THE CAMP ON SQUATOOK RIVER.
That night around the camp-fire stories were once more in demand.
Stranion was first called upon, and he at once responded.
“I’ll call this story—
‘SAVED BY A SLIVER,’
and ask you to observe the neat alliteration,” said Stranion.
“In the autumn of 1887 I was hunting in those wildernesses about the
headwaters of that famous salmon river, the south-west Miramichi. I had
old Jake Christison with me, the best woodsman on the river; and I had
also my inseparable companion and most faithful follower, Jeff, a large
bull-terrier. Jeff was not a hunting-dog in any accepted sense of the
word. He had no inherited instinct for the chase; but he had remarkable
intelligence, unconquerable pluck, unquestioning obedience, and hence a
certain fitness for any emergency that might arise. In the woods he
always crept noiselessly at my heels, as unembarrassing and
self-effacing as my shadow.
“One morning we set out from camp soon after breakfast to follow up some
fresh caribou signs which Jake had just reported. We had gone but half a
mile into the thickets when the woodsman discovered that he had left his
hunting-knife by the camp-fire, where he had been using it to slice the
breakfast bacon. To go without his hunting-knife could not for a moment
be thought of; so he turned back hurriedly to get it, while I strolled
on at a leisurely pace with Jeff at my heels.
“My way led me through a little wide ravine, in the centre of which lay
the fragments of a giant pine, shattered years ago by lightning, and
bleached by storm and sun. A portion of the trunk remained yet
upright,—a tall splinter, or ‘sliver’ as the woodsmen call it, split
from the rest of the trunk by some electric freak, and pointing like a
stern white finger toward the spot of open sky above, whence the bolt
had fallen. Saturated with resins, the sliver was practically
incorruptible; and time had only served to harden its lance-like point
and edge. A few feet beyond this blasted pine the woods grew thick,—a
dusky confusion of great gnarled trunks and twisting limbs.
“As I sauntered up to the foot of that whitened trunk, Jeff suddenly
thrust himself in front of me with a low, almost inaudible growl, and
stood obstinately still, as if to bar my farther advance. Instantly my
glance penetrated the thicket, and fell upon a huge panther crouching
flat along a fallen tree of almost the same color as the brute’s hide.
It was the panther’s cold green eyes indeed that so promptly revealed
him to me. He was in the attitude to spring; and ordering Jeff ‘to
heel,’ I sank on one knee, cocking my rifle and taking aim at the same
time, for there was not a moment to lose.
“Even as I pulled the trigger the animal dashed upon me, in the very
face of the flash. The suddenness of the assault of course upset my aim;
but by good chance the ball went through the animal’s fore shoulder,
breaking the bone. I was hurled backward into a hollow under the fallen
fragments of the pine-tree, and I felt the panther’s teeth go through my
left arm. Thrusting myself as far as possible beneath the shelter of the
log, I reached for the long knife at my belt. Just as I got it out of
its sheath, the panther, with an angry cry, dropped my arm, and turned
half round, while keeping his place upon my prostrate body. My faithful
Jeff had come to the rescue of his master, and had sunk his terrible
teeth into the root of the panther’s tail.
“The snarling beast doubled back upon himself, and struggled to seize
the dog between his jaws; but Jeff was too wary and active for this, and
the panther would not leave his post of vantage on my body. He was a
sagacious beast, and perceived that if he should let me up he would have
two enemies to contend with instead of one. As for me, in my restricted
position, I found myself unable to use my knife with any effect. I lay
still, abiding my opportunity, and watching with intense but curiously
impersonal interest the good fight my bull-terrier was making. I was not
conscious of much pain in my arm, but the shock of the panther’s assault
seemed in some way to have weakened my vital force. Presently the
panther, finding it impossible to release himself from that deadly grip
of Jeff’s, threw himself over on his back, curling himself up like a
cat, and raked the dog severely with his dangerous hind claws. The
change in our assailant’s position released my right arm, and at once I
drove the knife into his side square to the hilt. I failed to touch a
vital spot, but the wound diverted his attention; and Jeff, bleeding and
furious, was enabled to secure a new hold. The panther was a splendid
beast, and fought as I never before or since have seen a panther fight.
Had it not been for my shot, which broke his fore shoulder, it would
have gone hard with both Jeff and me. As it was, however, the panther
found his work cut out for him, though I was so nearly helpless from my
position that Jeff had to bear the brunt of the battle. The brave
terrier was getting badly cut up. I could not see very well what went
on, being at the bottom of the fight, and my breath nearly knocked out
of me; but all of a sudden a rifle-shot rang in my ears, the smoke and
flame filled my eyes, and the body of the panther stiffened out
convulsively. The next moment old Jake was dragging me out from beneath,
and anxiously inquiring about my damages.
[Illustration: “From a Giant Limb overhead Her Long Tawny Body flashed
in the Sunlight.”—Page 199.]
“Reassuring him as to my condition, I sat down rather faintly on the
trunk, while Jeff, at my feet, lay licking his scratches. The old
woodsman leaned upon his empty rifle, contemplatively scanning our
vanquished foe, and loudly praising Jeff. Suddenly he broke off in the
midst of a sentence, and glanced up into the branches ahead of him.
“‘Great Jee-hoshaphat!’ he exclaimed in a startled voice, springing
backward, and snatching for a fresh cartridge, while Jeff jumped to his
feet with a wrathful snarl. In the same breath, before I could realize
what was the matter, I heard the female panther, mate of him we had
killed, utter her fearful scream of rage and pain. From a giant limb
overhead her long tawny body flashed out into the sunlight, descending
upon our devoted party like a yellow thunderbolt.
“Weak and dazed as I was, I shut my eyes with a sense of sick disgust
and weariness, and a strange feeling of infinite suspense. There was a
curious sound of tearing and scratching; but no shock came, and I opened
my eyes in astonishment. There was Jake calmly slipping a cartridge into
his rifle. There was Jeff standing just as I had seen him when I closed
my eyes. It seemed hours, but it had been merely an eyewink—the fraction
of a second. But where was the panther?
