RAIDED BY A WOLF
The third evening after the departure of the captain's party David was
sitting in the cook-tent watching the last embers of the sunset and the
varying lights and shadows on the river. Shep stood near the edge of
the bluff.
Suddenly the dog's ears pointed forward attentively and his whole body
quivered. It was clear that something unusual had come in sight. No
sooner had David reached the brow of the bluff than he saw the cause of
Shep's excitement. A black animal was lapping the water where the river
curved to the northwest, about three hundred feet distant.
The semi-darkness and the heavy mosquito net over his face prevented
David from seeing clearly, but he instantly formed the conclusion that
it was a dog belonging to some pack train on the neighboring trail, and
whistled to see what it would do.
On hearing the whistle the animal raised its head, gazed a moment at
the two figures on the bluff, resumed its drinking, and then, having
satisfied its thirst, turned and started up the slope. As it did so,
David was conscious that it had a slinking gait unlike that of a dog,
and for the first time he thought how queer it was that Shep had not
offered to run down and make friends with the stranger.
"It's a small black bear," flashed into his mind. Instantly he ran with
all speed to the cabin for the shot-gun, which he kept loaded with
buckshot. The captain's party had carried off the only rifle, and David
was now sorry he had not brought his own. He caught up the shot-gun,
however, and slipping a few extra cartridges into his pocket, ran back
to the bluff where Shep stood guard.
The strange animal had disappeared.
For a moment David was disconcerted. He had not thought the bear could
get away so quickly, nor could he be sure whether it had gone into the
fringe of trees and bushes along the river-bank or continued up the
slope. He hesitated, too, before setting out to attack such an animal
with only a shot-gun for a weapon and a dog of doubtful courage as an
ally. The next instant, however, he had decided to track and kill the
beast if possible, and calling Shep to follow, he hurried down to the
river's sandy brink to examine the tracks by the waning light. He was
quite puzzled at finding that they were almost identical in appearance
with those made by Shep, but at length the truth dawned upon him. He
had to deal, not with a young bear, but with a full-grown wolf!
He now endeavored to make Shep take the scent, but Shep was not trained
to such work and sniffed around indiscriminately without attempting to
follow the animal's trail. There was nothing for it but to track the
wolf himself. He accordingly traced every track as far as it would lead
him. One proceeded from the fringe of bushes to the point where the
animal drank, while another led straight up the face of the bluff. The
latter he followed as far as the sand continued; but the top of the
elevation was grassy, and in the growing darkness the trail was quickly
lost. Keeping his eyes and ears alert for the slightest sound, David
penetrated some distance into the open woods, but without discovering
further signs of the animal. Satisfied that nothing more could be done,
he returned to camp, and took unusual pains to fasten the frail cabin
door securely when he turned in for the night.
Nor was he destined to sleep without an alarm. A noise of rattling
tin awoke him with a start. The interior of the cabin was quite dark,
since, as we have said, there were no windows; but the nights were not
yet without some light, and feeble rays outlined every chink as David
sat up, threw off his mosquito net, and looked around. Again came the
rattle of tin. It evidently proceeded from a pile of empty cans just
outside the cabin. He brought himself to a kneeling posture and pressed
his face close to one of the widest chinks. Presently he distinguished
an animal nosing among the cans and making the noise which had awakened
him. It was Shep. David spoke to the dog, and having seen him walk away
with a somewhat shame-faced air, he settled himself once more among the
blankets and was soon asleep again.
Seven days had passed when the monotony of his existence was broken by
the arrival of strangers. It was in the afternoon that he heard voices
and the sound of horses from the direction of the trail, and a minute
later saw two young fellows ride up, followed by a dozen pack animals.
"Hello!" exclaimed the foremost rider as he saw David, "this place has
changed hands, I guess, since we was here last. How d'you do? Hovey and
Herrick gone away?"
"Yes," answered David. "They left for the Kah Sha River a week ago.
You've been here before?"
"Oh, yes! We're packing back and forth between Pyramid Harbor and Five
Finger Rapids for the owner of these horses. We always like to put up
here for the night, for it's pretty lonesome on this trail."
"That's so," said David, feelingly. He, too, was not a little pleased
at the thought of company, and the more so in the present instance,
because the new-comers were near his own age. The elder was slender,
with dark hair and a rather sparse growth of beard, and might have
been twenty-two or three, while the other was a ruddy, plump lad of
about seventeen.
"My name's Close," said the dark-haired one, as he dismounted and
proceeded to unsaddle his horse. "We're from Wisconsin."
In return for this information David gave his own name and residence.
The Wisconsin boys took the packs from their horses and turned them
loose to graze.
"Now for supper," said Close.
"You'll find a stove and dishes and a table, such as it is, in the
cook-tent yonder," said David, hospitably. "I guess you know your way
around. Just make yourselves at home, and I'll have the fire going in a
jiffy."
It took the strangers but a short time to cook their evening meal, and
as soon as they had finished with the stove David prepared his own
supper, and the three sat down together.
"Can you spare us enough butter for our bread?" asked Close. "We're all
out."
