throat. In vain the lynx shook and scratched and turned himself
about. He could not rid himself of the small dark body which had
fastened itself in his throat and clung and clung. Gradually the eyes of
Solomon lost all luster, and he sank back limp and dead. While all this
had been going on the mother lynx and her cubs had awakened, and the old
lynx, intent only upon saving the cubs, had stolen off like a shadow,
the cubs following her, into the darkness. They had deliberately
deserted Solomon in his extremity. Off over the mountain the old lynx
led the cubs, and did not stop until she had hidden them in a safe
retreat miles away, upon another spur of the mountain, and she never
ventured back to Tamarack Ridge again.
When the hunters found the lynx den, they also found all that remained
of Solomon lying cold and stark in the edge of the den. And one of the
men remarked:
“Only a weasel could do that. The lynx met his match that time.”
Thus ended the long, terrifying reign of Solomon the lynx, and the den
beneath the dark, overhanging boughs of the tamarack is now without its
keeper.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
speciment of the cat family=> specimen of the cat family {pg 75}
the lucious, succulent fare=> the luscious, succulent fare {pg 93}
for the reapppearance of that hateful=> for the reappearance of that
hateful {pg 228}