“My inward query was answered on the instant. A wild and indescribable
screeching, spitting, and snarling arose, mixed with a sound of claws
tearing desperately at the hard wood of the pine trunk. The panther was
held aloft in the air, impaled on the sliver, around which she spun
madly like a frightful wheel of tawny fire. Her efforts to free herself
were tremendous, but there was no escape. The sliver was hard as steel
and as inexorable. Suddenly Jeff sprang at the creature, but in his
impetuosity missed his hold, and got a lightning blow from one of those
great claws, almost laying his side open. The brave dog carries the
marks of that wound to this day. His revenge was instantaneous; for his
next leap gained its object, and his jaws fixed themselves securely in
the panther’s haunches. The whole wild scene had thus far been like a
dream to me, and the yellings and snarlings sounded far off and
indistinct. The only reality seemed to me the still brown and green of
the forest, the moveless tree-tops, the cheerful morning sun streaming
down into the little glade, and the old woodsman standing in his
contemplative attitude, watching the gyrating form of the panther. Then
on a sudden my blood seemed to flow with a rush of new force, and a
sense of reality came back to me. I jumped up, slipped a cartridge into
my rifle, and with a timely bullet put the unhappy beast out of its
pain.
“In order to release the panther’s body we had to cut down the sliver,
the blood-stained top of which, with its point sharp and spear-like, as
if fashioned by the hand of man, now hangs as a treasured relic upon my
library wall. Right beneath, as a foot-rug to my writing-table, and a
favorite napping-place for Jeff, is the panther-skin with two holes in
it, where the sliver went through. The other skin I gave to old Jake as
a memorial of the adventure; but it is probable he sold it at the
earliest fair opportunity, for it was a comely and valuable skin.”
“Stranion,” said I when he concluded, “your Jeff is one of the dogs whom
I am proud to have known. I have only met, in all my career, one better
dog, and that was my brave old Dan, of blessed and many-scarred memory.”
“Bigger, not better, dog,” interrupted Stranion sternly.
“Well, we won’t argue over it. They were both of the same stock, anyway;
and I fear we will not look upon their like again, eh, Stranion?”
“Now you are talking, O. M.,” responded Stranion warmly. “But tell us
that great yarn about Dan’s battle!”
“No, not to-night,” was my answer. “It would seem like making rivals of
Dan and Jeff, which they never were, but always sworn chums. Jeff is
enough for one night. Dan shall be commemorated on another. Let Sam give
us a bear story now.”
“All right,” said Sam. “Here’s one in which Stranion and I were both
concerned. Note it down by the name of—
‘SKIDDED LANDING.’
“Three winters ago, as some of you will remember, Stranion and I took a
month in the lumber-woods. It was drawing on toward spring. As we were
both good snow-shoers, we managed to visit several widely scattered
camps. At all we were received hospitably, with unlimited pork and
beans, hot bread and tea; and at each we made a stay of several days.
“For our climax we selected that camp which promised us the most
picturesque and exciting experiences at the breaking up of the ice. This
was Evans’s Camp on Green River, where the logs were gathered in what is
known as a ‘rough-and-tumble landing,’—a form which entails much
excitement and often grave peril to the axeman whose work is to cut the
‘brow’ loose.
“As it happened, however, the most stirring adventure that fell to our
personal experience on that trip was one we encountered at Clarke’s
Camp, on the Tobique, where we stayed but three days.
“This camp, but one of the many centres of operation of the great
lumbering firm of Clarke & Co., was generally known as ‘Skidded
Landing.’ And here let me explain the terms ‘brow,’ ‘drive,’
‘rough-and-tumble landing,’ and ‘skidded landing.’
“In lumbermen’s parlance, the logs of the winter’s chopping, hauled and
piled on the river-bank where they can conveniently be launched into the
water upon the breaking up of the ice, are termed collectively ‘a brow
of logs.’
“When once the logs have been got into the water, and, shepherded by the
lumbermen with their pike-poles, are flocking wildly seaward on the
swollen current, they and their guardians together constitute ‘the
drive.’
“The task the lumbermen are now engaged upon is termed ‘stream driving;’
and laborious, perilous work it is, especially on those rivers which are
much obstructed by rapids, rocks, and shoals. A brow of logs is a
‘landing’ when the logs are piled from the water’s edge. A landing may
be either a ‘rough-and-tumble’ or a ‘skidded’ landing.
“The ‘rough-and-tumble,’ which good woodsmen generally regard as a
shiftless affair, is made by driving a few heavy timbers into the mud at
the water’s edge, at the foot of a sloping bank. These form a strong and
lofty breastwork. Into the space behind are tumbled the logs
helter-skelter from the top of the bank, as they are hauled from the
woods. All through the winter the space keeps filling up, and by spring
the strain on the sustaining piles is something tremendous.
“When the thaw comes and the river rises, and the ice goes out with a
rush, then the accumulation of logs has to be set free. This is done by
cutting away the most important of the sustaining timbers, whereupon the
others snap, and the logs go roaring out in a terrific avalanche.
“It is easy to realize the perils of cutting out this kind of landing.
If the landing has been unskilfully or carelessly located, the peril of
the enterprise is greatly increased.
“The ‘skidded’ landing is a much more business-like affair. In this kind
of structure the logs are placed systematically. First a layer of logs
is deposited parallel with the river’s edge. Across these, at right
angles, are laid a few light poles, technically termed _skids_. On these
another layer of logs parallel to the water, and so on to the completion
of the structure.
“With this species of landing, to release the logs is a very simple
matter. There is nothing to do but quietly roll them off, layer by
layer, into the stream, which snatches them and hurries them away.
“From this it will be seen why we did not elect to stay long at Skidded
Landing. But while we were there something happened in this fashion.
“On the second day of our stay in the camp, it chanced that Stranion was
lazy. When I set forth to examine some snares which I had set the night
before, he chose to snooze in his bunk rather than accompany me. As
events befell, he proved to have made the wiser choice.
