"How do you know?"
"Nels told me."
"Wish I'd known that, but I think he'll toe the mark now."
"What'd you do to him?"
"Took him before Justice McAfee. Mac fined him fifty dollars and a
positive revocation of his license if he violates any more."
"But--"
"But what?"
"There's a twenty-five dollar fine for every illegal grouse. As long as
you were taking him in, you should have had him fined a hundred and
seventy-five dollars."
"Not him," Loring Blade declared. "You can't hurt him too much by
hitting him in the pocketbook. His hunting privileges are what he holds
dear."
It was, Ted decided after the warden had left, a smart way to do things.
The penalty for breaking game laws should be harsh, but fining Arthur
Beamish a hundred and seventy-five dollars would bother him less than a
ten-dollar fine might inconvenience a Stacey or a Crawford. However,
Beamish's hunting privileges really meant something to him.
At any rate, the warden's method worked. Nels, who lost none of his
admiration for the grouse hunters, gave Ted a complete report at
intervals. Nobody in the camp took more than the limit after Beamish was
fined--and there was still another angle. Ted had always known that he
and his father were in the minority--sometimes it seemed that nobody
except he and Al cared what happened to the Mahela. But now the boy was
assured that others worked for its best interests, too.
The grouse hunters had gone home and for a whole week there would be
nobody in the camp. There was nothing to worry about in the immediate
future. Al, as his last note indicated, was doing all right. The Beamish
party, who'd really liked Nels, had expressed their satisfaction in more
lavish tips and for the first time in three years, Nels' family could
get by for a while, even if he did not work. However, he could certainly
work all through deer season. The Andersons might face a bleak New Year,
but they would have a happy Christmas.
Ted had decided to seize the week's interlude as a fine time to go over
the camp from top to bottom, but there was little to do. Nels would
never write a learned dissertation about Shakespeare, or come up with a
startling new aspect of the nuclear fission theory, but whoever hired
him got all they paid for, plus a substantial bonus. Working by the day,
in Nels' opinion, meant working twenty-four hours, if that were
necessary. The cabin was spotless. Even the blankets had been aired.
With time heavy on his hands, Ted fretted. He collected the six grouse
to which he was entitled and put them in the freezer. For lack of
something else to do, he went twice more to the three sycamores near
Glory Rock, the scene of Smoky Delbert's shooting. He didn't find
anything, but he hadn't really expected to discover any new evidence or
clues. Looking for them had helped kill time while he waited anxiously
for the bear hunters.
Deer were not especially hard to get, if all one wanted was venison;
there were does and young deer that wouldn't even run from hunters. But
the big old bucks with acceptable racks of antlers got big because they
were wary and they were difficult to bring down. Woodcock were sporting
and who hunted grouse successfully had every right to call himself a
hunter. Squirrels were fun, providing one hunted them with a rifle
instead of a shotgun. But unless one used dogs to bring them to
bay--and it was against the law to use dogs on any big game in the
Mahela--black bears were far and away the most difficult game of all.
Keen-nosed and sharp-eared, they almost always knew when hunters were
about. Wise, they were well aware of the best ways to preserve their own
hides. As circumstances prescribed, they could slink like ghosts or run
like horses and they laid some heartbreaking trails. Fifty miles was no
unusual distance for a black bear to cover in a day and they were full
of tricks. Ted himself had followed black bears on snow and come to
where the trail ended abruptly. The bears had walked backwards, stepping
exactly in the tracks they had made running forward, and made a long
sidewise jump that always delayed their pursuer and sometimes baffled
him.
Some men who'd spent their lives in black bear country had yet to see
their first one. It took hunters of the highest caliber to get them, and
thus Ted looked forward to those who would occupy his camp. But while he
waited there was little else to do and he spent some of his time in
Lorton.
Just another sleepy little town for forty-nine weeks of the year, Lorton
was almost feverishly preparing for its moment of glory. If it was not
exactly the center of all eyes, due to its geographical position as the
town nearest the Mahela, it was the center of deer hunting. Every room
in its two hotels and three motels had long since been reserved and any
householder with a room to rent could have a choice of at least ten
hunters. In the next few weeks, Lorton would see at least twice as many
deer hunters as it had permanent residents. Its normally quiet streets
would have bumper-to-bumper traffic. Parking space would be at a
premium; there'd be crowds waiting in every eating place; stores would
sell more merchandise than they did at any other time of the year; and
any Lortonite who knew anything at all about the Mahela, even if his
knowledge was limited to how to get into it and out of it again, could
have a job guiding deer hunters, if he wanted it.
In addition, every camping ground in the Mahela would have its quota of
trailers, tents and hardy souls who either slept in cars or made their
beds on the ground. Sometimes, in the event of heavy storms, these
venturesome ones got into trouble and were trapped until snowplows or
rescue parties reached them. But this fall the weather had been mild,
almost springlike, and there was every indication that it would continue
to be so.
