IN THE FROZEN MARSH
PERHAPS it was just as well that the crows took the alarm, and flew
noisily away. If Lil Artha had taken a shot at them and secured one or
more, there might have been a peck of trouble, not only for the crows
but some of the scouts as well.
They pushed on for some little time after this in silence. Elmer was
constantly on the watch for a possible camping spot. He hardly expected
they would be as highly favored as on the preceding night; but then, as
no storm threatened, this was not absolutely necessary. He anticipated
that they would be able to put up some sort of barrier to keep the keen
wind off, clear a place of snow, and do the best possible with what they
found.
"Looks like we might be on the border of a sort of marsh," suggested Lil
Artha, as he made an extra effort, and caught up with the plodding
leader.
"Yes, I began to notice that about ten minutes ago," replied Elmer.
"I only mention the fact," continued the lanky scout, "because it
strikes me that several times when Toby read out long descriptive
letters he had from his uncle up here the old gentleman told of getting
some of his best views when lying out in a marsh, and watching the
little animals play tag, or some game like that, build their nests, and
have their scraps. Am I right about that, Elmer?"
"Yes, and I can see what you're hinting at, Lil Artha. You've got an
idea this may be that marsh?"
"Correct!" admitted the tall scout.
"And that if we've finally managed to work around, and strike Uncle
Caleb's favorite stamping grounds, there's a pretty good chance the
cabin can't be a great ways off?" Elmer concluded, while his words
brought vigorous nods of approval from the other.
"Wish we could set up a holler that'd reach him!" ventured Lil Artha.
"We might try a few shots and see if they had any result, though I'd
rather wait till dark before doing that," the scout master remarked,
thoughtfully.
Lil Artha pondered over this for a minute before he made any further
remark.
"I reckon you mean you still hope we might run foul of some sort of game
that would give us a supper?" he finally observed.
"Well, here's the marsh, and while the snow is deep in most places, we
might manage to run across one of their queer little winter houses, you
know."
Lil Artha must have been thinking along the same lines as Elmer, if one
could judge from the rapidity with which he took the other up.
"You mean muskrats, don't you, Elmer?"
"Just what I do," came the reply. "Beggars mustn't be choosers, they
say; and it looks like that, or go hungry to-night, because we haven't
got enough stuff on hand for two, much less four."
"I wonder if they are so very bad eating?" mused the tall scout,
wistfully; for prejudice is a hard thing to conquer; and habit backed by
imagination is responsible for the choice of many a man's food. What
appeals tremendously to one may cause another to shrink.
Elmer laughed.
"I've heard many men say they think musquash as good as almost anything
to be had in the woods or swamps up north. The Indians always consider
them a dainty," he told his chum.
"Oh! yes, but they are also mighty fond of baked dog," remonstrated Lil
Artha.
"So would you be, if you'd been brought up that way. Some people can't
bear the thought of eating frogs' legs, and yet those same folks will
sit down and calmly swallow a dozen oysters or clams on the half shell.
Now, I've always said that the first man who ever gulped down a live
oyster had more nerve even than Napoleon. Then, if you only travel
around, from China to France, you'll find that things we scorn are
called dainties there. Take snails, which bring a high price in Paris
markets--have you ever eaten one in all your life?"
"Hold on there, Elmer," exclaimed Lil Artha; "bring on your musquash.
I'm ready to give him a fair trial, and if he tastes good, after this
you won't hear me draw the line even at baked dog--or crow. Yes, I've
heard of people who say they've made a meal off crow, and liked it. Why,
down our way the black rascals live on corn, and I don't see why they
shouldn't be eatable, especially when a fellow has nothing else along."
"Then I tell you what our programme should be," the scout master
continued, as though this ready admission on the part of the other
gun-bearer had settled the question with him; "we'll make up our minds
about stopping close by here, and on the border of the marsh. While
George and Toby are fixing camp, and beginning to gather wood, the two
of us can start out and enter the marsh, keeping within calling distance
of each other. If there's anything doing we'll bag some game for our
supper to-night. How does that strike you?"