“Of course I took my gun with me. I was thinking of small game
exclusively,—during our wanderings, hitherto, we had seen nothing larger
than a fox,—and both barrels were loaded with cartridges containing No.
4 shot. But with unaccountable thoughtlessness I neglected to take any
heavier ammunition in my pocket; yet that was the only time on the trip
that heavier ammunition was needed.
“I visited my snares, and found in one of them a rabbit. ‘The boys’ll
appreciate a rabbit stew,’ thought I, as I hitched the frozen carcass to
my belt. A little farther on I started another rabbit, which I shot, and
hitched beside its fellow; and then I struck out blithely for camp.
Before I had retraced my path many paces, I came face to face with an
immense bear, which apparently had been dogging my steps.
“We halted and eyed each other sharply. I thought I detected a guilty
uneasiness in the animal’s gaze, as if he were properly ashamed of
himself for his ungentlemanly conduct. Presuming upon this, I spoke in
an authoritative voice, and took one or two firm steps in advance. I
expected the animal to step aside deferentially and let me pass, but I
had forgotten that this was a hungry season for bears. The brute
lumbered forward with alacrity, as if ferociously surprised at my
readiness to furnish him a much-needed luncheon.
“In my trepidation I did not let him get near enough before I fired my
solitary cartridge. Had I let him come to close quarters, the heavy
bird-shot would have served the full purpose of a bullet. But no, I was
in too much of a hurry. The charge had room to scatter before it reached
my assailant; and the pellets only served to cut him up badly about the
head without in the least interfering with his fighting capacity.
“With something between a grunt and a howl of pain and fury he dashed
upon me; and I, dropping my cherished weapon in a panic, made a mighty
bound to one side and darted toward the open river. I wanted free play
for my snow-shoes, and no risk from hidden stumps.
“In the woods the snow was soft enough to give me some advantage over my
pursuer. I gained on him when doing my utmost. But being gaunt from his
long fast, and very light in proportion to his prodigious strength, his
progress, with that awkward gallop of his, was terrifyingly rapid.
Moreover, I had vividly before my mind’s eye the consciousness of what
would be my instant fate should I trip on a buried stump or root, or
plunge into some snow-veiled bush that would entangle my snow-shoes.
“Once out upon the river I breathed more freely. But the bear was hard
upon my heels. Here the snow was more firmly packed, and he travelled
faster. I ceased to increase the little distance between us. After two
piercing yells for help, I saved my breath for the race before me.
“I was really not very far from the camp; but the trees and a high point
intercepted my cries, and the wind blew them away, so they failed to
reach Stranion’s ears. Nevertheless, it happened that Stranion grew
restless about the time of my first meeting with the bear.
“He strolled down to the landing, which was perhaps three hundred yards
from the camp, seated himself upon a spruce log, and began to dig off
with his pocket-knife the perfumed amber-like globules of gum. He was
engaged in this innocent if not engrossing occupation when he caught
sight of me racing desperately around the jutting point immediately
above the landing.
“At the sight of my terror he sprang to his feet, and was about to rush
back to camp for his gun; but straightway the bear appeared, and so
close behind me that he knew there was no time to get the weapon. The
emergency was upon him. He knew something had to be done at once.
Fortunately he was ready of resource. He dropped down, and crawled
swiftly to the edge of the landing.
“The track I was following led along close under the front of the
landing, then turned the corner sharply and ran straight up to the camp.
The bear was now gaining on me. He was not more than thirty or forty
feet behind. I was beginning to realize that he must catch me before I
could reach the camp.
“Coming to this conclusion, I was just about to put forth all my
remaining breath in one despairing shriek for help, then to turn and
make what fight I could with my sheath-knife, which had already been
used to cut away the dangling rabbits, when out of the corner of my eye
I caught sight of Stranion on the top of the logs. I took one look at
his face and saw its look of readiness. He grinned encouragingly, but
put his finger on his lips for silence.
“At the sight of him I felt new vigor flow through all my veins. With
fresh speed I raced along past the front of the landing, turned the
corner, and bounded up the slope. Reaching the hard track, I kicked my
feet clear of the snow-shoes, and started to climb up the logs to join
Stranion.
“At this moment Stranion found his opportunity. The bear came plunging
along on my tracks, immediately beneath the face of the logs. And now,
with a stake which he had snatched up, Stranion pried mightily upon the
two front logs of the top tier. The great timbers rolled swiftly over
the edge.
“One of them, the heaviest, was just in time. It caught the animal over
the hindquarters, and crushed him to the ice. When Stranion’s triumphant
shout proclaimed the success of his attack, I threw myself down between
two logs and lay there gasping, while Stranion returned to the camp, got
his gun, and put the wounded animal out of his pain.
“Later in the day, much later, Stranion and I together went over the
ground I had traversed with such celerity. We recovered the rabbits, and
also, after a persistent search in the snow, the gun which I had so
basely abandoned.”
“I think that is a pretty straight account of what happened,” said
Stranion; “and now we will hear something from Magnus’s uncle.”
“No,” said Magnus; “I’ll tell you something my cousin Bob Raven told me
about a time he had with—
‘A MAD STALLION.’
“There is perhaps no beast,” said Bob, “more terrible, more
awe-inspiring, than a stallion that has gone mad. Such an animal,
bursting all the fetters of his inherited dread of man, seems inspired
with a frightful craving to take vengeance for the immemorial servitude
of his kind. As a rule, he has no quarrel with anything but humanity.
Often with other horses he associates amicably, and toward the cattle
and lesser animals that may be with him in the fields he displays the
indifference of disdain. But let man, woman, or child come within his
vision, and his homicidal mania breaks into flame.
“I have had several disagreeable encounters with vicious horses, but
only once was I so unfortunate as to fall in with one possessed by this
homicidal mania. My escape was so narrow, and the experience left so
deep an impression upon my mind, that I have felt ever since an
instinctive distrust for this most noble of domestic animals.
