THE CAMP ON THE TOLEDI.
In the morning we set out at a reasonable hour, planning to camp that
night at the foot of Toledi Lake. The last few miles of the Squatook
River were easy paddling, save that here and there a fallen tree was in
the way. In passing these obstructions Stranion proved unlucky. His
canoe led the procession, with himself standing erect, alert, pole in
hand, in the stern, while Queerman sat lazily in the bow. At length we
saw ahead of us a tree-trunk stretching across the channel. By ducking
our heads down to the gunwales there was room to pass under it. But
Stranion tried a piece of gymnastics, like a circus-rider jumping
through a hoop. He attempted to step over the trunk while the canoe was
passing under it. In this he partly succeeded. He got one foot over,
according to calculation, and landed it safely in the canoe. But as for
the other—well, a malicious little projecting branch took hold of it by
the moccasin, and held on with the innate pertinacity of inanimate
things. The canoe wouldn’t wait, so Stranion remained behind with his
captive foot. He dropped head-first into the water, whence we rescued
him.
The next time we came to an obstruction of this kind Stranion didn’t try
to step over it. He stooped to go under it. But another malicious branch
now came to the front. The branch was long, strong, and sharp. It
reached down, seized the back of Stranion’s shirt, and almost dragged
him out of the canoe. Failing in this,—for Stranion’s blood was up,—it
ripped the shirt open, and ploughed a long red furrow down his back. It
took an ocean of glycerine and arnica to assuage that wound.
On the upper Toledi we found a brisk wind blowing. Hoisting improvised
sails, we sped down the lake without labor. On the lower lake (the two
sheets of water are separated only by a short “thoroughfare”) the wind
failed us, and we had to resume our paddling. It was late in a golden,
hazy afternoon when we drew near the outlet.
Here we overhauled an ancient Indian who had been visiting his traps up
the lake. We recognized him as one “Old Martin,” a well-known hunter and
trapper. He was plying his paddle with philosophic deliberation in the
stern of the most dilapidated old canoe I have ever seen afloat. His
salutation to us was a grunt; but when we invited him to camp near us
and have a bit of supper with us he, quickly became more civil.
Round the camp-fire that night, with a good supper comforting his
stomach, Old Martin forgot the red man’s taciturnity. Sam was busy
frying tobacco, while the rest of us lounged about in the glow, testing
the results of these culinary experiments. It will be remembered that
when the upset took place at Squatook Falls, our tobacco was almost all
shut up in a certain tin box which we fondly fancied to be water-proof.
When the little store in the other canoes was exhausted, we turned to
this tin box. Alas, that box was just so far water-proof as to let in
the water and keep it from running out! We found a truly delectable mess
inside. Sam had undertaken to dry this mess, out of which all the benign
quality was pretty well steeped. He pressed it therefore, and rolled it
tenderly, and spread it out in the frying-pan over a gentle fire, until
it was quite dry. But oh, it was not good to smoke! Keeping a little to
trifle with, we bestowed all the rest of it upon the poor Indian, whose
untutored mind led him to accept it gratefully. Perchance he threw it
away when our backs were turned.
Suddenly Sam’s task was interrupted by a wailing, desolate, and terrible
cry, coming apparently from the shores of the upper lake. We gazed at
each other with wide eyes, and instinctively drew nearer the fire; while
Sam cried, “Ugh, what’s that? it must be Cerberus himself got loose!”
Old Martin grunted, “Gluskâp’s hunting-dog! Big storm bime-by, mebbe!”
He looked awed, but not afraid. He said it would not come near us. It
was heard sometimes in the night and far off, as now, but no man of the
present days had ever seen the dog. It ranged up and down throughout
these regions, howling for its master, whom now it would never find. For
Gluskâp had been struck down in a deep valley north of the St. Lawrence,
and a mountain placed upon him, so that neither could he stir nor
anybody find him. So Martin explained that grim sound.
We learned afterwards that the cry was one of the rarer utterances of
the loon; but had any one told us so that night we would not have
believed him. We preferred to accept the weird notion of the faithful
phantom hound seeking forever his vanished master, the beneficent Indian
demigod.
About the time supper was done the weather had changed. While Sam was
frying his tobacco, the soft summery sweetness fled from the air, and a
cold wind set in, blowing down out of the north. It was a strange and
unseasonable wind, and pierced our bones. We heaped the camp-fire to a
threefold height, and huddled in our blankets between the blaze and the
lee of the tent. Then Stranion was called on for a story.
TRACKED BY A PANTHER.
“Boys,” said he, “the air bites shrewdly. It is a nipping and an eager
air. In fact, it puts me forcibly in mind of one of my best adventures,
which befell me that winter when I was trapping on the Little Sou’west
Miramichi.”
“Oh, come! Tell us a good _summer_ story, old man,” interrupted
Queerman. “I’m half-frozen as it is, to-night. Tell us about some place
down in the tropics where they have to cool their porridge with boiling
water.”
“Nay,” replied Stranion; “my thoughts are wintry, and even so must my
story be.”
He traced in the air a few meditative circles with his pipe (which he
rarely smoked, using it rather for oratorical effect), and then
resumed:—
“That was a hard winter of mine on the Little Sou’west. I enjoyed it at
the time, and it did me good; but, looking back upon it now, I wonder
what induced me to undertake it. I got the experience, and I indulged my
hobby to the full; but by spring I felt like a barbarian. It is a fine
thing, boys, as we all agree, to be an amateur woodsman, and it brings a
fellow very close to nature; but it is much more sport in summer than in
winter, and it’s better when one has good company than when he’s no one
to talk to but a preternaturally gloomy Melicite.
“I had Noël with me that winter,—a good hunter and true, but about as
companionable as a mud-turtle. Our traps were set in two great circuits,
one on the south side of the stream, the other on the north. The range
to the north was in my own charge, and a very big charge it was. When I
had any sort of luck, it used to take me a day and a half to make the
round; for I had seventeen traps to tend, spread out over a range of
about twenty miles. But when the traps were not well filled, I used to
do it without sleeping away from camp. It’s not much like play, I can
tell you, tramping all day on snow-shoes through those woods, carrying
an axe, a fowling-piece, food, ammunition, and sometimes a pack of furs.
Whenever I had to sleep out, I would dig a big oblong hole in the snow,
build a roaring fire at one end of the hole, bury myself in hemlock
boughs at the other end, and snooze like a dormouse till morning. I
relied implicitly on the fire to keep off any bears or Indian devils
that might be feeling inquisitive as to whether I would be good eating.
“The snow must have been fully six feet deep that year. One morning near
the last of February I had set out on my round, and had made some three
miles from our shanty, when I caught sight of a covey of partridges in
the distance, and turned out of my way to get a shot at them. It had
occurred to me that perchance a brace of them might make savory morsels
for my supper. After a considerable _détour_, I bagged my birds, and
recovered my trail near the last trap I had visited. My tracks, as I had
left them, had been solitary enough; but now I found they were
accompanied by the footprints of a large Indian devil.
“I didn’t really expect to get a shot at the beast, but I loaded both
barrels with ball-cartridges. As I went on, however, it began to strike
me as strange that the brute should happen to be going so far in my
direction. Step for step his footprints clung to mine. When I reached
the place where I had branched off in search of the partridges, I found
that the panther had branched off with me. So polite a conformity of his
ways to mine could have but one significance. I was being tracked!
“The idea, when it first struck me, struck me with too much force to be
agreeable. It was a very unusual proceeding on the part of an Indian
devil, displaying a most imperfect conception of the fitness of things.