"Yes," said David, passing it over, "help yourself." He knew there were
but two more cans in the cache under his charge, but he felt certain
the captain would wish him to extend such hospitalities as lay in his
power; and he would much rather have gone without butter himself for a
time than deny it to his guests. They, however, had no intention of
trenching on David's slender stock without returning an equivalent.
"You don't seem to have any condensed milk," observed the younger of
the two.
"No," said David. "There isn't a drop. I've looked the whole cache over
for it."
"Well, here! You just take what you want out of our can. We've got milk
if we haven't got butter. Try some of that dried fruit, too."
Having thanked his friends, David inquired if the trail was in good
shape. He was thinking that before long he would be tramping back over
it.
"Yes," answered Close, "most of it's good; but there's some bad bogs
where the horses get mired. Those cattle herds have cut it all to
pieces where the ground is soft. We haven't had much trouble, though."
"No," put in his companion, "when we get started we can go along well
enough. The worst of this packing business is ketching the horses in
the morning. The critters are as sly as foxes. They'll stand so still
in the thickets when they hear you coming that you can go within ten
feet of 'em and never know they're there."
"They keep pretty well together, though," said the other, "and the
tracks are generally plain. Besides, there's a bell on one of them."
"If they were my horses," declared David, "I would bell them all."
"And it wouldn't be a bad idea," said Close, with a laugh.
By David's invitation the Wisconsin boys slept that night on the
bedstead in the tent. They breakfasted early and then set out to round
up their horses, which they accomplished in a couple of hours after
a long tramp through the woods. Having loaded the animals, they bade
David good-by and rode away toward the trail, presently shouting back,
"Better call the dog; he's following the horses."
David whistled Shep back and ordered him to lie down. It was no wonder
he thought every one his master, he had changed owners so often. He now
lay down quietly enough on the ground before the cook-tent and appeared
to have forgotten all about the pack train.
An hour later David finished his wood-chopping and suddenly noticed
that Shep was gone. At first he thought little of the matter, supposing
him to be somewhere in the neighborhood, but when another hour passed
without him, he feared Shep had followed the horses, after all. He
whistled again and again, but no dog came; and now he was perplexed to
know what to do. By this time the pack train was six or eight miles
away. The dog would overtake it easily, but _he_ could not hope to do
so before it halted for the night; and he did not like to leave so long
the property of which he was in charge. The Wisconsin boys might send
the dog back, or, failing in that, they would doubtless deliver him
up to the captain, whom they would probably see before many days. So,
however much he regretted the loss of his only companion, he concluded
to let the matter drop.
A little later, from the sand-ridge back of the tents, he perceived a
column of white smoke above the trees near the river, a quarter of a
mile to the southeast. It indicated the presence of either white men or
Indians on the trail, and Shep might be with them. David lost no time
in locking the cabin door and setting out rapidly in the direction of
the smoke.
On his hunting excursions he had noticed an Indian canoe bottom-up
near that spot, and naturally supposed that the dusky owners had now
arrived. He found, however, that two white men had kindled a fire
against a fallen tree for the purpose of cooking their midday meal.
Their two horses were grazing near by. The strangers were men of middle
age, with thick, grizzled beards and sunbrowned faces. They seemed
surprised to see David, but greeted him pleasantly.
"Camping near here?" they asked.
"Yes," answered David, seating himself sociably; "at Champlain's
Landing."
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed one of the men, "I saw the sign-board on the tree
where your path turns off, but I didn't know any one was there."
"Have you come from Dawson?" asked David.
"Yes; we left there nine days ago."
"Any new strikes?"
"No, none recently; but the people keep swarming in over the other
trails."
"What are they paying in wages?"
"Seven to ten dollars a day."
"I've heard it was very unhealthy there."
"Yes, there's a good deal of scurvy and pneumonia."
"Any starvation last winter?"
"No, but it was a tight squeeze for some of them."
"Does a man stand much chance of a fortune who goes there now?"
"Not if he expects to dig gold. The paying ground is all taken up and a
good deal more. There's a better chance now in trading. In fact, that's
what my partner and I are going into. We've discovered that some things
are mighty scarce in Dawson, and people will pay almost anything for
them, so we're going out to the coast to bring in a stock of goods. We
shall try to be back before cold weather."
David had kept his eyes open for Shep, but seeing nothing of him, he
asked if they had met two young fellows that morning and had noticed a
black and white dog. The men remembered the pack train well enough, but
neither had any recollection of seeing the dog. So David went back to
the Landing more mystified than ever.
With Shep away, he felt instinctively that the wolf would pay him
another visit; nor was he mistaken. That night he slept deeply and
heard no sound, but when he arose and went out to the cook-tent, he
rubbed his eyes in astonishment. Wolf-tracks were everywhere, dishes
were scattered about, a five-pound piece of bacon had disappeared, and
the butter can, which had stood in a pail of water on the top of the
rude sideboard five feet above the ground now lay on the grass, where
the wolf had ineffectually tried to get at the contents. Strange to
say, the pail from which the can had been abstracted stood unmoved in
its accustomed place.
David picked up the scattered utensils and smiled rather grimly to
think how he had slept for two nights in the open, unprotected tent,
exposed to this midnight prowler.