A WORLD-WIDE HUNTER
The two boys listened to the man's words with keen interest. He had
hunted in the wild West, in India, Africa, and even in the Arctic
regions! Surely he was a sportsman out of the ordinary.
"You're like old Tom Casey," said Andy. "He fought the forest fires here
for years, and never got singed, and then went home one day and burnt
his arm on a red-hot stove. I hope the ankle isn't bad."
"I can't tell about that until I stand on it. Give me a lift, will you?"
Both boys helped the man to his feet. He took a couple of steps, and was
then glad enough to return to the pine couch.
"It's no use--I can't walk, yet," he murmured.
"Do you think you need a doctor?" asked Chet.
"Hardly--although I'd call him in if he was handy. I'm pretty tough,
although I may not look it. Who are you?"
"My name is Chet Greene, and this is a friend of mine, Andy Graham."
"I am glad to know you, and very thankful for what you have done for me.
I'll make it right with you when I'm able to get around. My name is
Dawson--Barwell Dawson. I'm a traveler and hunter, and occasionally I
write articles for the magazines--hunting articles mostly."
"Oh, are you the man who once wrote a little book about bears--how they
really live and what they do, and all that?" cried Andy.
"Yes, I'm the same fellow."
"I've got that book at home--you once gave it to my father, when I was
about eight years old."
"Is that so? I don't remember it."
"My father was up on the Penobscot, lumbering. He went out with you into
the woods and you found a honey tree. You gave him the book for his
little boy--that was me."
"Oh, yes, I remember it now!" cried Barwell Dawson. "So that was your
father. How is he?"
"My father is dead," answered Andy, and his voice dropped a little.
"Indeed! I am sorry to hear it. And your mother?"
"She is dead, too."
"Then you are alone in the world? Do you live near?"
"I live two miles from Pine Run, with an uncle. It was I who told you
how to get to Moose Ridge, when you were driving on the wrong road."
"Oh, yes, I thought I had seen you somewhere."
Here the conversation lapsed, for Barwell Dawson was still weak. He lay
back and closed his eyes, and the boys did not disturb him.
It continued to snow, until the fresh fall covered the old to the depth
of several inches. The boys kept the campfire going, and cooked such
game as they had brought along.
"We are booked to stay here for a while, that's certain," observed Chet.
"No Lodgeport today."
After a while Barwell Dawson sat up again, and gladly partook of the
food offered to him. His injuries consisted of a hard shaking up, a
bruised ankle, and several cuts on his head.
"I am thankful that no bones are broken, and that I did not get killed,"
he said, and then he requested them to give the details of the rescue
from the ledge. The boys related their story, to which he listened
closely.
"It was fine of you to get me down," he declared. "Fine! I'll have to
reward you."
"I don't want any reward," answered Andy, promptly.
"Nor do I," added Chet.
"Well, you ought to let me do something for you," persisted the one who
had been rescued.
"You might tell us of some of your hunting adventures," said Andy, with
a smile. "I'd like to hear about hunting in the far West and other
places."
"So would I," added Chet. "If I had the money, I'd like to do like you
have done, travel all over the world and hunt." And his eyes glistened
with anticipation.
"What do you do now?"
"Nothing at present. We can't get an opening at any of the lumber
camps."
"I understand business is very dull this season."
After that Barwell Dawson asked for more particulars concerning the
boys, and they told him how they were situated. He was surprised to
learn that Chet was practically alone in the world.
"It is certainly hard luck," he said, kindly. "You must let me do
something for you."
Then, after his ankle had been bathed in hot water, and bound up, the
hunter and traveler told them of his trips to various portions of the
globe, and how he had hunted deer and moose in one place, bears and
mountain lions in another, and tigers and other wild beasts elsewhere.
He had two very interested listeners.
"It must be great!" murmured Chet. "Oh, that would suit me down to the
ground--to go out that way!"
"I have made one trip to the north," continued Barwell Dawson, "and I am
soon going to make another."
"You mean to Canada?" queried Andy.
"Not exactly. I am going to Greenland, and then into the polar regions.
I want to hunt seals, polar bears, and musk oxen."
"You'll be frozen to death!"
"Hardly," answered the hunter. "On my previous trip I stood the cold
very well, and this time I shall go much better prepared. Somehow, I
like hunting in the Arctic Circle better than hunting anywhere else.
Besides, I wish to--But never mind that now," and Barwell Dawson broke
off rather abruptly. Then he told a story of a hunt after polar bears
that made Chet's eyes water.
"That's the stuff!" whispered Chet to Andy. "That beats a deer hunt all
hollow!"
"Yes, provided the polar bear doesn't eat you up."
"Huh! I'd not be afraid. I don't believe a polar bear is any more
dangerous than a moose."