That I should hunt him was proper and customary, but that he should
think of hunting me was presumptuous and most unpleasant. I resolved
that he should be made to repent it before night.
“The traps were unusually successful that trip, and at last I had to
stop and make a _cache_ of my spoils. This unusual delay seemed to
mislead my wily pursuer, who suddenly came out of a thicket while I was
hidden behind a tree-trunk. As he crept stealthily along on my tracks,
not fifty yards away, I was disgusted at his sleuth-hound persistence
and crafty malignity. I raised my gun to my shoulder, and in another
moment would have rid myself of his undesired attentions, but the animal
must have caught a gleam from the shining barrels, for he turned like a
flash, and buried himself in the nearest thicket.
“It was evident that he did not wish the matter forced to an immediate
issue. As a consequence, I decided that it ought to be settled at once.
I ran toward the thicket; but at the same time the panther stole out on
the other side, and disappeared in the woods.
“Upon this I concluded that he had become scared, and given up his
unhallowed purpose. For some hours I dismissed him from my mind, and
tended my traps without further apprehension. But about the middle of
the afternoon, or a little later, when I had reached the farthest point
on my circuit, I once more became impressed with a sense that I was
being followed. The impression grew so strong that it weighed upon me,
and I determined to bring it to a test. Taking some luncheon from my
pocket, I sat down behind a tree to nibble and wait. I suppose I must
have sat there ten minutes, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, so that I
was about to give it up, and continue my tramp, when—along came the
panther! My gun was levelled instantly, but at that same instant the
brute had disappeared. His eyes were sharper than mine. ‘Ah!’ said I to
myself, ‘I shall have to keep a big fire going to-night, or this fellow
will pay me a call when I am snoring!’”
“Oh, surely not!” murmured Queerman pensively. The rest of us laughed;
but Stranion only waved his pipe with a gesture that commanded silence,
and went on:—
“About sundown I met with an unlucky accident, which dampened both my
spirits and my powder. In crossing a swift brook, at a place where the
ice was hardly thick enough to hold up its covering of snow, I broke
through and was soaked. After fishing myself out with some difficulty, I
found my gun was full of water which had frozen as it entered. Here was
a pretty fix! The weapon was for the present utterly useless. I feared
that most of my cartridges were in like condition. The prospect for the
night, when the Indian devil should arrive upon the scene, was not a
cheerful one. I pushed on miserably for another mile or so, and then
prepared to camp.
“First of all, I built such a fire as I thought would impress upon the
Indian devil a due sense of my importance and my mysterious powers. At a
safe distance from the fire I spread out my cartridges to dry, in the
fervent hope that the water had not penetrated far enough to render them
useless. My gun I put where it would thaw as quickly as possible.
“Then I cut enough firewood to blaze all night. With my snow-shoes I dug
a deep hollow at one side of the fire. The fire soon melted the snow
beneath it, and brought it down to the level whereon I was to place my
couch. I may say that the ground I had selected was a gentle slope, and
the fire was below my bed, so that the melting snow could run off
freely. Over my head I fixed a good, firm ‘lean-to’ of spruce saplings,
thickly thatched with boughs. Thus I secured myself in such a way that
the Indian devil could come at me only from the side on which the fire
was burning. Such approach, I congratulated myself, would be little to
his Catship’s taste.
“By the time my shelter was completed, it was full night in the woods.
My fire made a ruddy circle about the camp, and presently I discerned
the panther gliding in and out among the tree-trunks on the outer edges
of the circle. He stared at me with his round green eyes, and I returned
the gaze with cold indifference. I was busy putting my gun in order. I
would not encourage him, lest he might grow too familiar before I was
ready for his reception.
“Between my gleaming walls of snow I had worked up a temperature that
was fairly tropical. Away up overhead, among the pine-tops, a few large
stars glimmered lonesomely. How far away seemed the world of my friends
on whom these same stars were looking down! I wondered how those at home
would feel if they could see me there by my solitary camp-fire, watched
relentlessly by that prowling and vindictive beast.
“Presently, finding that I made no attack upon him, the brute slipped
noiselessly up to within a dozen paces of the fire. There he crouched
down in the snow and glared upon me. I hurled a flaming brand at him,
and he sprang backward, snarling, into the gloom. But the brand
spluttered in the snow and went out, whereupon the brute returned to his
post. Then I threw another at him; but he regarded it this time with
contempt, merely drawing aside to give it room. When it had gone black
out, he approached, pawed it over, and sniffed in supremest contempt.
Then he came much nearer, so that I thought he was about to spring upon
me. I moved discreetly to the other side of the fire.
“By this time the gun was ready for action, but not so the cartridges.
They were lying farther from the fire and dangerously near my unwelcome
visitor. I perceived that I must make a diversion at once.
“Selecting a resinous stick into which the fire had eaten deeply, so
that it held a mass of glowing coals, I launched it suddenly with such
careful aim that it struck right between the brute’s fore-legs. As it
scorched there, he caught and bit at it angrily, dropped it with a
screaming snarl, and shrank farther away. When he crouched down, biting
the snow, I followed up my advantage by rushing upon him with a blazing
roll of birch-bark. He did not await my onset, but bounded off among the
trees, where I could hear him grumbling in the darkness over his
smarting mouth. I left the bark blazing in the snow while I went back to
see to my precious cartridges.
“Before long the panther reappeared at the limits of the lighted circle,
but seemed not quite so confident as before. Nevertheless, it was clear
that he had set his heart on making a meal of me, and was not to be
bluffed out of his design by a few firebrands.
“I discovered that all my ball-cartridges were spoiled; but there were a
few loaded with shot which the water had not penetrated. From these I
withdrew the shot, and substituted ball and slugs. Then, slipping a
ball-cartridge into one barrel, slugs into the other, and three or four
extra cartridges into a handy pocket, I waited for my opponent to
recover his confidence. As he seemed content to wait a while, I set
about broiling my partridges, for I was becoming clamorously hungry.
“So also was the panther, as it seemed. When the odor of those
partridges stole seductively to his nostrils, he once more approached my
fire; and this time with an air of stern determination quite different
from his former easy insolence.
“The crisis had come. I seized my gun, and knelt down behind the fire. I
arranged a burning log in such a manner that I could grasp and wield it
with both hands in an emergency. Just as the animal drew himself
together for a spring, I fired one barrel,—that containing the ball,—and
shattered his lower jaw. Mad with pain and fury, he sprang. The contents
of my second barrel, a heavy charge of slugs, met him full in the
breast, and he fell in a heap at my feet.
[Illustration: “Mad with Pain and Fury, He sprang.”—Page 249.]
“As he lay there, struggling and snarling and tearing up the snow, I
slipped in another cartridge; and the next moment a bullet in his brain
put an end to his miseries.
“After this performance, I ate my partridges with a very grateful heart,
and slept the sleep of the just and the victorious. The skin of that
audacious Indian devil lies now in my study, where Sam is continually
desecrating it with his irreverent shoes.”
“Good story, Stranion,” said Magnus with grave approval. “The only thing
hard to believe is that you should make two such good shots.”
“Well, you see I had to,” responded Stranion. “And now let Magnus give
us a hot story to satisfy Queerman.”
“I don’t think I know another tropical yarn,” said Magnus.
“I’ll give you one,” said Sam, “and a bear story it is too. It’s about a
scrape I got into when I was down in Florida three years ago, looking
after Uncle Bill’s oranges. I’ll call it—
‘AN ADVENTURE IN THE FLORIDA HUMMOCKS.’
