“Wolves!” said Indian Jake, resuming his cooking with unconcern. “They
must be the other side of the little river, or they’d smell our smoke.
The wind’s blowin’ up from that way.”
“Are they like t’ trouble us?” asked Andy anxiously.
“They’ll keep clear of _us_, never fear,” declared David stoutly. “I’d
like t’ get a shot at un once.”
“They’re likely under cover o’ th’ woods,” said Indian Jake. “But you
might have a look and see.”
David took his rifle and went cautiously out of the door, but
presently returned to report that the wolves, which were still crying,
were, as Indian Jake had supposed, hidden in the woods on the opposite
side of the river.
“They won’t bother us,” said Indian Jake. “Wolves are mostly too much
afraid of the man smell to be troublesome. We might go after ’em, but
they’re hard t’ get at, and we wouldn’t stand much chance of seein’
’em.”
“Will they be like t’ come at us on th’ trails?” asked Andy.
“Not much fear of that,” reiterated Indian Jake. “Mostly they follows
the caribou, and keeps clear of men. Slice some pork, Davy; and Andy,
you put the tea over. The water’s boilin’.”
“I’m wonderin’, now, how many of un there is,” said Andy as he made
the tea.
“Two was all that sounded,” explained Indian Jake. “One was a good
piece off, and called lonesome, like he wanted company, and the other
that answered was handy by. They’ll likely be gettin’ together.”
When dinner was eaten, Indian Jake lighted his pipe with a shaving
which he whittled and ignited at the vent in the stove door, and while
David and Andy washed the dishes, busied himself with an examination
of the stretching boards which Thomas had used the previous year.
These were of different sizes, and properly shaped to fit the pelts of
martens, foxes and other animals hunted along the trails.
Hunters remove the skins from the animals whole and draw them tightly
over the board with the fleshy side of the pelt on the outside. It is
then scraped with a knife until all adhesions of flesh and fat are
removed, and the board, with the skin still upon it, is hung from the
ceiling until the pelt is thoroughly dried. When properly cured and in
condition for packing, it is removed from the board and placed with
other pelts, as they accumulate, in a clean bag, which is usually
suspended from a rafter, where neither moisture nor animals can attack
it.
Pelts dry quickly, and therefore comparatively few boards, assorted to
suit the size and form of the various animals, are sufficient for the
hunter’s purpose.
It was discovered that Thomas had left in the tilt an ample supply for
his own use, but now both Indian Jake and David must be equipped.
“We’ll be needin’ a few more,” said Indian Jake, “and we better make
’em while we has time. I’ll cut two or three dry butts, and split ’em,
and whenever we have time we can work ’em down.”
“I’ll go along and help,” David volunteered, for he and Andy had
finished their dish-washing, “but there’ll be no need o’ your comin’,
Andy. You can ’bide here in th’ tilt and rest up.”
“I’m rested,” declared Andy, resenting the imputation that he was in
greater need of rest than David. “I’ll take my gun and see if there’s
any pa’tridges around. They’ll go fine for supper, now, an’ I finds
any.”
“They will that,” assented Indian Jake. “And see, now, that you bring
some back.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Andy, proudly taking down his gun, and
slinging his ammunition bag over his shoulder. “We’ll have pa’tridges
for supper, _what_ever.”
Andy had hunted partridges and rabbits, and such small game as could
be found in the woods near The Jug, since he was nine years old and
strong enough to hold a gun to his shoulder. His father gave him an
old trade gun--a muzzle-loading piece--when he was ten years of age.
It was a gun which had been cut down because of a defect near the
muzzle, and with its shortened barrel was quite light enough for him
to aim with ease. Later on Thomas had permitted him to use the rifle
which he now carried, and he had become an excellent rifle shot. The
lads of The Labrador begin early to learn their trade, and to love it,
too.
It was no new experience, therefore, for Andy to be alone in the
woods, and as he stole quietly through the trees he felt a deal of
confidence in his ability as a hunter and that he should make good his
boast to bag enough partridges for supper.
A little distance from the tilt he turned down to the lake shore,
lined here by scrubby willow brush, in the hope of finding willow
ptarmigans, white grouse of the North, feeding upon the tender ends of
the willows. But unrewarded he finally turned back again into the
deeper spruce woods, and had gone but a little way when a small flock
of spruce grouse rose from the ground and, unconscious of danger and
quite fearless, took refuge in a tree. At easy range Andy had no
difficulty in clipping the heads from five of the birds with his rifle
bullets before the remaining ones took flight.
“I knew I’d get un!” exclaimed Andy exultantly, gathering up the
game. “Now we’ll have a fine supper.”
He drew a stout buckskin thong from his pocket, and at intervals of
about two inches made five slip nooses. Through each of these he
passed the legs of a bird, and drawing tight the ends of the thong,
made them secure. Tying the thong firmly around his waist, his game
thus carried made no burden, and left his hands free.
“Now,” said he, “I’ll see what Seal Lake looks like.”
A little to the right of where Andy had killed the partridges rose a
naked, rocky hill, and turning toward it he quickly began ascending. A
hundred feet up its side he passed the last scrubby spruce tree. On
the central plateau of Labrador the tree line seldom rises far above
the base of the hills. It was a steep, rocky climb, but Andy was
accustomed to scrambling over rocks, and in a few minutes he had
gained the summit.