"I saw a moose just before I had the tumble," said Barwell Dawson. "I
climbed up the cliff after him, but I couldn't get very close. I took
two shots at him, but he got away."
"If we are going to be snowed up here we ought to try for some game,"
said Chet. "Maybe I can stir up some rabbits, or something."
It was decided that he should go out, leaving Andy to look after Mr.
Dawson and the campfire.
"But don't go far," cautioned Andy. "The snow is coming down so thick
that you may get lost."
"Oh, I'll take care of myself," answered Chet.
He knew it would be a bad move to go out into the open, so he kept to
the timber, blazing a tree here and there as he went along. He knew very
little game would be stirring.
"If I get anything it will be more accident than anything else," he
reasoned. "No animal is going to stir out in this storm."
He was just passing under a big spruce tree when, chancing to glance up,
he saw a sight that quickened his pulse. On a limb close at hand were
several wild turkeys, huddled together to keep warm.
With great caution he moved to one side, to get a good aim. Then,
raising his gun, he blazed away. There was a whirr and a flutter, and
two of the turkeys came down, one dead and the other wounded. Rushing
forward, Chet caught the wounded bird by the neck, and soon put it out
of its misery.
"That's a good start," he told himself, with much satisfaction. "I hope
my luck continues."
Placing the game in his bag, he went forward again, looking for more
signs of birds, and also for signs of squirrels and rabbits.
It was growing dark, and Chet began to think it was time to turn back,
when he saw some rabbits in a thick clump of bushes. He sprang in after
them, and they leaped out into the snow and across a small opening.
Then, before he could fire, they were out of sight again.
"You shan't get away from me as easily as that," the youth muttered to
himself, and ran out into the opening. Here the snow was so thick he
could see but little, yet he kept on, and soon reached more brushwood.
He saw some branches close to the snow move, and blazed away in the
dark.
His aim proved true, for when he came up he found one rabbit dead.
Another had been wounded, as the blood on the snow showed. In all haste
he made after the limping game. But the rabbit had considerable life
left in it, and dove deep into the brushwood. But at last it had to give
up, and Chet secured the additional game without much trouble.
It had grown dark rapidly, and in some anxiety the young hunter turned
back, in an endeavor to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, for
the snow was coming down as thickly as ever, and he could scarcely see
two yards ahead of him.
"It won't do for me to get lost out here," he reasoned. "If I don't get
back, Andy will be worried to death."
Bending to meet the snow--for the wind was now blowing briskly, Chet
pushed forward until another clump of trees was gained. Walking was
becoming irksome, and he panted for breath. Under the trees he paused to
get his bearings.
"I must be right," he thought. Yet, try his best, he could not locate
any of the trees he had blazed a short while before.
Any other lad might have become frightened at the prospect, but Chet was
used to being alone, and he simply resolved to move forward with
increased caution.
"If the worst comes, I can fire three shots in succession. Andy will
know what that means," he reasoned. On previous trips to the woods the
boys had arranged that three shots meant, "I am lost. Where are you?" A
single shot was to be the answer--repeated, of course, as often as
necessary.
Another hundred feet were covered, and Chet was looking vainly for one
of the blazed trees, when an unexpected sound broke upon his ears.
It was an unusual and uncanny noise, and he stopped short to listen. It
came from a clump of spruces to his left.
"Now, what can that be?" he asked himself. "I never heard a noise like
that before."
He listened, and presently the sound was repeated. To him it seemed as
if some unseen giant were in deep distress.
Chet was not superstitious, or he might have thought he heard a ghost.
He knew there must be some rational reason for the unusual noise, and he
resolved to investigate.
"Anybody there?" he cried, as he raised his gun in front of him, and
tried to peer through the snow-laden air.
There was no answer, nor was the peculiar sound repeated. With cautious
steps he advanced toward the clump of spruces. Underneath all was now as
dark as night could make it.
Again he paused, something warning him to be extra cautious. His nerves
were now at a high tension, for he felt something unusual was coming.
An instant later it came. Through the snow and darkness Chet caught a
momentary gleam of a pair of eyes shining like two balls of fire. Then a
bulky form shot out of the darkness, and bumped up against him, hurling
him flat. Ere he could arise, the form leaped over him, and went limping
off, puffing and snorting as it did so.
"A moose!" gasped Chet, as he felt in the snow for his gun. "And
wounded! It must be the one Mr. Dawson tried to get!"
He thought the big beast was retreating, but soon found out otherwise.
The moose was badly wounded, and ugly in the extreme. Around he wheeled,
and then came straight for Chet. The lad could not locate his gun, and,
feeling his peril, darted for the nearest tree and leaped high up among
the branches.