“I was boarding at a country house not far from the banks of the
Caloosahatchee River, in a district full of game. Most of my time was
spent in wandering with gun and dog through the luxuriant woods that
clothed the hummocks, and along the edges of the waving savannas or
interval meadows. The dog which always accompanied me was a large
mongrel, half setter and half Newfoundland, belonging to my landlord. He
was plucky and intelligent, but untrained; and I used to take him rather
as a companion than as an assistant.
“The soil in Florida is generally very sandy; but in the hummocks, or,
as they are more usually called in Florida, ‘hammocks,’ the sand is
mixed with clay, and carries a heavy growth of timber. The trees are
chiefly dogwood, pine, magnolia, and the several species of oak which
grow in the South. These ‘hammocks’ vary in extent from one or two to a
thousand or more acres, and in many places the trees are so interlaced
with rankly growing vines that one can penetrate the forest only by the
narrow cattle-paths leading to the water.
“One afternoon I was threading a path which led through a particularly
dense hummock to the bank of a wide, shallow stream, known as Dogwood
Creek, a branch of the Caloosahatchee. I carried a light
double-barrelled fowling-piece, and was seeking no game more formidable
than wild turkeys. My cartridges were loaded with No. 2 shot, but I had
taken the precaution to drop a couple of ball-cartridges in among the
rest.
“Presently there was a heavy crashing amid the dense undergrowth on my
right; and Bruce, the dog, who had dropped a few paces behind, drew
quickly up to my side with an angry growl. The hair lifted along his
back and between his ears.
“As the crashing rapidly came nearer,—startlingly near, in fact,—I made
haste to remove my light cartridges and replace them with ball. But,
alas! to unload was one thing, to find one of those two ball-cartridges
in the crowded depths of my capacious pocket was quite another. Every
cartridge I brought to light was marked, with exasperating plainness,
No. 2.
“In my eager haste the perspiration stood out all over my face. I knew
well enough what was coming. It was unquestionably a bear. A panther
would move more quietly; and a stray steer would cause no such great
concern to Bruce. Whatever may have been my emotions, surprise was
certainly not among them when, just as I had concluded that those two
ball-cartridges must have been a dream, a huge bear, which seemed very
angry about something, burst mightily forth into the pathway only three
or four yards behind me.
“It was not hard to decide what to do. On either hand was the thicket,
to me practically impenetrable; and behind was the bear. Straight ahead
I ran at the top of my speed. At the same time I managed to slip a
couple of cartridges into my gun. They were just whatever ones came to
my hand; but devoutly I hoped against hope that they might prove, when
tested, to be those which were loaded with ball.
“For perhaps two or three hundred yards the running was distinctly in my
favor, but then the pace began to tell on me. At once I slackened speed,
and my pursuer closed in upon me so swiftly that I concluded to try a
snap shot.
“Facing about with a sharp yell, I expected the bear to rise on his hind
legs and give me a fair chance for a shot. But I had miscalculated my
own momentum. The bear, indeed, rose as I expected. But at the same
instant I tripped on a root and fell headlong. The gun flew up in the
air in a wonderful way, and disappeared in the undergrowth.
“To recover it was, I knew, impossible. Almost before I touched the
ground I was on my feet again, and running faster than ever. But what
refuge there was for me to run to I knew not, and how the affair was
going to end I dared not guess.
“In the first burst of my renewed vigor, and while the bear was
recovering from his natural surprise at my extraordinary manœuvre, I had
regained my lost ground. All at once, as my breath was about forsaking
me, the path opened before my eyes upon a grassy savanna, beyond which
shone the waters of Dogwood Creek. At the water’s edge was drawn up an
old flat boat, with a pole sticking out over the bow. This craft was
evidently used as a ferry to connect with a continuation of the path on
the other side of the creek.
“I darted forward, thrust the punt off, and flung myself into it. An
energetic push with the pole, and the little craft shot out into the
stream. Bruce, meanwhile, ran up along the water’s edge, barking
furiously, and the bear pursued him.
“Calling the dog to come to me, I pushed the punt towards him. With a
frightened whine, which I did not at the moment understand, he plunged
into the water and swam out bravely. The bear hesitated a second or two,
and then dashed in after him, raising a tremendous splash.
“When Bruce was within a couple of yards of the boat, I was enlightened
as to the cause of his reluctance to take the water. An ugly black
snout, not unlike the butt of a water-logged timber, was thrust into
view close by; then another, a few feet below the desperately swimming
animal; then another, and yet another, till the sullen, whitish surface
of the creek was dotted thickly with the heads of alligators. They had
evidently been attracted by the sound of Bruce’s barking; and I called
to mind some stories I had heard at the house as to the abundance and
ferocity of the alligators in Dogwood Creek.
“A sturdy shove on the pole, and I was at Bruce’s side. Reaching over, I
seized him by the scruff of the neck, and jerked him into the boat, just
as a tremendous swirl in the water behind him showed where an alligator
had made a rush for his legs.
“The next instant the snout of the disappointed animal shot up beside
the gunwale, to receive a fierce jab from my pole, which made it keep
its distance.
“By this time the bear was dangerously near at hand. He was approaching
with great wallowing plunges, the water not being deep enough to compel
him to swim. I began to pole with all my might, thinking that even yet I
was far from being out of the difficulty. With a few thrusts I put a
safe distance between myself and my pursuer, but the creek was not wide
enough to enable me to gain any very great head start in this way. In a
most discontented frame of mind I had almost reached the landing, when
suddenly it occurred to me that really there was no necessity for me to
land at once. I could pole up and down the creek, and dodge the bear
until he should get tired and give up the chase. With this purpose I
thrust out again boldly into mid-stream.
“The bear was now almost half-way across, but those black snouts were
closing about him ominously. Indeed, the animal must have been blinded
with rage, or he would never have ventured into the deadly stream. In a
moment, however, it seemed to dawn upon him that he had got himself into
trouble. He stopped with an uneasy sort of whine. Then he turned, and
made for the shore as fast as he could.
“But it was too late for him to escape in that way. His path was blocked
by several of the great reptiles, whose appetites were now thoroughly
aroused. I thought to myself, ‘If that bear is game, there’s going to be
a lively time around here just now.’
“And he _was_ game. True, seeing that the odds were so overwhelmingly
against him, he had at first tried to avoid the combat. But now that he
was fairly in for it, he acquitted himself in a way that soon won my
sympathetic admiration, and made me forget that but a moment before he
had been thirsting for my own blood.
“With a huge grunt of indignant defiance, the bear hurled himself upon
the nearest alligator. On the massive armor of the reptile’s back even
his powerful claws made slight impression; but with one paw he reached
to the soft under-side of the throat, and the water was suddenly
crimsoned, as the alligator, lashing the surface with his tail, made off
and took refuge in a bed of reeds.
“At the same instant, however, the jaws of another assailant closed upon
the animal’s flank. With a roar he rose straight up in the water,
shaking himself so mightily that his adversary’s hold was broken. Then
he threw his whole bulk on another which was advancing against him in
front. The alligator was borne under and disappeared, probably forever
_hors de combat_, and the bear gained several yards toward safety. Then
others crowded in upon him, and his progress was stopped.
“Up to this time my sympathies had naturally been with the alligators,
to whom I owed my release from an embarrassing situation. Now, however,
I felt myself going over to the side of the bear. I hated to see the
splendid, though to me very objectionable, brute thus at the mercy of a
horde of ravening reptiles.
