There were cartridges enough in Andy’s bag, but he had no time now to
reload, and dropping the rifle he seized the low hanging limb of a
tamarack tree, swung himself up, and clambered to a limb above barely
in time to escape a stroke of the bear’s powerful paw.
Then it was that Andy remembered that bears can climb quite as well as
men, and this wounded and blood-bespattered bear proved himself an
excellent climber indeed. Up the tree he came, with an agility that
was alarming, and Andy, now thoroughly frightened, slid out upon the
limb upon which he was perched, to escape the long reach of the great
paw.
Andy was cornered. He was certain that death awaited him. In some
degree his mind became dulled and paralyzed with the thought. In a
disconnected way he wondered whether the bear would tear him badly, or
be content to kill him and leave his body for foxes and wolves to
devour. In that moment he was not greatly concerned about it. He was
little more interested in it than he would have been in tomorrow’s
weather.
But the instinct of self-preservation never becomes extinct so long as
life remains, and acting upon that instinct rather than upon any
definite plan Andy slid farther out upon the limb. As the bear
followed he continued to slide, when of a sudden the supple ends of
the limb bent beneath his weight, he lost his grip, and went tumbling
to the ground, leaving the baffled and astounded bear upon the limb.
Andy was on his feet in an instant. With the knowledge that he was at
least temporarily out of reach of the creature and its terrible claws,
his mind awoke with new hope of escape.
His rifle lay within reach, and seizing it he hurriedly jammed a
cartridge into the magazine, threw the lever back, drew it forward
again with a click, and was in time to place the muzzle of the rifle
almost against the bear’s body, over its heart, as it descended,
backing down the tree trunk.
There was a report, the bear loosed his hold, and fell in a heap upon
the ground. Andy was safe, and realizing the fact, his strength left
him, and he stood, trembling, and so weak that for a little he could
scarce move.
A half hour later when Andy appeared at the tilt he had nearly
regained his usual composure. David and Indian Jake were busy near the
door splitting slabs from dry spruce butts, and looking up Indian Jake
asked, jocularly:
“Where be th’ pa’tridges we’re goin’ to have for supper? I suppose
you got a fine lot of ’em? I never was so hungry for pa’tridges in my
life.”
“Here they be,” replied Andy, lifting the skirts of his adiky and
displaying the five birds tied to his belt.
“You did get un, now, didn’t you?” said Indian Jake.
“Andy’s a rare good pa’tridge hunter,” David asserted, resenting
Indian Jake’s implication that he might not be. “He knows how t’ find
th’ birds when they’re about, and he knows how t’ shoot un, too.”
“And this ain’t all th’ game I’m gettin’,” said Andy, who had stood
with fine unconcern, gloating in the surprise he had in store for
them. “I killed a bear back here by th’ hill. We better go and skin
he, an’ bring in th’ meat, _I’m_ thinkin’!”
“A bear!” exclaimed David and Indian Jake incredulously.
“Aye,” said Andy, “and a fine big un, too. He’s prime, and has a rare
good skin.”
There was no doubt that Andy was in earnest, and Indian Jake and David
lost no time in securing their rifles and following him as he led them
proudly back to the scene of his encounter.
The bear was, as Andy had declared, fine and fat, with a glossy,
well-furred pelt. And, while they removed the pelt from the carcass,
and dressed and cut the meat into convenient pieces for carrying back
to the tilt, Indian Jake and David must needs hear the story of
Andy’s adventure in detail. And Indian Jake, who took things for
granted, and rarely complimented any one, praised Andy’s courage, and
David declared no one could have done better “in such a tight fix,”
and Andy was quite swelled up with pride, and glad of the adventure,
now that it had ended so happily.