Twice, just after the grouse hunters left and again four days later, Ted
sent Tammie to Al. He would send him again just before deer season
opened, for that was an uncertain time. There would be hunters
everywhere and no assurance as to what they would do. Horses, cattle,
sheep, leaves fluttering in the wind and men had all been mistaken for
bucks with nice racks of antlers and punctured accordingly with
high-powered ammunition. If Tammie should be delayed and have to come
back in daylight, there was no guarantee whatever that some
trigger-happy hunter would not consider him a choice black and white
deer. Stocking Al with plenty of everything he needed meant that Tammie
would not have to go out again until deer season ended.
Ted spent the two days prior to the opening of bear season cutting more
wood for the camp. On the afternoon before, he built and banked a fire
in the heating stove so that the camp would be reasonably warm and dry
when the hunters arrived. Then he prepared his supper and Tammie's and
was ready for the knock on his door when it sounded. He opened the door
and blinked in astonishment.
The man who stood before him was young, not much older than Ted himself,
and very grave. He wore hunting clothes and hunting boots, but perhaps
because they were new, they seemed somewhat ill-fitting. Strapped around
his middle were two belts, one containing a knife with a blade at least
a foot long and the other supporting two enormous 45 caliber revolvers.
He was making every effort to appear nonchalant, but it was an effort so
strained that the effect was a little ludicrous. His eyes brimmed with a
lilting excitement and a vast anticipation.
"Mr. Harkness?"
"Yes."
"I'm Alex Jackson."
"Oh, yes." Ted extended his hand. "Glad to see you, Mr. Jackson."
"As you can see," Alex Jackson indicated the two revolvers, "I'm ready
for them."
"Uh--are you going bear hunting with revolvers?"
"Oh, no! Definitely not. I have my rifle, too. It's just that one must
be prepared when the beasts charge."
"Ah--What'd you say?"
"I said--Oh, before I overlook it."
Alex Jackson took out his wallet and counted out the thirty-five dollars
still due on the camp rental. Ted tried to collect his spinning
thoughts. Expecting a seasoned, experienced hunter, he'd met instead a
youngster who talked seriously about black bears charging. Or hadn't Ted
heard correctly? He slipped the money into his pocket and looked
sidewise at his guest.
"If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the camp."
"Would you have a little time to talk?"
"Of course."
"May I bring the fellows in?"
"Certainly."
The man turned to beckon, and somebody shut off the car's idling motor
and flicked off its lights. Five more hunters came into the house, and
Ted was introduced as they came. None were older than Alex Jackson. Two,
Alex's brother Paul and a youngster named Philip Tarbox, looked as
though they should be behind their high-school desks, rather than in a
hunting camp. Alex Jackson turned with a smile.
"Now you know us. How do you like us?"
"Fine," Ted murmured. "Uh--how much bear hunting have any of you done?"
Alex Jackson's eyes were full of dreams. "None of us have ever hunted
any big game, but I've read all about it."
"You've never hunted?"
"Not big game," Alex Jackson said modestly. "You see, I just came of age
last month and thus was able to handle my own affairs. But I've always
wanted to hunt big game, especially bears."
"Do--do your folks know you're here?"
"Paul and I haven't any, and I am now Paul's guardian. But the other
fellows' parents do. Yes, of course, and they were glad to have them in
my charge. I've been counsellor for three summers at Camp Monawami. You
needn't worry about our ability to handle firearms. We've all hunted
rabbits. But I would like to ask your advice."
"Sure." Ted felt weak.
"Philip, Steve, Arnold and Wilson are armed with nothing but shotguns.
Do you think I should return to the town through which we just passed
and buy them rifles and revolvers?"
"Gosh no!"
"I'm worried," Alex Jackson said seriously. "Grimshaw, in his _Bears of
the North_, says that when the beasts charge--"
"Grimshaw was writing about grizzlies. These are black bears."
"Oh!" Alex Jackson elevated his brows. "You can say definitely that they
will not charge?"
"Nobody can say that. They're wild animals."
"I thought so!" Alex Jackson seemed vastly relieved. "Will a shotgun
halt them when they charge?"
"Oh, yes."
Ted wished he could sink through the floor. Expecting hunters, he had
his hands full of what, very literally, were babes in the woods. But
they had a great dream and a great hope, and regardless of who told them
that not once in 1000 times will even a wounded black bear charge a
hunter, they wouldn't believe it because they did not care to believe
it. They had come bear hunting to live dangerously!
Alex Jackson nodded happily. "Thank you very much. Now will you please
show us the camp?"
"Follow me."
As he drove up the Lorton Road, Ted gave himself over to his own grim
thoughts. Obviously, there was much more to building and renting camps
than met the casual eye. One never knew who was coming or what they'd
do. Now he was certain only that this crew of naive hopefuls should not
venture into the Mahela alone. He wasn't even sure that they should be
permitted to stay in camp without supervision, but he'd risk that much
for at least one night. He parked in front of the camp, waited for his
guests and admitted them.
"Just what I'd hoped for!" Alex Jackson exclaimed. "Semi-primitive
surroundings! Delightful!"