“Again shaking off his assailants, the bear seemed merely bent on
selling his life as dearly as possible. Rising on his hindquarters, he
faced toward the centre of the stream, where his foes were most
numerous. What tremendous buffeting blows he dealt, and how the strong
knife-edged hooks of his claws searched out the unarmored spots on his
adversaries! In my excitement I pushed perilously near, and if I had had
my lost gun I should certainly have taken a hand in the contest myself.
I would have given a good deal at that moment to be able to help the
bear.
“But the odds were too great for any strength or pluck to long contend
against. Before many minutes the bear was dragged under, and there was
nothing to be seen but a heaving, lashing, foaming mass of alligators.
On the outskirts of the _mêlée_ swam a few hungry reptiles, who could
not get in to the division of the spoils. These presently turned their
attention to the boat, purposing to console themselves with Bruce and
me.
“Awaking to the peril of the situation, I began poling hurriedly toward
the landing-place whence I had first started. But almost instantly I was
surrounded with alligators. Excited and enraged from their battle with
the bear, they were much more formidable than at ordinary times. I had
great reason to be thankful for the skill in poling which I had acquired
in the birch-bark canoes of our Northern rivers. Dodging some of my
assailants, I beat off others with the pole, thrusting fiercely at their
wicked little eyes, which is the surest way to daunt them.
“All at once there was a wild yelp from Bruce, and the punt reeled
sharply. The gunwale went under water, and I was all but pitched out
head-first into the swarm of alligators. My heart was in my mouth as,
with a swift and violent motion of the pole, I recovered my balance, and
steadied the boat. But with all my terror I had room for a pang of grief
as I saw that poor Bruce had been dragged overboard.
“The capture of the dog, however, was probably my salvation. The
alligators which were in front of the boat darted into the scramble
which was taking place over the new victim, and I saw a clear space
between me and the safety of the shore. Desperately I surged on the
pole, and the light craft shot in among the sedges. As the prow lifted
onto solid ground, several of the long snouts rose over the stern,
snapping greedily; but I had bounded forward like lightning, and was
beyond their reach in a second. I paused not till I was clear of the
savanna and among the timber.
“Throwing myself down on the reeking mould of the path, I lay there till
I had recovered my breath, and a measure of my equanimity. Then, after
finding my gun in the depths of a mimosa thicket, I wended my way
homeward, much depressed over the fate of Bruce.”
“Talking of dogs,” said Queerman, “_I’ll_ tell you a story with a dog in
it. And it’s got other things in it too. A college story, by way of a
change. Come to think of it, though we are all college men, there has
been very little in our stories to indicate the fact.”
“By all means, Kelly Queerman,” said Sam, “let’s have the college story
at once!”
“Well, to give it a proper scholastic flavor, I will entitle it—
[Illustration: “Desperately I surged on the Pole.”—Page 258.]
‘THE JUNIOR LATIN SCHOLARSHIP.’
“The sunshine of mid-May streamed alluringly into the great stone
portico of the old college of X——. The wide-winged gray edifice stood on
a high terrace just under the crest of the hill, its ample windows
looking down over the topmost boughs of ash and elm and maple over the
roofs and spires of the little university town of X——, and out to the
broad blue curve of the placid river. On the steps, lounged a group of
students, members of the Senior and Junior years. Several of the
loiterers stood close to the open, arched door, and from time to time
glanced expectantly into the hall. A large black dog, a cross between
Spitz and Newfoundland, lay in the centre of the hall, assiduously
licking at a small but angry wound on his leg.
“At the farther end of the hall now appeared one of the professors. He
stepped in front of the notice-board, and pinned a slip of white paper
to the green baize-covered surface. In a moment the portico was cleared;
and the men crowded in to read the announcement. They did not rush
noisily, as Freshmen, or even Sophomores, might have done; but their
eagerness was tempered with dignity. The Seniors, in particular, were
careful to be properly deliberate; for announcements were expected by
both classes, and this might prove to be merely a Junior list!
“It _was_ a Junior list. Leaning on each other’s shoulders, the Juniors
clustered around the board, while the Seniors lingered on the outskirts,
and inquired with polite interest about the results. They were mindful
that these Juniors would very soon be Seniors, and were therefore to be
treated with a good deal of consideration. Then they dropped away in
twos and threes, while the Juniors remained to take down the marks.
“The marks which excited so much interest were those of the third
terminal examination in Latin. A Latin scholarship, of the value of one
hundred dollars, was dependent on the results of three terminals,
compulsory for all the Latin students of the Junior class, and on a
special examination to be held at the very end of the term. This
examination was open only to those declaring themselves competitors for
the scholarship. It was generally expected throughout the college that
the winner would be Bert Knollys, who, without effort, had gained a
slight lead in the first two terminals, and whose ability in classics
was unquestioned.
“At the top of the present announcement stood Knollys’s name with
percentage of eighty-six. The second name on the list was that of J. S.
Wright, with eighty-three to his credit.
“‘Wright’s pulling up! Five more points will put him ahead!’ was the
remark of one man who had been figuring on his pad.
“Wright, a sharp-featured, sandy-haired fellow in the centre of the
group, nodded his approval of this calculation. At the same moment, a
slim youth of barely middle height, with laughing gray eyes and
crisply-waving hair, ran up and peered eagerly through the throng of his
comrades. Having deciphered his standing, he was turning away as
abruptly as he had come, when some one said,—
“‘You’d better look out, Knollys! Wright is after you with a sharp
stick!’
“‘I don’t doubt Jack can beat me if he tries!’ responded Knollys.
“‘Hold on a minute, Bert; I want to talk to you a bit!’ exclaimed a tall
Junior by the name of Will Allison, extricating himself quickly from the
crowd.
“‘Next hour, old man!’ cried Knollys, darting away. ‘I’ve got to catch
Dawson in the laboratory, right off, and can’t wait a second!’
“Allison, who was Knollys’s most intimate friend, crossed the hall, and
joined a Senior who was lounging in a window overlooking the terrace.
“‘It’s my firm belief, Jones,’ said he discontentedly, ‘that that cad,
Jack Wright, is going to play Bert false!’
“‘How so, pray?’ inquired the Senior, in a tone of very moderate
interest.
“‘Why, by going into the special exam., of course!’ replied Allison.
“‘And why _shouldn’t_ he, as well as Knollys, go into the special
examination?’ asked Jones.
“‘Oh, I thought every one knew about that!’ exclaimed Allison somewhat
impatiently. ‘But it’s this way, since you inquire. Wright took the
scholarship for our class last year—the Second Year Greek, you know.
Well, Knollys was way ahead on the average of the terminals, and would
have had a walk-over. As every man in the class knows, he can wipe out
all the rest of us in classics without half trying. But Wright went to
him, and made a poor mouth about being so hard up that he’d have to
leave college if he didn’t get the scholarship. Bert has none too much
cash himself; but in his generous way he agreed not to go in for the
special exam. So Wright, of course, got the scholarship. In return he
promised Knollys that he would not go in for the Junior Latin the
following year. This suited Bert very well, as he wanted to put his hard
work on his readings for the science medal. Under these circumstances,
you see, he has been taking it rather easy in the Latin; and I have
reason to believe that Wright has been working extra hard at it. Mark my
words, he’ll go in at the last moment and catch Bert napping. But
there’s not another man in college that I would suspect of such a
caddish trick.’