“One autumn, when I was about eighteen, I was taking a tramp through the
eastern townships of Quebec preparatory to resuming work at college. I
reached the little village of Maybury one day at noon, and dropped into
the village inn for luncheon. The village was in a state of excitement
over a tragedy which had taken place that very morning, and which was
speedily detailed to me by every one with whom I came in contact. The
most authentic account, as it appeared, was that given me by the
proprietor of the inn.
“‘You see,’ he answered eagerly, in response to my question as to the
cause of the general excitement, ‘a boy ’at old Joe Cook was bringin’ up
on his farm has jest been killed by a mad horse. The boy come out from
Liverpool las’ June two year ago, with a lot more poor little beggars
like him; an’ old Joe kinder took a fancy to him, an’ was a-bringin’ him
up like he was his own son. The horses is mostly runnin’ at pasture now
in the back lots yonder; an’ Atkinson’s stallion, what has always had
the name of bein’ kind as a lamb, is pasturin’ with the rest. But he
seems somehow to’ve gone mad all on a suddent. This mornin’ airly, as
Cook’s boy was comin’ home from drivin’ the cows out onter the uplands,
he found the horses all crowdin’ roun’ the gate leadin’ onter the
meadows. He knowed some of ’em might try and shove through if he didn’t
take keer, so he jest kind of shooed ’em off with a stick. They all
scattered away savin’ only Atkinson’s stallion; an’ he, wheelin’ round
with a kind of screech as’d make the marrer freeze in your bones,
grabbed the boy right by the back of the neck, an’ shook him like old
Tige there’d shake a rat. I guess the poor boy’s neck was broke right
off, for he never cried out nor nothin’. Steve Barnes was jest then
a-comin’ up the meadow road, an’ he seen it all. He yelled, an’ run up
as fast as he could; but afore he could git to the fence the stallion
had jumped on the boy two or three times, an’ was a-standin’ lookin’ at
him curious-like. Steve seen ’at the boy was dead, but he started to
climb over an’ drive off the brute; but as soon as the stallion seen
Steve he let another screech, an’ run at him with his mouth wide open,
an’ Steve had nothin’ fur it but to hop back quick over the fence.
Seein’ as the boy was deader’n a door-nail, Steve didn’t think it’d be
common-sense to resk his life jest for the dead body; but he stayed
there a-stonin’ the brute, which was jest spilin’ to git at him. After
’bout an hour the other horses came back, an’ the stallion forgot about
the boy an’ went off with them ’way back behind the hills; an’ Steve got
the body an’ carried it home.’
“‘And what have they done to the brute?’ I inquired, with a fierce anger
stirring in my veins.
“‘Well,’ answered Boniface, ‘this afternoon there’s a crowd goin’ out to
ketch him an’ tie him up. If he’s too bad fur that,—an’ if I know
anything about horses he’s jest gone mad, stark mad,—why, they’ll have
to shoot him off-hand, to save their own necks.’
“‘I wonder if I’ll run any risk of meeting him?’ I queried rather
anxiously. I had no weapon but my heavy walking-stick, and I had an
almost sentimental regard for the integrity of my neck.
“‘Which way be you bound?’ inquired Boniface.
“‘For Blissville,’ I answered.
“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘you’re all right then. The horses are feedin’ out
yonder to the no’th-east, an’ Blissville lays south.’
“It was with few misgivings that I now resumed my journey. In the tonic
autumn air my spirits rose exultantly, and I walked with a brisk step,
whistling and knocking off the golden tops of the hawk-bit with my cane.
The country about Maybury is a high, rolling plateau, for the most part
open pasture-ground, with here and there a shallow, wooded ravine, and
here and there a terrace of loose bowlders with bramble-thickets growing
between. I was soon beyond the cultivated fields, past the last of the
fences. I had climbed one of those rocky terraces, and made a couple of
hundred yards across the delightful breezy down, when, behind a low
knoll, I caught sight of a group of horses quietly pasturing, and
remembered with a qualm the morning’s tragedy. Could this, I asked
myself anxiously, be the herd containing that mad stallion?
“I halted, and was about to retrace my steps unobtrusively, in the hope
that I had escaped their notice. But it was too late. Two or three of
the animals raised their heads and looked toward me. One in the group
snorted with a peculiar half-whinny, at the sound of which my heart
sank. Then I caught sight of one in the centre that seemed to be jumping
up in the air off all four feet at once. The next moment this creature,
a great black animal, appeared outside the group, plunging and biting at
his flank. Two or three times he sprang into the air in that strange,
spasmodic way I had already observed, and threw his head backward over
his right shoulder with an indescribable gesture of menace and defiance.
Then with a short, dreadful sound he darted toward me, open-mouthed.
“Up to this point I had stood my ground, eying the brute resolutely,
with an appearance of fearlessness which I was very far from feeling.
But now I saw that my only hope, and that a desperate one, lay in
flight. I was accounted at college a first-rate sprinter, and now I ran
my best. The two hundred yards that lay between me and the terrace I had
just left must have been covered in not much more than twenty seconds.
But as I reached the brow of the slope the mad brute was close on my
heels.
“I had no time to check myself, and even less notion to do so. In fact,
I fell, and rolled headlong down, dropping bruised and bewildered into a
crevice between two bowlders. The next instant I saw the black mass of
my pursuer dashing over me in a splendid leap. Before he could turn and
seize me I had rolled farther into the crevice, and found that one of
the rocks overhung so as to form a little narrow cave into which I could
squeeze myself so far as to be quite beyond the animal’s reach.
“Never before or since have I discovered so unexpected and providential
a refuge. The raving stallion came bounding and leaping up to the very
door of my burrow, but I felt safe. He would roll back his lips, lay his
ears flat to his head, spring straight into the air, and shriek through
his wide, red nostrils his fury and his challenge. The latter I did not
think it incumbent upon me to accept. I waived it in disdainful silence.
“For a time the brute kept up his boundings and those strange, proud
jerkings of his head; but at length he actually tried to stretch his
neck into my burrow, and reach me with his frightful naked teeth. This
was a vain attempt; but I resented it, and picking up a stone which lay
at hand, I struck him a heavy blow on the nose. This brought the blood
from those cruel nostrils, and made him even, if possible, more furious
in his rage; but he returned to his former demonstrations.