Bear steak was a rarer treat than boiled spruce partridge, and Indian
Jake quite forgot his earlier longing for a partridge supper. Indian
Jake had indeed never been in such good humor. He declared that he had
never eaten finer bear’s meat, and that no one could wish for a better
meal, and the boys quite heartily agreed with him. And when they were
through eating, and he had lighted his pipe, Indian Jake told them
stories of Indian hunters who had lived and had their adventures in
these very forests where they were camped. It was a rare evening, that
first evening in the tilt, and one to be remembered.
Geese were not nearly so plentiful as they had hoped. The larger
flocks had already passed to the southward, for winter was near at
hand, and only small, belated flocks of stragglers remained.
Nevertheless, by hard, persistent hunting, seven geese and twelve
ducks were bagged during the succeeding week, before the last goose
and duck to be seen until spring returned, had disappeared.
The weather was cold enough now to keep the bear’s meat and birds well
frozen. Thus they would remain sweet and good until needed, and it was
pleasant and safe to have an ample supply of fresh meat to draw upon
as required.
The trail along which David and Andy were to set their traps extended
eastward through the forest, and on the southern side of the small
river at the mouth of which the Narrows tilt was situated, to another
tilt on the shores of Namaycush Lake, a distance of twenty-five miles.
Midway between the Narrows and Namaycush Lake tilts was another, known
to the hunters as the “Halfway tilt.” From the Namaycush Lake tilt the
trail swung out through the forest, circuited a great open marsh, and
returned again to the tilt. From this point it followed westward along
the northern bank of the river, turned in at the Halfway tilt, and
thence continued westward on the northern side of the river, to return
to the Narrows tilt again.
The entire length of the trail was about sixty miles, and the distance
from tilt to tilt constituted a day’s work. Thus, setting out from the
Narrows tilt on Monday morning, they would stop that night in the
Halfway tilt, Tuesday and Wednesday nights in the Namaycush Lake tilt,
Thursday night again at the Halfway tilt, and reach the Narrows tilt
on Friday night, to remain there until Monday morning. This gave them
Saturday and Sunday for rest, and to make necessary repairs to
clothing and equipment. It also permitted an allowance for delay in
case of severe storms.
Indian Jake’s trail took a northerly direction from the Narrows tilt,
and with tilts at similar intervals made a wide circuit, returning, as
did the other trail, to the Narrows tilt. Thus it was arranged that
each week Indian Jake and the boys should spend the period from Friday
evening until Monday morning together.
It was the middle of October when they awoke one morning to hear the
wind howling and shrieking outside. Upon opening the tilt door David
was met by a cloud of swirling, drifting snow, and when he went to the
river for a kettle of water he found it necessary to use his ax to cut
a water hole through the ice. For three days and nights the storm
raged over the wilderness, and when at length it passed, a new,
intense, penetrating cold had settled upon the land. The long Labrador
winter had come.
“Now,” said Indian Jake, “it’s time to get the traps set and the
trails shaped up.”
Two long Indian toboggans, or “flat sleds,” as they called them, were
leaning against the tilt. A supply of provisions and their sleeping
bags were lashed securely upon these, and in the cold, frosty dawn of
a Monday morning Indian Jake, hauling one, set out to the northward,
and with David hauling the other, the two boys crossed the little
river upon its hard frozen surface and plunged into the forest to the
eastward, and the tedious rounds of the long white trail were begun.
The first journey of the season over a trail is always hard, for there
is no hope that the next trap may hold a valuable pelt. So it was
with David and Andy, though the novelty of the experience kept them to
some extent buoyed and interested. But the work was hard,
nevertheless. So far as possible they used the stumps that Thomas had
used the previous year for their marten traps, but still there was the
necessity of cutting and trimming new stumps. The snowshoeing, too,
was far from good, for in the shelter of the trees the snow was soft,
and they sank half way to their knees at every step. Out on the open
marshes, however, where the wind had packed the snow firmly, they
walked with ease. Here it was, in open, wind-swept regions, that they
set their fox traps.