“‘Well, for my part,” said the Senior, ‘I don’t greatly care which gets
it. I grant you that Wright’s a cad; but I’m disappointed in Knollys!’
“‘Indeed! Poor Knollys!’ murmured Allison.
“‘Yes,’ continued the Senior loftily, ignoring the sarcasm; ‘in my
opinion Knollys funks.’
“‘It seems to me, Jones,’ retorted Allison, ‘you forget certain
incidents that took place when Bert Knollys was a Freshman, and you a
Sophomore!”
“‘Oh,’ said the Senior, calmly looking over Allison’s head, ‘the worm
will turn! But what I’m thinking about is his refusal to play foot-ball
last fall. He’s quick, and sharp, and tough; just the man the team
wanted for quarter-back, if only he had the nerve! Said he was too busy
to train—indeed!’ and Jones sniffed contemptuously as he turned away to
join some members of his own class, leaving Allison in a fume of
indignation.
“At this moment Jack Wright, chancing to stroll past the big black dog,
gave the animal a careless kick. The dog sprang at his assailant with a
ferocious snarl. Much startled, Wright evaded the attack by dodging into
a knot of his classmates; and the dog lay down again, growling angrily.
“‘Bran doesn’t seem to be quite himself!’ remarked a Senior, eying him
narrowly.
“‘He’d be an ugly customer to handle if he started to run amuck,’
commented another Senior, chuckling at Wright’s discomfiture. ‘I wonder
where he got that bite on his leg!’
“This was something which nobody knew; and the incident was promptly
forgotten by all but Jack Wright, who thenceforth gave the animal a wide
berth.
“As soon as Knollys came out of the laboratory, Will Allison told him
his suspicions in regard to Wright, and urged him to put his energies
upon the Latin. But Knollys was always slow to believe that a comrade
could be guilty of treachery.
“‘I don’t think Wright is really such a bad lot, old man,’ said he;
‘only his manner is unfortunate, and he isn’t popular.’
“Just three days later appeared on the notice-board the announcement
that B. Knollys and J. S. Wright were competitors for the Junior Latin
scholarship! The examination was to take place on the following morning.
Bert Knollys was hurt and indignant; his friends were furious; and
Wright looked craftily triumphant over the prospect of so neatly getting
ahead of a rival.
“Knollys was by no means prepared for such a contest as he knew Wright
was capable of giving him; but his anger nerved him to the utmost
effort. Returning in hot haste to his home in the outskirts of the town,
he shut himself into his little study. All through the afternoon he
toiled mightily over book and lexicon. About tea time he took a short
walk, and then settled down for a night of solid “grind.” He was bound
that he would win if it was in him.
“Toward two o’clock, however, eyes and brain alike grew dim, and the
meanings began to mix themselves most vexatiously. He sprang up,
snatched his cap, let himself out of the house noiselessly, and set
forth to wake his wits by a brisk run.
“For the sake of the freer air he took a path traversing the hilltop
toward the college. The path ran through the open pastures, and reached
at length a rocky ridge just back of the cottage of Doctor Adams, the
professor of classics. Here Jack Wright was boarding. As Knollys swung
past along the ridge he glanced downward to the professor’s study
window; and as he did so a light appeared therein. He halted
instinctively; and the next moment his lip was curling with astonished
contempt as he saw Jack Wright seat himself before the study table, and
stealthily search the drawers. The top of the ridge was so near the
window that Knollys, where he leaned against the fence, could see all
that went on, as if he had been in the room. At last, after going
through almost every drawer with frequent guilty, listening pauses,
Wright found what he wanted, an examination paper! After making a
hurried copy of it, he returned it to its place; and then, with his lamp
turned very low, he stole out of the room.
“Bert Knollys’s first thought was to go at once to Doctor Adams, lay his
complaint, and have Wright’s room searched before he could have time to
destroy the stolen copy. Then it occurred to him that this would lead
inevitably to Wright’s expulsion, and not improbably to his ruin. He
therefore dismissed the idea. He hastened back home; tried to study, but
found the effort vain; went to bed, and fell asleep without having
arrived at any solution of the problem. In the morning he was equally
undecided. Perhaps his best course would have been to go to the
professor, declare a suspicion that the paper had been tampered with,
and ask that a new paper be set. But he failed to think of this way out
of the difficulty; and, at last, tired of worrying over it, he made up
his mind to do nothing. He went in to the examination, wrote an
unusually good paper, and came out feeling that there was yet a chance
for him in spite of Wright’s previous knowledge of the questions. But on
the day following was posted the announcement that Wright was the winner
by a lead of three marks on the average for the four examinations.
“The affair was a grievous disappointment to Bert Knollys, and meant the
upsetting of all his plans for the summer. He had counted on the
scholarship money to enable him to take a long vacation trip with Will
Allison. This scheme he had now to abandon; and Allison could not
refrain from reproaching him for his misplaced confidence in Jack
Wright. Furthermore, he was accused of petty jealousy by many students
outside of his own class; and his popularity, undermined by Wright’s
skilful insinuations, rapidly dwindled away. Smarting under the
injustice, and seeing no satisfactory way to remove the
misunderstanding, Knollys grew moody and depressed.
“The days slipped by quickly, and Commencement was close at hand. One
warm afternoon, a number of the students were in the baseball field,
where a practice match was in progress. The college Nine was strenuously
preparing for the great Commencement Day match. Knollys, Allison, Jones,
and a few others, were lying under the fence on the farther side of the
field, while most of the spectators were grouped as close as possible to
the players. Jack Wright was at the bat.
“Suddenly in the gate of the college barnyard, above the ball-field,
appeared Bran, the dog. The hair lifted along his back-bone and on his
neck, and a light froth showed about his half-bared teeth. He was a
sinister and menacing figure as he stood there, a strange trouble in his
wild, red eyes. After glaring uneasily from side to side for several
minutes, he gave utterance to a yelping snarl, and darted down the
hillside toward the field. The group under the fence observed him at
once.
“‘What’s the matter with the dog?’ exclaimed Jones, in a tone of
apprehension; and ‘Look at Bran!’ shouted some one else. The pitcher
stopped in the very act of delivering the ball, and every eye went in
the one direction. The dread truth was evident at once. On all sides
arose the appalling cry, ‘He’s mad! Mad dog! Mad dog!’ and players and
spectators scattered in sickening panic. As it were in the twinkling of
an eye, the field was empty.
“But no! It was not quite empty! Turning in wild terror, and starting to
run as he turned, Jack Wright tripped, fell, and snapped his ankle. He
got up, and saw himself alone in the wide, sunny field. The dog had just
entered the gate, and was making straight for him with foaming, snapping
jaws. He strove to flee, but the shattered ankle gave way beneath him;
and, with a piercing cry of horror, he dropped in a heap, burying his
face in his hands.
“Knollys, like all the rest, had sprung over the fence at the first
alarm; but at that despairing cry he sprang back again. There was no
hesitation, no waiting to see what the others would do. Swift as a deer
he sped out across the shining and deadly expanse. As he ran, he stooped
to snatch up a bat which lay in his path. It was a question which would
win in the awful race; and the crowd of fugitives, checking their
flight, watched in spellbound silence.
“The dog arrived first, but only by a foot or two. As it sprang at
Wright’s prostrate body Knollys reached out with a fierce lunge, and
caught it between the jaws with the end of the bat. Biting madly at the
wood, the animal rose on its hind legs, and in a flash Knollys had both
hands clenched in a grip of steel about its throat.