“It must have been for nearly an hour that I watched the mad creature’s
antics from my den. The rest of the herd had approached, and were
feeding indifferently about the foot of the terrace. From time to time
my enemy would join them, and snatch a few restless mouthfuls of grass.
But almost immediately he would return to his post at my door, and his
vigilant watch was on me all the time.
“I was beginning to cast about somewhat anxiously for a way of escape
from this imprisonment, when I saw the pasturing herd suddenly toss up
their heads, and then go scurrying away across the down. My adversary
saw this, too, and turned his attention away from me. I peered forth
cautiously, and to my profound relief I observed a party of men, several
carrying ropes and halters, and others armed with rifles, approaching
below the terrace. One man walked a little ahead of the others, and held
out a peck measure, in which he shook something which I presume to have
been oats.
“The stallion eyed them sombrely for an instant; and then his mane rose
like a crest, and his head went back with a shrill cry. In the self-same
way as he had greeted my appearance he bounced into the air twice or
thrice, and then he dashed upon the party.
“The man with the oats fell back with wonderful alacrity, and the
fellows who carried halters seemed bent upon effacing themselves in the
humblest manner possible. One tall, gray-shirted woodsman, however,
stepped to the front, raised his rifle, and drew a bead upon the
approaching fury, while two or three of the others held their shots in
reserve. There was a moment of breathless suspense. Then the fine, thin
note of the woodsman’s rifle rang out; and the stallion sprang aside
with a shriek, and stumbled forward upon his knees. Almost instantly,
however, he recovered himself, and rushed upon his opponents with
undiminished ferocity. I held my breath. He was almost upon the party
now. Then two more rifles flashed from the marksmen standing moveless in
their tracks, and the mad brute rose straight up on his hind legs, and
fell over backward, dead.
“I stepped out to welcome my rescuers, and detailed to them my
adventures. They had been wondering who or what it was that the brute
was laying siege to. There was so much, in fact, to talk about, and I
found myself for the moment so important a figure, that I returned to
Maybury for that evening, and there had to retell my story at least a
score of times.”
“If it’s my turn now—and I suppose it is,” said Ranolf, “I can’t pretend
to give you anything so blood-curdling as this story of Magnus’s; but
I’ll do my little best to make an angry bull moose as interesting as a
mad stallion. Take this down, O. M., as—
‘AN ADVENTURE WITH A BULL MOOSE.’
“I don’t know much about the lumber-camps; but I got this from a
Restigouche lumberman, so of course it must be true.
“One day a woodsman, who had been on a long tramp prospecting for prime
birch timber, rushed into a camp on the Restigouche with news that he
had discovered a ‘yard’ of moose.
“A ‘yard’ it may here be explained, is an opening in the forest where a
herd of moose has trampled down the snow and made its headquarters. The
yard is always surrounded by young trees, upon whose succulent shoots
the moose feed. It forms a striking scene—the animals lying about the
space of trampled and discolored snow, while here and there a
magnificently antlered bull towers above the rest, keeping watch; and
here and there on the edge of the yard an animal is reaching aloft its
long, prehensile lips to tear down its meal of green branches.
“Now, the news which the inspector brought into camp created an instant
interest. Fresh meat was at a premium in the Restigouche Camp; and at
the thought of moose-meat, which is a sort of beef idealized, every
lumberman’s mouth began to water longingly. The boss was quite at one
with the hands in this respect; wherefore it was not long before a hunt
was organized.
“Only those men could take part who had snowshoes, for the snow was deep
that season. So there was a small muster of five; but with those five
went the blessings of the camp. Upon their success hung the hopes of all
their hungry comrades.
“The wind, fortunately for the hunters, was blowing from the yard to the
camp, so that it was not necessary to take a roundabout course. The
expedition was led by the prospector, who was an enthusiastic hunter,
and skilled in woodcraft.
“It was past midday as the yard was approached. The hunters separated,
and closed in on the yard from all sides save that from which the wind
was directly blowing. The leader, whose name was Story, had the longest
way to go, in order that by the time he could get into position all the
others might be ready and waiting.
“Presently an owl was heard to hoot twice. This was Story’s signal. The
moose heard it too, and pricked up their ears; for the owls they were
accustomed to hear hooted, as a rule, in the night-time. Then they heard
the soft, hurried tramping of the snow-shoes, and the crackling of
frosted twigs all about them, and huddled together, terrified, in the
middle of their yard.
“The next moment five rifles blazed out upon them, and the hunters
rushed in. Two of the creatures fell at the volley, and two more, fat
young cows, were knifed by the nimble huntsmen; and the rest of the herd
dashed wildly off, running up the wind, where they scented no danger.
“Now Story was in a great disgust. His shot had failed to kill. He had
fired at the chief of the herd, a splendid bull, whose antlers he craved
as a trophy. The bull was struck somewhere in the body, for he
staggered; but instantly recovering, he had charged fiercely in the
direction of the assault. Story had stepped behind a tree; and the mad
beast, not detecting him, had continued his career through the woods,
almost at right angles to the direction which was taken by the rest of
the herd.
“Story gave chase at a run, loading as he went. The bull was already out
of sight, but his track was ample guide. The hunter knew he had hit the
animal hard, and looked for a speedy triumph.
“For an hour he continued his long trot, encouraged from time to time by
the sight of blood upon the snow. The animal’s path led at last through
a region of gullies and copses, and low, broad beech-trees. Suddenly, as
Story was skirting the crest of a little ravine, from a thicket close
ahead of him the great moose dashed out with a bellow, and charged upon
him like lightning.
“The hunter had not time to check himself, but whipped the gun to his
shoulder and took a snap-shot. Even at the same instant the snow gave
way beneath his feet, and his shot flew wide as he rolled to the foot of
the ravine.
“The animal was upon him before he could recover himself, and he thought
his end was come. Dropping his gun, now useless, he drew his knife, and,
just escaping one keen prong, he seized the antlers with one hand, while
with the other he slashed at the animal’s neck. It was the depth and
softness of the snow, with the confusion of bushes and roots beneath it,
that saved him from being crushed at once.