The silence was appalling. Down at The Jug there was always at least
the howling and snarling of the dogs to break the quiet, when ice in
winter throttled the otherwise unceasing song of Roaring Brook. But
here in the wilderness no sound disturbed the monotonous stillness,
save the winter wind soughing through the tree tops. It was a new
world to the lads, and the world that they had known seemed far, far
away.
Withal, that first week was a trying one, and when, late on Friday
evening they glimpsed at a distance the Narrows tilt, and saw smoke
issuing from the pipe, they welcomed it joyfully, and were glad enough
to be back. Upon entering they found Indian Jake busily engaged
preparing supper, the tilt cozy and warm, and the kettle boiling
merrily. A pot of partridges simmering upon the stove sent forth an
appealing odor. Then they realized how very lonely they had been.
“How you making it, lads?” asked Indian Jake cheerily.
“Not so bad,” answered David stoutly.
“’Tis wonderful fine t’ see you, Jake,” exclaimed Andy.
“’Tis that,” agreed David.
Indian Jake laughed.
“’Twas--’twas growin’ lonesome out there,” explained Andy.
“Yes,” said Indian Jake, “it is lonesome out there till you get used
to it.”
“It seems a wonderful long time since we left the Jug,” observed Andy,
as they ate supper.
“Not so long,” said David, a little inclined to brag.
“No only a month yet. But,” condescendingly, “’tis like t’ seem long
the first time. ’Twas so when I was up here with Pop last year. But
I’m not mindin’ un now.”
“You was lonesome enough up at the Namaycush Lake tilt,” Andy
retorted.
“’Twon’t help any t’ talk about un,” warned Indian Jake. “You’ll be
gettin’ homesick at the start.”
But after this the hope that each trap would reward them with a fine
pelt kept alive their keen interest in the work. And, too, they were
doing exceedingly well. Before the middle of December they had
captured fourteen martens, one red, one cross, and two white foxes,
which was quite as well, Indian Jake declared, as he had done, and was
very well indeed, and they were proud.
“And it’s all prime fur except th’ first two martens we got,” said
David.
“We’re makin’ a grand hunt, Davy!” exclaimed Andy, enthusiastically.
“That we are!” agreed David.
The cold was tightening with each December day. Wild, fierce storms
sprang up suddenly, and the air was filled with blinding clouds of
snow. But David and Andy kept steadily at their work, with “plenty of
grit, and stout hearts,” lying idle only when it would have been too
dangerous or foolhardy to venture forth from the protection of the
tilts. This is the portion of the fur hunter’s existence.
But neither David nor Andy gave thought to the hardships he was
experiencing. They had expected them, and they were accustomed to cold
weather and deep snows. They were always glad, however, to reach the
snug shelter of the tilts, of nights.
Their excellent success kept them in good spirits and contented at
their work for the most part, though sometimes, when drifting snows
clogged the traps, and days were spent in clearing them, the trails
grew tedious, and then it was quite natural that they should long for
the return of summer, and for home.
Nothing occurred to vary the monotonous routine of the days until
late one December afternoon. The previous night had been one of wind
and drifting snow. The fox traps lay deeply covered by drifts, and
since early morning they had been clearing and resetting them. The
long northern twilight was at hand, and, plodding silently along
toward the Namaycush Lake tilt, still three miles away, they were
thinking of the hot supper and warm fire, and hours of rest that
should presently be theirs, when suddenly David stopped and listened
intently.
“What is it?” asked Andy.
“’Tis something following us,” answered David after a moment’s
silence.
“I hears nothing,” said Andy.
“But ’tis there!” insisted David. “I _feels_ un!”
A little longer they listened, and then passed on.
“There _is_ somethin’!” exclaimed Andy presently, in an awed voice. “I
feels un too.”
Closer and closer the something seemed to come, stealing after them
stealthily through the shadows of the forest. With the instinct of
those born and bred to the solitudes, they felt the presence, and were
certain it was there, though they could neither hear nor see it.
Again and again they paused expectantly to listen, and at length their
keen ears caught a light, stealthy tread.
X