“For a few seconds the struggle was a desperate one. The animal’s
strength was great, and Knollys had all he could do to hold him at arm’s
length. Then Will Allison arrived, panting, and conscience-stricken for
his tardiness. He was followed by two or three others who had broken the
spell of their panic. A couple of well-directed blows from the bat in
Allison’s hands stunned the dog, and it was then speedily despatched.
“Breathing somewhat quickly, but otherwise quite cool, Knollys looked
down upon Jack Wright’s gastly face.
“‘Glad I was in time, Wright!’ said he.
“‘Bert,’ cried Wright, in a shaking voice, ‘_you_ won that scholarship!
I just cribbed the whole paper!’
“To thank his rescuer, he felt, was not within the power of words; but
reparation was in part possible, and his one thought was to make it.
“‘We won’t talk of that now,’ answered Knollys. ‘I know all about it,
Jack! I saw the whole thing; and we just won’t say anything more about
it, old fellow!’
“But Wright had fainted from the pain and the shock, and did not hear
the forgiveness in Bert’s voice.
“The next day a letter went from Wright’s sick-bed to the president of
the college. Wright wanted to tell everything; but on Bert’s advice he
merely confessed that he had cribbed, without saying how, and resigned
his claim to the scholarship. At Commencement, therefore, it was
announced by the president that the Latin scholarship had been won by B.
Knollys. Many conflicting rumors, of course, went abroad among the
students; but to no one except Will Allison was the whole truth told. As
for Wright, a new point of view seemed all at once to have opened before
his eyes. The loftier standard which he now learned to set himself, he
adhered to throughout the rest of his course, and then carried forth
with him into what have proved very creditable and successful relations
with the world.”
“Queerman has grown didactic,” said I. “That is surely not the tone for
a canoe trip. Ranolf, it’s your turn to take the platform. Let us have
something that is simple, unmedicated adventure!”
“I’ll tell you a bicycle story,” said Ranolf; “an unromantic tale of a
romantic land. It is all about a bull and a bicycle in the land of
Evangeline.”
A BULL AND A BICYCLE.
“It was in the autumn of 1889, while the old, high wheels were still in
use, that I rode through the Evangeline land with a fellow-wheelman from
Halifax. We rolled lazily along a well-kept road, and sang the praises
of Nova Scotia’s scenery and air.
“Ahead of us, across a wide, flashing water, the storied expanse of
Minas, towered the blue-black bastion of Cape Blomidon, capped with
rolling vapors. To our left, and behind us, rose fair, rounded hills,
some thickly wooded, others with orchards and meadows on their slopes;
while to our right lay far unrolled those rich diked lands which the
vanished Acadian farmers of old won back from the sea.
“Though another race now held these lovely regions, we felt that the
landscape, through whatever vicissitudes, must lie changelessly under
the spell of one enchantment,—the touch of the well-loved poet. We felt
that something more than mere beauty of scene, however wonderful, was
needed to explain the exalted mood which had taken possession of two
hungry wheelmen like ourselves; and we acknowledged that additional
something in the romance of history and song.
“Presently we came to a stretch of road which had been treated to a
generous top-dressing of loose sand. Such ignorance of the principles of
good road-making soon brought us down both from our lofty mood and from
our laboring wheels. We trudged toilsomely for nearly half a mile,
saying unkind things now of the Nova Scotian road-makers, and quite
forgetting the melodious sorrows of the Acadian exiles.
“Then we came to the village of Avonport, and were much solaced by the
sight of the village inn.
“In the porch of the unpretentious hostelry we found a fellow ’cycler in
a sorely battered condition. Several strips of court-plaster, black and
pink, distributed artistically about his forehead, nose, and chin, gave
a mightily grotesque appearance to his otherwise melancholy countenance.
One of his stockings was rolled down about his ankle, and he was busy
applying arnica to a badly bruised shin.
“Against the bench on which he was sitting leaned a bicycle which looked
as if it had been in collision with an earthquake.
“The poor fellow’s woe-begone countenance brightened up as we entered,
and we made ourselves acquainted. He was a solitary tourist from
Eastport, Me., and a principal in the important case of Bull _versus_
Bicycle, which had just been decided very much in favor of Bull. We
dined together, and as our appetites diminished our curiosity increased.
“Presently Caldwell, as the woe-begone ’cyclist called himself, detailed
to us his misadventure, as follows;—
“‘It wasn’t more than an hour before you fellows came that I got here
myself. I was in a nice mess, I can tell you. But plenty of cold water
and Mrs. Brigg’s arnica and court-plaster have pulled me together a lot.
I only hope we can do as much after dinner for that poor old wheel of
mine.
“‘This morning I had a fine trip pretty nearly all the way from Windsor.
Splendid weather, wasn’t it; and a good hard road most of the way, eh?
You remember that long, smooth hill about two miles back from here, and
the road that crosses it at the foot, nearly at right angles? Well, as I
came coasting down that hill, happy as a clam, my feet over the handles,
I almost ran into a party of men, with ropes and a gun, moving along
that cross-road.
“‘I stopped for a little talk with them, and asked what they were up to.
It appeared that a very dangerous bull had got loose from a farm up the
river, and had taken to the road. They were afraid it would gore
somebody before they could recapture it. I asked them if they knew which
way it had gone; and they told me the “critter” was sure to make right
for the dike lands, where it used to pasture in its earlier and more
amiable days.
“‘That cross-road was the way to the dikes, and they pursued it
confidently. I took it into my head that it would be a lark to go along
with them, and see the capture of the obstreperous animal; but the men,
who were intelligent fellows and knew what they were talking about, told
me I should find the road too heavy and rough for my wheel. Rather
reluctantly I bade them good-morning and continued my journey by the
highway.
“‘Now, as a fact, that bull had no notion of going to the dikes. He had
turned off the cross-road, and sauntered along the highway, just where
he could get most fun, and see the most of life. But I’ll venture to say
he hadn’t counted on meeting a bicycle.
“‘I hadn’t gone more than half a mile, or perhaps less, when a little
distance ahead of me I noticed some cattle feeding by the roadside. I
thought nothing of that, of course; but presently one of the cattle—a
tremendous animal, almost pure white—stepped into the middle of the road
and began to paw the mud. Certain anxious questionings arose within me.
“‘Then the animal put his great head to the earth, and uttered a mighty
bellow. With much perturbation of spirit I concluded that the angry bull
had not betaken himself to the dikes after all.
“‘I felt very bitter toward those men for this mistake, and for not
having suffered me to go along with them on their futile errand. They
wanted the bull, and wouldn’t find him. I, on the other hand, had found
him, and I didn’t want him at all.
“‘I checked my course, pedalling very slowly, uncertain what to do. The
bull stood watching me. If I turned and made tracks he would catch me on
the hill or on the soft cross-road. If I took to the woods there was
little to gain, for there were no fences behind which to take refuge;
and if I should climb a tree I knew the beast would demolish my wheel.
“‘Straight ahead, however, as far as I could see, the road was level and
good; and in the distance I saw farms and fences. I decided to keep
right on.
“‘The road along there is wide and hard, as you know, and bordered with
a deep ditch. I put on good speed; and the bull, as he saw me
approaching, looked a little puzzled. He took the wheel and me, I
presume, for some unheard of monster. I guessed his meditations, and
concluded he was getting frightened.
“‘But there I was mistaken. He was only getting in a rage. He suddenly
concluded that it was his mission to rid the world of monsters; and with
a roar he charged down to meet me.