[Illustration: “At last He looked Upward, and saw the Hunter.”—Page 221.]
“As the moose felt the knife in his neck he drew back, and threw up his
head with violence, intending to trample his adversary with his terrible
hoofs; but the neck of the moose has tremendous power, and as the hunter
clung to his hold with desperate tenacity, knowing that his last chance
depended on it, he was thrown high into the air. He came in contact
violently with a beech-tree branch.
“One thinks quickly in such emergencies as these; or rather an instinct,
drowsy at other times, wakes up and saves us the need of thought. Story
flung both arms around the branch, and with a great sigh of
thankfulness, and possibly an inward utterance of the same, swung
himself out of harm’s way.
“When his opponent failed to fall, the moose was astonished. He turned
round and round, and tore up the snow, and bellowed hoarsely in his
rage. The thing was inexplicable.
“At last he looked upward, and saw the hunter in the branches. His
indignation waxed fiercer than ever, and he made desperate efforts to
pull down the branches by seizing and breaking off their tips.
“How the huntsman chuckled and derided him!
“After a time the mad brute grew more calm. Then, to Story’s supreme
disgust, he lay down under the tree to starve his prisoner out. The
hunter had no gun. The weather was severe. There was nothing to eat.
There was no way of stealing off unobserved. To crown all, the wretched
man recalled a number of incidents showing the implacable persistence of
the wounded bulls of this species.
“For perhaps an hour the hunter waited, vainly hoping that this
particular moose would prove less obstinate than his kind, or would get
homesick for the rest of the herd, or would die of his inward wound.
“But nothing seemed farther from the animal’s intention than any one of
these things. It was growing dark, and the shivering captive began to
realize that he would have to spend the night in his tree.
“He tucked his knife back safely in its sheath, and undertook to warm
himself a little.
“His snow-shoes he had taken off long before, and had tied them to a
limb, knowing that if they should fall to the ground the moose would at
once make mince-meat of them. Then he proceeded to climb about the tree
with the utmost energy and agility, while the moose, who had risen
promptly to his feet, looked on with the most obvious amazement.
“By this means Story soon got rid of his chill. Before it was quite dark
he selected a safe and comparatively comfortable spot where two large
branches forked, and tying himself securely to the limb with his long
scarf, he tried to go to sleep. It was a profitless undertaking, and
after an hour or two of faithful effort he gave it up. He was stiff,
miserable, hungry, and half-frozen.
“It had grown so dark that he thought perhaps he might descend the other
side of the tree, and slip away without the moose being any the wiser.
With what he fancied perfect noiselessness, he tried it.
“He was almost down, when there was a bellow and a rush, and the animal
was almost upon him. He escaped just by a hair’s-breadth, and swung
nimbly back into his refuge. He had no stomach for another attempt of
that sort. He began to calculate how long it would be before they would
miss him in camp, and come to look for him.
“The prospect did not cheer him. Known as he was for a determined
hunter, his comrades would go home without him, confident that he would
turn up all right when he had bagged his game. If he was not back by
morning they would perhaps think something had gone wrong, and set out
to look for him.
“They would have to retrace their steps to the moose-yard, and then,
picking up his trail from the yard, might be expected to rescue him
about noon. By that time, he thought to himself miserably, he might be
frozen stiff. He decided to do something! But what?
“At first he thought of cutting a branch, fastening his knife to the end
of it, and stabbing his captor with the improvised harpoon. But the
beech-branches were too thick and crooked to suit his idea. He did at
last, however, succeed in splicing a sort of spear about five feet long;
and when he had got the knife lashed to the end of it all his stock of
twine was exhausted.
“The spear was pretty satisfactory, but he of course dared not _throw_
it; and the moose showed no inclination to come where he could be
effectually and neatly despatched. The hunter struck his harpoon into a
limb, and set out to concoct another weapon.
“By this time the moon was up. The hunter tore a little strip from his
shirt, wet it in his mouth, and rubbed it full of gunpowder. This made a
fair bit of slow-match, which he folded several times longitudinally,
and then inserted in the top of his powder-flask. To the short end,
which he left protruding, he touched a match; and then he tossed the
flask down in front of the moose.
“The sputtering of the slow-match for a moment disconcerted the animal,
and he drew back. Then, as if ashamed of his weakness, he sprang upon
the flask and trampled it fiercely under his feet. While he was
indulging in this interesting performance the powder exploded with a
bang, and the astounded animal sprang high into the air.
“But though badly startled, he was not frightened by any means. He was
shocked and scorched, and a little torn in the fore legs; but this only
made him the more deadly. In a paroxysm of pain and hatred he dashed
under the tree, and rearing frantically struggled to reach the hunter.
“This was just what the wily woodsman desired. Lying flat on a branch
almost within reach of the beast’s antlers, he reached down and dealt
him a blow in the neck. A second thrust went deeper, and struck a more
vital part, almost under the throat. The blood gushed out in a torrent,
and the hunter congratulated himself that deliverance was near at hand.
“Presently the great animal stood still, and looked about him with a
puzzled, anxious air. He felt his strength going from him, and could not
understand it.
“Soon he began to sway from side to side, and had to brace his feet
apart to keep from falling. At last he fell. Then the hunter, stretching
himself, came down out of the tree and stood beside his noble and
defeated antagonist.
“Story was too weak and cold and hungry to think of waiting to cut off
the animal’s head and hide it from the bears. He slipped on his
snow-shoes, found his gun, and started back in haste for the camp.
Before daylight he had reached the ‘yard’; and there, to his intense
delight, he met a party of his comrades who had set out in the night to
look for him.”
DAN.
“And now,” said I, “I’ll tell you of Dan’s great fight. It was fought
before he came into my possession; that is, before my friend H——, going
away to study in Germany, handed him over to me. It was just a few weeks
before H——’s departure, and we were setting out for a farewell trip to
the wilderness together.