Turning toward the lake he discovered its far-reaching waters
extending a full half-hundred miles to the westward. Its extreme end
was hidden in the boundless forest which, punctured by rocky,
snow-clad hills, rolled away as far as his eye could reach. For a
considerable distance to the northward he could trace, like a silver
thread, the sparkling waters of the Nascaupee. To the southeast lay
piled in massive grandeur an array of great white mountains. On the
sides of some of them high mica cliffs reflected the sun like disks
of burnished silver.
Near by, to the south, a curl of smoke rose above the forest green,
and this he knew to be the tilt. Eastward from the tilt splotches of
water could be discerned, where the little river ran down to join Seal
Lake.
Andy was used to wild nature, but this provided an element of romance
new to him. Here at his feet, in all its silent and magnificent
grandeur, stretched the great primordial wilderness which had been the
scene of his father’s exploits. This, too, was the scene of strange,
weird tales of stirring adventures to which he had listened so often.
Here men had fought wild beasts. Here men had starved, and here had
been enacted heroic deeds, the narrative of which never failed to
thrill him. Was he destined to take part in like adventures, and like
deeds of heroism?
He was awed by the immensity of the solitudes. A lump came into his
throat and tears into his eyes, as he looked away over the vast
silence to the horizon. This was God’s land, just as God had made it.
No man lived here, or had ever lived here. There was no human
habitation within the limitless boundaries of these rolling miles of
forest and mountain, save the little tilt from which the curl of smoke
was rising, and no other human beings than himself and David and
Indian Jake.
Then there came upon Andy a realization of his own smallness and
insignificance, and a wave of fear swept over his heart. Here in this
boundless wilderness he was to face the rigors of a long, sub-arctic
winter, with all its privations and hardships, cut off from all
communication with the greater world outside. For many, many months he
would have no word from his father or Margaret or Jamie or Doctor Joe,
or know how they fared, or whether the mist in Jamie’s eyes was
thickening or no. It was not strange then if Andy experienced a sudden
longing for home and a touch of homesickness.
But Andy was brave and full of courage, and presently throwing back
his head, he laughed, to drive away the fear and the loneliness.
“Huh!” he said, “there’s nothin’ to be scared of. Pop says th’ Lard’ll
take care of us, and we does our best t’ take care of ourselves.
There’s fur here, and Davy and I must get un, t’ cure Jamie’s eyes,
and we _will_ get un, _what_ever. I’ll have plenty o’ grit, and a
stout heart like a man’s, and ’twon’t be so long when we goes home
again.”
With this he set out down the hill. His descent was on the opposite
side from that which he had ascended, and he came upon steep, rocky
cliffs that he must needs circumvent; and so he was picking his way,
looking only to his steps and giving too little heed to other matters,
when suddenly, as he rounded the last high ledge above the timber
line, he was startled by a savage growl. And there, in the edge of the
woods, and so near that Andy barely escaped colliding with it, was a
great black bear. The animal, no less surprised at Andy’s sudden
appearance around the ledge than was Andy at meeting the bear, rose
upon its haunches, assuming a distinctly belligerent attitude.
Instinctively Andy sprang aside, and under cover of the trees. The
bear, content to be unmolested, made no attempt to follow. Black bears
attack only when protecting their young, when wounded, or when driven
to bay. Under other conditions they are overwilling to seek safety in
retreat.
This bear was no exception to the rule. He had, as yet, no quarrel
with Andy. His sole object in displaying teeth and claws was
self-protection. So long as Andy evinced no intention of injuring him,
he was well content to let Andy go his way, while he went his own.
Perceiving that the bear was not following him, Andy quickly turned
about to discover that it had also turned about, and was slowly, and
with dignity, retreating.
Then it occurred to Andy that he could never return to the tilt and
tell David and Indian Jake that he had encountered a bear and
permitted it to escape without ever firing a shot. Indian Jake would
gibe him and David would think him a coward, and he _would_ be a
coward! He would never be able to face the world again without an
inner sense of shame at his cowardice, if he permitted fear to
overcome his duty as a hunter! But he was not afraid! He had simply
been surprised and startled! At this season the bear would be in prime
condition. Its meat was good to eat and its skin was valuable, and no
valuable skin must escape.
These thoughts flashed through Andy’s mind in the instant that he
realized that the bear had turned about and was passing out of range,
and without further hesitation he raised his rifle and fired.
The bullet, not well directed, struck the animal in the flank. With a
growl it swung around and began biting at the wound. A second bullet
grazed its ear, and Andy, in excitement, permitted the third to go
wide of its mark.
The bear, now thoroughly aroused and angered, charged directly at
Andy. There were two cartridges remaining in the rifle, and Andy was
immediately aware that those two cartridges must be effectively
placed. He must kill the bear, or the bear would kill him, for there
is no middle ground of compromise with a wounded bear.
There was small time for planning his course of action, and Andy made
no plans, but permitted instinct to guide him. He sprang behind a
convenient tree, and with the assistance of the tree to steady his
aim, sent another bullet at the approaching animal. The shot took
effect, but served to retard the bear’s advance for only a moment.
Then Andy fired the remaining cartridge. It went wild, and the bear,
bellowing with rage, rushed at its enemy and tormentor.