“‘“Now,” thought I, “for a trick! and then a race, in which I’ll show a
pretty speedy pair of heels!” I rode straight at the bull, who must have
had strange misgivings, though he never flinched. At the last possible
moment I swerved sharply aside, and swept past the baffled animal in a
fine triumphant curve. Before he could stop himself and turn I was away
down the road at a pace that I knew would try his mettle.
“‘But the brute had a most pernicious energy. He came thundering and
pounding along my tracks at a rate that kept me quite busy. I stayed
ahead easily enough, but I did not do much more than that for fear of
getting winded.
“‘There’s where I made the mistake, I think. I ought to have done my
utmost, in order to discourage and distance my pursuer. I didn’t allow
for contingencies ahead, but just pedalled along gayly and enjoyed the
situation. Of course I kept a sharp lookout, in order that I shouldn’t
take a header over a stone; but I felt myself master of the situation.
“‘At last, and in an evil hour, I came to where they had been mending
the road with all that abominable sand. Let us pass over my feelings at
this spot. They were indescribable. My wheel almost came to a
standstill. Then I called up fresh energies, and bent forward and
strained to the task. I went ahead, but it was like wading through a
feather-bed; and the bull began to draw nearer.
“‘A little in front the fences began. The first was a high board fence,
with a gate in it, and a hay-road leading by a rough bridge into the
highway. My whole effort now was to make that gate.
“‘The perspiration was rolling down my face, half-blinding me. My mighty
pursuer was getting closer and closer; and I was feeling pretty well
pumped. It was as much as a bargain which would win the race. I dared
not look behind, but my anxious ears kept me all too well informed.
“‘I reached the bridge and darted across it. Immediately I heard my
pursuer’s feet upon it. I had no time to dismount. I rode straight at
the gate, ran upon it, and shot over it head-first in a magnificent
header, landing in a heap of stones and brambles.
“‘In a glow of triumph, which at first prevented me feeling my wounds, I
picked myself up, and beheld the furious beast in the act of trying to
gore my unoffending bicycle.
“‘At first he had stopped in consternation, naturally amazed at seeing
the monster divided into two parts. The portion which had shot over the
gate he perceived to be very like a man; but the other part remained all
the more mysterious. Presently he plunged his horns tentatively into the
big wheel; whereupon my brave bicycle reared and struck him in the eye
with a handle, and set the little wheel crawling up his back.
“‘At this the bull was astonished and alarmed—so much so that he backed
off a little way. Then, seeing that the bicycle lay motionless on the
ground, he charged upon it again, maltreating it shamefully, and tossing
it up on his horns.
“‘This was too much for me. I ran up, reached over the gate, and laid
hold of my precious wheel. By strange good fortune I succeeded in
detaching it from the brute’s horns and hauling it over the gate. Then I
pelted the animal with sticks and stones till he got disgusted and moved
away.
“‘As soon as he was safely off the scene I opened the gate and limped
sorrowfully down to this place, dragging my wheel by my side. Do you
think we can do anything with it?’
“‘The first thing necessary,’ said I, ‘is to have an examination, and
make a diagnosis of its injuries.’
“This we forthwith proceeded to do, and found the matter pretty serious.
After spending an hour in tinkering at the machine we had to give up the
job. Then we set forth on a visit to the village blacksmith who, after
being regaled with a full account of Caldwell’s misadventure, addressed
himself to his task with vast good-will.
“He was a skilful man, and before nightfall the wheel was in better
travelling shape than its unlucky owner. But Caldwell was good stuff,
and of a merry heart; so that when, on the following day, he became our
travelling companion, we found that his scars and his lugubrious
countenance only heightened the effect of his good-fellowship.”
“I think,” said I, “that after a cheerful narrative like Ranolf’s you
can stand a somewhat bloody one from me.”
“All right, O. M.,” answered Queerman; “pile on as much gore as you
like.”
“Don’t expect too much,” said I. “It’s only another wolf story. The name
thereof is—
‘THE DEN OF THE GRAY WOLF.’
“Not long ago I was doing the Tobique with Joe Maxim, an old hunter whom
I think none of you have met. We were dropping smoothly down with the
current, approaching the Narrows.
“Maxim was a curious and interesting character. Of good old Colonial
stock, and equipped in youth with an excellent education, he had found
himself, in early manhood, at odds with society and the requirements of
civilized life. Perhaps through some remote ancestor there had crept
into his veins a streak of Indian or other wandering blood. At any rate,
the wilderness had drawn him with a spell that overcame all counter
attractions. He drifted to the remotest backwoods, and there devoted
himself to hunting and trapping. Never entering the settlements except
to purchase supplies or sell his furs, he had spent the best years of
his life in an almost unbroken solitude. Yet the few sportsmen who
penetrated to his haunts and sought his skilful services found that
seclusion had failed to make him morose. He was kindly, and not
uncompanionable; and though in appearance one of the roughest of his
adopted class, he preserved to a marked degree the speech and accent of
his earlier days.
“‘You were speaking just now,’ said he, ‘of the wolves coming back to
New Brunswick. Well, they’re here, off and on, most of the time, I
reckon. It was not far from here that I had a scrimmage with them about
twenty years back.’
“At this point a murmurous roaring began to make itself heard on the
still air; and before I could ask any more questions about the wolves,
Maxim exclaimed,—
“‘We can’t go through the “Narrows” to-night. Not light enough with this
head of water. Better camp right here.’
“‘Agreed!’ said I; and we slid gently up along side of a projecting log.
Presently we had the tent pitched on a bit of dry, soft sward that
sloped ever so little toward the waterside. Behind the tent was a
thicket of spruce that sheltered us from the night wind; and in front
laughed softly the river, as it hurried along its shining trail beneath
the full moon, to bury itself in the chasms of the dark hill-range which
separated it from its sovereign, the wide St. John.
“After supper, when the camp-fire was blazing cheerfully, Maxim told me
about the wolves.
“‘Well,’ said he in a reminiscent tone, ‘it was in those hills yonder,
very near the Narrows, I struck the wolves. I knew there were a good
many of them ’round that winter, as I’d come across lots of their
tracks. There was a bounty then of fifteen dollars on a wolf’s
snout,—that was twenty years ago,—and I was keeping my eyes pretty well
peeled. My lookout was all in vain, however, till along one afternoon I
caught sight of one of the skulking vermin dodging behind some bushes,
not far from here, but on the other side of the river. It was only a
snap shot I got at the beast, but I wounded it; and you’d better believe
I lost no time following up the trail. By the way he bled, I could see
that he was hard hit.
“‘He led me away up, nigh the top of the mountain, then took a sharp
turn to the river; and pretty soon I came out onto a little level place,
a sort of high platform, in front of a big, bare slope of rock. In the
foot of that rock there was a hole, just about big enough for a man to
crawl into on his hands and knees, and into that hole led the trail of
my wolf.
“‘“Got him, fast enough!” said I to myself; “but how to get at
him—there’s the rub!” As I stood there considering, _another_ wolf slid
by me, like a long, gray shadow, and sneaked into the den. Without
putting the gun to my shoulder, I gave him a shot, which fetched him in
the hindquarters just as he disappeared. “That’s good for thirty
dollars,” said I to myself, loading up again, and hoping some more would
come along.
“‘They didn’t come; so pretty soon I gave them up, and went and examined
the hole. I could see that it narrowed down rapidly, and I hardly knew
what to do. I wanted that thirty dollars; but I didn’t want to crawl
into that little dark hole after it, with maybe a couple of yet lively
wolves waiting at the other end to receive me.’