“As for Dan, he was not much to look at certainly; and I was prejudiced
against him by the fact that he took up room in the canoe. To carry a
great bulldog in a birch canoe was contrary to all my notions of the
fitness of things. But H—— had protested so vehemently against the idea
of leaving him behind, and the dog had behaved with such sobriety and
good sense when I took him out to try him in a choppy sea, that I
yielded a reluctant consent.
“Our proposed route was through the chain of the Chiputneticook Lakes,
down stream all the way, with no difficult water to contend against, and
no bad rapids to shoot. We had two canoes,—that which bore H—— and
myself, and that in which our Indian carried the baggage; so that really
it was not impossible to make room for the addition to our party, and
Dan was formally enrolled a member.
“He took his place in the forward mid-section of my canoe, immediately
behind his master, where he coiled himself up into a compact bundle.
There he calmly ignored the wildest vagaries to which the lake waves
could impel our little craft. This good seamanship of his, with his
dignified manner toward myself and his adoring devotion to his master,
gradually won my respect; and before we had been many days out we were
on terms of mutual consideration. I ended with a cordial enjoyment of
his company.
“I think I began by declaring that Dan was not much to look at. This was
my first and biassed impression. But it must be modified by the
acknowledgment that his splendid proportions and great strength were
apparent to the most casual observer. In fact, he was a perfect specimen
of his breed.
“But the expression of his small eye and mighty jaw, which certainly
belied his true character, was bloodthirsty to the last degree; and his
white coat was disfigured with a tangle of long scars which looked as if
the business of his life were brawls. As I afterwards learned, those
scars were the ornament of a hero, no less to be honored than if his
great heart had throbbed in a human body.
“It was one night in camp at the head of the Big Chiputneticook that I
heard how those scars were achieved. Tent was pitched on a bit of dry
interval which fringed the base of a high rock, a well-known landmark to
trappers, and distinguished by the name of ‘The Devil’s Pulpit.’ The
rock towered over us, naked and perpendicular, for a distance of two
hundred feet, then shelved, and rose again some hundreds of feet farther
to a beetling cap of mingled rock and forest.
“Our camp was flanked on each side by a thicket of cherry and vines and
young water-ash, and the light of our fire filled the space between with
the comfort of its cheerful radiance. In the midst of this we lay
basking, each waiting for the other to begin a yarn; but no one seemed
prepared.
“We had been out ten days in the wilderness; and night after night our
occupation had been this one of ‘swapping’ experiences, till I had found
myself compelled to fall back on my inventive faculty, and our Indian,
Steve, who was communicative beyond the custom of his people, had begun
to repeat himself in his stories.
“As for H——, he never spun a yarn save under some strong compulsion, yet
we knew more or less vaguely that many a strange experience had fallen
to his lot. We had had some stirring adventures together, he and I,
since first I had initiated him into the mysteries of woodcraft. But it
was rare for him to recall them in conversation, and hence I judged that
there was much in his experience of which I had never heard.
“On the present occasion the long silence was becoming almost drowsy.
For me the flame from our logs was beginning to change mistily into the
glow from a heaped-up grate, and to play over two small curly heads and
a long-eared pup on a hearth-rug, when suddenly from far up in the
moonlit rocks of the summit came the wail of the northern panther.
“I was startled wide-awake; and the little vision faded instantly into a
consciousness of the open heaven, the white lake, and that lonely,
haunted summit.
“But it was not altogether the panther that had startled me. It was Dan,
who had sprung almost over my head toward the hillside, and now stood
trembling with wrath.
“At the command of his master he stalked back and sat down again; but he
faced the hillside, and never withdrew his fierce gaze from the spot
whence the sound had seemed to come.
“‘Never mind him, old dog,’ said H—— soothingly; ‘you can’t get at him,
you know.’
“‘What makes Dan so excited?’ I asked. ‘I never saw him so much worked
up before. See, he’s fairly quivering!’
“‘Oh,’ replied H——, ‘there’s no love lost between Dan and the Indian
devils. That yelling stirs up some lively reminiscences in his old pate.
He thinks that Indian devil is coming right down here to tackle me. See
how he keeps me in his eye! And see him turn his muzzle round now and
then to lick those scars of his. I’ll venture to say he feels them smart
now, when he remembers the night he got them at the head of the Little
Tobique.’
“‘Let’s have it, old man,’ I urged. ‘You’ve never told me about that
scrape. I’ve been taking those scars as a certificate of Dan’s fighting
propensities.’
“‘Do you suppose any _dog_,’ said H—— in a tone of disdain, ‘could carve
Dan up in that style? Not by a good deal! It was a big Indian devil that
undertook the contract. He accomplished the frescoing in a very
elaborate fashion, as you see. But he didn’t survive the job.’
“H—— compressed his lips, and added, ‘I can tell you, my dear boy, that
was something like an Indian devil, that fellow, and came mighty near
settling my claims for me. He measured six feet from tip of nose to tip
of tail, and you know what a poor sort of thing they all have for a
tail. It was Dan saved my life that night.’
“Pete and I settled ourselves more comfortably against our log cushions.
Dan, having heard no more yells from the hilltop, and having perceived
that the conversation concerned himself, curled himself up with a
gratified air, and thrust his great head into his master’s lap.
“‘You remember,’ resumed H——, ‘last year I went to the Tobique all by
myself, except for Dan’s company. I was gone six weeks and more. When I
got back to Fredericton you were off up Quebec way, and so I never
happened to tell you about the trip.
“‘Well, I had the best fishing you can conceive of. It was far better
than any we’ve ever had together in those streams. But as for the
panthers, I never heard anything like them. They used to howl round the
woods at night in a frightful way.
“‘Dan used to keep awake all night, watching for them. But they never
ventured near the camp. They didn’t disturb me; but if I had not had Dan
with me I might have felt a little shaky, perhaps, at night. I had
rather a contempt for the brutes at that time, but they were not much
help to a fellow when he was feeling lonely.