"Tip-top, Elmer, and because the sun is getting pretty low over there in
the west we'd better be finding that camp-site in a hurry."
"I think I see as good a place as any right now," the scout master
declared, as he pointed straight ahead. "You can glimpse what I mean by
looking just past that birch that is bent nearly double with the snow. A
dead tree lies on the ground, and I should think it would give us all
the wood we'll need to-night. That's the main thing to make sure of."
"And there's a heavy growth in sight, Elmer, that would serve as a
windbreak in case it got to blowing great guns before morning, which I
don't think will happen though. Shall I tell the other fellows we're at
the end of our day's tramp?"
"Yes, because they're both about as tired as can be, and will be glad to
hear the news," Elmer replied.
So Lil Artha fell back in order to get in communication with Toby and
George, who were plodding along with many a sigh and grunt; for their
packs were heavy, and the going rough, with all that deep snow to
struggle through.
"Hi! hurry along there, fellows!" he called out; "we're meaning to camp
right ahead here. Plenty of wood for a fire, and a windbreak in the
bargain."
"Tell us something about the visible grub supply, won't you, Lil Artha?"
asked Toby, beseechingly. "Is there a good grocery around the corner,
and does the butcher call for orders every morning, or just three times
a week?"
"Oh! you have to go after your fresh meat," laughed the tall scout, "and
that's what me'nd Elmer propose doing, leaving you two to fix the camp."
"All right," replied the weary Toby, "just as you say. Anything to
oblige; and here's hoping you run up against the best of success. A
broiled partridge, or three slices of juicy venison in the fryingpan
would about suit my taste."
"They don't grow juicy venison up here, you ought to know, Toby; every
kind I ever heard of was as dry as tinder, and had to be cooked with
slices of bacon to make it taste just right. But considering that we've
made way with the last scrap of cured pork I guess we'll take it any old
style."
Lil Artha did not think it wise to spring the muskrat idea too suddenly
on those unsuspecting fellows. He had a vague idea that should Elmer and
himself meet with success, and knock over several of the marsh dwellers
with the unenviable name, they might skin them, and let their chums
imagine that they were eating squirrel or rabbit or something like that.
Afterwards, when they had set the stamp of approval upon the dish, the
truth could come out. Prejudice by then would have been overcome by the
knowledge that "musquash," the Indian dish, was all right.
When the little struggling party reached the spot Elmer had selected,
and every one had a chance to survey the situation, a unanimous approval
of his choice was the result.
"You couldn't have done better if you'd tried," said George.
"Don't believe there's as good a camp-site within five miles," Toby
added; but perhaps the tired condition of the boys had something to do
with this endorsement on their part; just then any place would have
satisfied their desires, which were not very exacting.
The heavy packs were quickly hung from the lower limb of a tree under
which the camp fire was to be made. It was a pine, and beneath it the
ground seemed to be fairly clear of snow, most of what had fallen still
clinging to the tree itself.
"Better not waste any more time, had we, Elmer?" asked the tall scout,
as he nervously handled his Marlin gun, anxious to start out after game.
"No, get busy, please," said Toby; "don't bother about us, for we know
how camp ought to be made. All we ask is that you come back loaded down
with something to eat."
"We don't care much what it is, if only you cut out crow," George added.
Lil Artha gave his fellow Nimrod a quick look, as much as to say, "that
lets us out, and we can fetch home the musquash with a clear
conscience--if so be we're lucky enough to bag any."
They went away in company. The last words George flung after the
departing comrades was a caution.
"For goodness' sake now, don't go and get lost in that marsh, or we will
be in a bad scrape. Things are hard enough as it stands without our
getting separated. If you don't just know where the camp is located give
three yells, or fire three shots as fast as you can. We'll answer you
back, and keep hollering till you show up. Three shots, remember."
Once the two scouts entered the frozen marsh they kept together for a
short time.
"How'll I know a muskrat house when I see it, Elmer?" asked Lil Artha.