“‘Why didn’t you leave them there and go back for them next day? By that
time, if they were really hard-hit, you’d have found them dead enough!’
was my comment.
“‘There wouldn’t have been much of them left for me by the morrow,’ said
Maxim. ‘I knew well enough the other wolves would scent the blood and
come along, and help themselves to snouts and all in the night. So by
and by I made up my mind to crawl in and risk it. Standing my gun up
against the rock, and taking my knife in my right hand, I started in!’
“‘Ugh!’ said I, ‘it makes me shiver to think of it!’
“‘It _was_ nasty,’ assented Maxim; ‘but then, I counted on one of the
vermin, at least, being dead; and I didn’t think there’d be much fight
left in the other. But that hole narrowed down mighty sudden, and the
first thing I knew, I had to crawl flat on my stomach to get along at
all; and presently I found it tight squeezing even that way. Of course I
held my right hand, with the knife in it, well to the front, ready to
protect my head and face.
“‘Just as the hole got so tight for me that I was about concluding to
give up the job, I heard a terrific snarl right in my ear, and a wolf
jumped onto me. His fangs got me right in the jaw,—you can see the scars
here now,—and I thought I was about fixed. But I slashed out desperately
with my big knife, and caught my assailant somewhere with a deadly
thrust. He yelped, and sprang out of the way.
“‘I felt the blood streaming over my face, and knew I was badly bitten.
I’d had enough of that enterprise; but when I tried to back out the way
I had come, I found I couldn’t work it. When it dawned upon me that I
was stuck in that trap, a cold sweat broke out all over me. I _was_
stuck, and no mistake. Then I wriggled a little farther in; and, at
this, the wolf was onto me again. This time my face escaped, and his
fangs went into my shoulder; but the next moment my knife-edge found his
throat, and down he came in a heap. Then I lay still a bit, to get my
breath and consider the situation. The one thing clear was, that I had
got myself into a tight place, and I began to wriggle for all I was
worth in order to get out of it.
“‘After twisting and tugging and straining for perhaps ten solid
minutes, I was forced to acknowledge to myself that I had not gained one
inch. Then I made up my mind that my only hope lay in squeezing myself
all the way in. Once inside the cave, I thought, it would be
comparatively easy work to wriggle out head-first. In this direction I
gained a few inches,—perhaps a foot, or more; and by this time I felt so
exhausted that I wanted to lie still and take a sleep, which, I knew, of
course, would be madness.
“‘Intending to rest but a moment, I must, nevertheless, have fallen into
a doze. How long I lay thus, I don’t know; but it must have been getting
well along past sundown when I was awakened by a sound that brought my
heart into my throat and made every hair stand on end. It was the howl
of a wolf outside!’
“I interrupted the story at this point with an involuntary ‘Ah—h—h!’
“‘Yes,’ said Maxim, acknowledging my sympathy, ‘I could _face_ any
number of the vermin, and not lose hold of myself; but the idea of them
coming along _behind_, and eating me gradually, feet first, was too
much. I think that for a minute or two I must have been clean crazy. At
any rate, I found strength enough, in that minute or two, to force my
way right on, and into the cave, without knowing how I did it. And I
found afterwards that the struggle had peeled off, not only most of my
clothes, but lots of the flesh on my hips and shoulders as well.
“‘As soon as I realized that I was inside the den, I felt round for the
two dead wolves, and stuffed them head-first into the hole I had just
come through. They filled it pretty snugly; and then I seated myself on
their hind legs to hold them solid, and hunted for a match.
“‘In the rags of my clothes I had a pocket left, and fortunately there
were some matches in it. Lighting one, I perceived in the sudden flare
that I was in a little cave, about four feet high, and maybe seven or
eight feet square. The floor of it was dry sand, and there were bones
lying about.
“‘Presently, in the tunnel behind me, sounded a snarl that seemed to
come right against my backbone, and I jumped about a foot. Then I
grabbed hold of the dead wolves, and hung onto them for all I was worth,
for I could feel something dragging at one of them. You see, my
experience in the hole had shaken my nerves pretty badly. If I’d been
just myself, I should have cleared the way, and let my assailants in,
killing them one by one, with my knife, as they crawled through. As it
was, however, I gave a yell that scared the brute in the tunnel, so that
he backed out in a hurry, and then I heard two or three of them howling
outside. But it encouraged me a good deal to see what an effect my voice
produced.
“‘Pretty soon one of the wolves crept back, sniffing, sniffing, into the
hole; and as soon as he discovered that it was only dead wolves that
were stopping the way, he began to gnaw. It was a sickening sound he
made, gnawing that way. After standing it as long as I could, I put my
face down between the bodies, and gave another yell. How it echoed in
that little place! and how quick that wolf backed out again! For all the
misery and anxiety I was in, I couldn’t help laughing to myself there in
the dark, wondering what the brute would think it was.
“‘I tried this game on half a dozen times very successfully; but after
that the wolves ceased to mind it. One would come and gnaw for a while,
then another would give him a nip in the rear, squeeze past, and take
his place. I soon began to fear my unique barricade would be all eaten
away before morning, and I cast about in my mind for some other means of
diverting the hungry animals’ attention.
“‘At length a brilliant idea struck me. I lit a match, and thrust it
into the hole right under the cannibals’ noses. That gave them a big
surprise, I can tell you. They backed out in a great hurry, and sniffed
about and howled a good deal before they ventured in again. As long as
those matches held out, I had no trouble; and the wolves just kept
howling outside the hole, not daring to come in after their victuals
while there were such mysterious goings-on within the cave.
“‘By and by, however, like all good things, the matches came to an end.
Then presently in came the wolves, and soon they were gnawing away
harder than ever. I was thinking that before long I would have to fight
it out with the crowd after all, and then it occurred to me that I might
as well begin right off. Lying flat down, I thrust my right hand, with
the knife in it, blade up, as far as I could reach out into the hole,
but underneath the dead wolves. Then I gave two or three tremendous
sweeping slashes.
“‘One of the brutes must have caught it pretty stiff. He yelped and
snarled hideously, and got outside for all he was worth. Then for a
minute or two the whole lot howled and yelped in chorus. They must have
been discussing the various mysteries of the cave, and concluded that
these were too dangerous to be explored any further; for presently all
was silent, and by an occasional yelp in the distance, I knew that the
animals had betaken themselves elsewhere. I know it was a crazy thing to
do; but just as soon as I’d made up my mind the wolves were gone, I
dropped to sleep right across the entrance of the den.
“‘When I awoke I was so still and my wounds pained so, that I could
hardly move. But I knew I had to brace up, and get out of that before
another night should come. I pulled away the bodies, and saw it was
broad daylight. I took my knife, and chipped away for a long while at
the walls and roof of the tunnel, finding the rock very soft and
crumbly. Then I crawled out, with pain and difficulty, and pointed
straight for the settlements, where I arrived more dead than alive. But
I managed to lug along with me what there was left of those wolf-snouts,
together with the tails; and I got the thirty dollars after all.’
“As Maxim finished his story, the roar of the Narrows, long unheeded,
fell again upon my ear with a distinctness almost startling, and a loon
cried mockingly from a hidden lakelet. Maxim rose, and replenished the
sinking fire. Then we rolled ourselves into our blankets, as I propose
that we all do now.”
“Agreed!” cried several voices at once; and very soon the camp on the
Toledi was sunk in slumber.