“‘You know that pretty cove on the right shore of the Little Tobique,
about a hundred yards from where the brook flows in? On that patch of
open just on top of the bank I pitched my tent. By the time the camp was
fixed, and the fish fried for supper, it was getting pretty well past
sundown. It was a gorgeous moonlight night, as bright as day. There
wasn’t a mosquito about. I tell you I felt pretty nice as I lifted the
pink flakes of fried trout onto my plate, and fixed a dish for Dan.
“‘I was getting out the hardtack, when I saw a whopping big trout jump,
just by the mouth of the brook. It was bigger than any I had caught so
far, and I could not bear to lose the chance of taking him while he was
feeding.
“‘I set down my plate, telling Dan to watch it, seized my rod, tied on a
cast of white and gray millers, and struck hurriedly through the bushes
toward the other side of the cove, where I thought I could get a fair
cast.
“‘You know what sort of a place that shore is,—all banks and bowlders,
and thickets and little gullies; and some of those gullies are hidden by
fallen trees, or grown over with weeds and vines. You have to keep your
eyes open, or you are liable to tumble into these pitfalls. I was in a
hurry, and plunged right ahead. I wanted to catch that trout and get
back to my supper.
“‘At last, about sixty or seventy yards from the camp, I dodged round a
thick fir-bush, and saw right in front of me something that brought me
up mighty short, I can tell you.
“‘Not ten feet away, crouched along the top of a white bowlder, lay a
huge Indian devil just ready to spring.
“‘I felt queer right down to my boots, but kept my eyes fixed on those
of the brute, which gleamed like two emeralds in the moonlight. My right
hand reached for my belt, and I stealthily drew my old sheath-knife. At
the same time I whistled sharply for Dan.
“‘The brute was on the very point of springing when I whistled; but the
shrill sound startled him, and deterred him for a moment. He glanced
uneasily from side to side, half rising. Then he drew himself together
again for his spring.
“‘Before he could launch himself forth, I hurled the butt of my
fishing-rod full in his face, and sprang aside. I saw the long body
flash toward me, and at the same instant I crashed through a tangle of
underbrush, and sank into one of those gullies.
“‘Instinctively I threw out my left arm to save myself. My grasp caught
a tree-root on the edge of the hole. The next instant I felt the
panther’s teeth sink into my arm. I didn’t know how deep that hole was,
but I wanted to be at the bottom of it right away.
“‘At the risk of stabbing myself, I slashed desperately above my head
with my free right hand. It was not a breath too soon; for at that very
instant the brute had reached down with the amiable intention of clawing
my head. The knife went through his paw, which he snatched back,
snarling fiercely. But he kept his grip on my arm.
“‘Then I heard Dan come tearing through the brush. I lunged again,
blindly of course; and this time the blade went through the panther’s
jaw and into my own flesh. The brute let go; and I rolled to the foot of
the gully, a distance of some five or six feet. Even as I fell I heard
Dan’s vindictive cough as he sank his teeth into his adversary’s throat.
There was a mad snarl from the big cat, a struggle—and the two rolled
down on top of me.
“‘I got out of the way in a great hurry. At first it was too dark down
there to distinguish the combatants. In a moment, however, my eyes got
used to the gloom. The two animals were almost inextricably mixed up.
Dan’s grip was right under the panther’s jaw, so that he could not make
any use of his teeth. The wary old dog had drawn himself up into a tight
ball, so as to expose as little of himself as possible to the attack of
his enemy’s claws. But his back and haunches were getting terribly
mangled.
“‘Dan fought in silence; but the Indian devil made noise enough for
both, and the yelling down in that little hole was fiendish. I felt my
left arm, and found it was not broken. Then I sprang on the Indian
devil, seized him by the tail, and tried to jerk his hind legs clear of
Dan.
“‘His back was bowed up into a half-circle, and there was no unbending
that arch of steel.
“‘I dug the knife twice into his side, and he paid no attention to it,
so absorbed was he in the life-and-death struggle with Dan. If left to
themselves I saw that the fight would end with the death of both. Dan
was inexorably working through the throat of his foe, but was in a fair
way to be torn to pieces before he could get this accomplished.
“‘I threw myself on the panther’s hindquarters, twining my left arm
around his supple loins, and with my right hand I reached for his heart.
“‘See the length of this blade? I drove it in to the hilt three times
behind that brute’s fore shoulder before I fetched him. Then he
straightened out and fell over.
“‘It was some time before I could persuade Dan to drop him. The poor old
fellow was so torn he could hardly walk. I picked him up in my
arms,—though it’s no joke to carry a dog of his weight,—and lugged him
back to the camp.
“‘We were a sight to see when we got there, a mass of blood from head to
foot.
“‘I stayed at that camp four days, nursing Dan and myself, before we
were able to start for home; and then we _had_ to go, for fear we’d be
starved out. I thanked my stars and your old-time injunctions that I had
taken the little medicine-case along with me. It might have gone hard
with us but for that.’
“As H—— concluded, Pete grunted in astonishment and admiration. Indeed,
these expressive grunts of his had furnished a running fire of comment
throughout the narrative. For myself, I fetched a deep breath, got up,
and went over to embrace Dan. As I rose, I cast my eyes up the mountain,
and exclaimed,—.
“‘Talk of angels and you’ll see their wings, eh? Look there!’ H—— and
Pete followed my gaze. Far up, in the whiteness of the moonlight, we saw
a stealthy form creep across a surface of bare rock. Dan saw it too, and
every muscle became rigid.
“The form disappeared in a thick covert, and a moment later there issued
again upon the stillness that strange, blood-curdling cry. It sounded
like a challenge to the hero of H——’s story.
“But the challenge went unheeded. H—— ordered Dan into the tent. In a
few minutes we were wrapped in our blankets, and the panthers had the
wilderness all to themselves.”
“What became of Dan at last?” inquired Sam.
“Poisoned three years ago; but I made the brutes that did it smart for
it!” said I, shutting my teeth with a snap.
“Hanging would have been none too bad for them!” growled Stranion. From
this the talk wandered to dogs in general; and each man, of course, sang
the praises of his own, till presently Stranion cried, “Douse the glim!”
and we rolled into our blankets.