"Oh! you've seen them often around home, only you forget," replied the
other, but in order to make sure, he continued: "you know, they build
their nests or houses a little after the same style as beaver do, only
of course not so big or secure. If when you're passing a marsh or swampy
tract, and spy a number of what look like irregular mounds, or heaps of
dead rushes, you can make up your mind muskrats live there. If it's a
lake or a stream they can be found in among the rocks too, but not as a
rule, because there they are apt to run up against the otter, weasel and
the mink, and there's no love lost between those sharp-toothed animals
and the muskrat. He's a hard fighter, too, as his jaws tell you, Lil
Artha, but hardly a match for a mink in a stand-up scrap. There's a
muskrat house right now; let's stop and see if the old fellow is at
home."
Accordingly they surrounded the accumulation of dead rushes and leaves
and other refuse, after which Elmer tore it to pieces, while Lil Artha
stood guard, ready to take snap judgment should the occasion arise.
It turned out to be a disappointment, however, for the mound was empty.
"Nothing doing, eh?" grunted the tall scout, lowering his gun, which he
had been keeping half elevated all the while.
"No, and I didn't believe we'd have any success here soon after I
started tearing the thing down," replied Elmer. "It showed all the signs
of being a deserted shack."
"What could have happened to the former inhabitant, do you think?"
continued the disappointed one, to whom even musquash stew was beginning
to appeal more and more, as the chances of securing any sort of game
diminished in proportion.
"I might guess that he chose to change his place of residence," said
Elmer, "or, it might be that Uncle Caleb fancies the old Indian dish
once in a while. But let's be moving along. The mill will never grind
again with the water that is past; and we're not going to get our supper
by standing over a muskrat house that hasn't got any owner."
Another start was accordingly made. Elmer kept track of the direction
they were taking. He did not mean to find himself in a quandary when
they were ready to turn back again, and not be able to say where the
camp lay. Lil Artha knew he could depend on his chum in that respect,
and hence he did not concern himself in the slightest degree about such
a thing as becoming bewildered. It is a nice thing to have some one to
lean upon at all times, though the scout master often took Lil Artha to
task because of his willingness to let another do his thinking for him.
"Let's separate a little," Elmer suggested, presently, when they had
gone along for quite some distance and found nothing at all. "We ought
to be able to keep in sight of each other easily enough; and the same
time cover a lot more ground, and in that way increase our chances."
"I'm agreeable," chirped Lil Artha, not suspecting how great an
influence on their future fortunes even that little incident was going
to prove; "I'll swing off to the right here, and follow this swale,
while you keep straight on. I rather like the looks of things over this
way, and p'raps I'll run across a colony of those r--I mean musquash."
"Give me the wolf call if you do," Elmer told him, smiling at the quick
way Lil Artha had corrected himself when about to give that unpleasant
name to the furry little denizen of the marsh they were seeking so
eagerly, so as to improve the looks of their larder, and satisfy a
craving they felt for making his acquaintance in a stew.
Elmer watched the tall scout move along the swale he had mentioned. He
fancied that Lil Artha was about right when he declared it looked as
though something might be found in that direction, if signs stood for
much.
"I certainly hope, then, he strikes it," Elmer mused as he rambled on,
dodging all the drifts whenever he could, and straining his eyes for a
sight of welcome signs; "because we need it worse than we ever needed
anything before."
He had just succeeded in evading a bad place, and was about to look
again in order to learn where his chum might be, when without warning
there came two reports in quick succession right beyond a bunch of thick
brush and not two hundred feet away.
Elmer immediately started toward the spot as fast as he could go. He
thought he heard loud words spoken, and was in a fever of suspense,
fearing Lil Artha might have hurt himself, until rounding the
obstruction he saw the other standing there, holding his Marlin gun
dejectedly while he stared into space.
"Oh! Elmer!" exclaimed the tall scout, as soon as he noticed that his
companion was close to him; "a deer, as sure as smoke, and I fired
point-blank at him both times; but hang the luck, I must have missed the
beggar, for he gave an _aw_ful jump, and went off like a streak, worse
luck to me for a bungler!"