Moose Hunting
"I'm agoin ter tell you now what's brought me away up here through the
backwoods of New Ontario," said Hank, the very evening he and Joe had
left the lumber camp and their friends, amongst whom Sam Fennick was
numbered. "I'm looking fer Beaver Jack."
"Beaver Jack! Who's he?" demanded our hero doubtfully.
"That's what I'm jest about to tell. Beaver Jack aer the cutest,
quietest, cussedest Indian that ever you set eyes on, or that ever
anyone else set eyes on either. He kin talk our language fairly well,
and he war for three years or more along with me and my father. That's
a time ago. Of late he's mooned about in the settlements during
summer, not doing more'n a hand's turn, as is the nature of the
Redskin. And winter's found him 'way up north, trappin' and huntin'
fer the pelts that keeps him in food during the summer months. Beaver
Jack and me's old friends, and with him to lead there's a chance of our
striking a country I've heard of from mates of his. There ain't been
much prospecting up in New Ontario, lad, but I've heard there's gold,
and gold mines are worth finding."
So that was the secret of this expedition. Hank, a naturally silent
man, had said little about his intentions up to date, and Joe had but a
vague idea as to his real object. For himself, it had been sufficient
that he was to travel through the Canadian wastes with such a pleasant
fellow, and experience a life the very mention of which was most
fascinating. It can be imagined, therefore, that he looked forward to
the meeting with Beaver Jack with some anticipation, and hailed that
taciturn Redskin heartily when, two weeks later, they came across him.
"You'd say as it aer fair wonderful that we should meet him right up
here in the wilderness," smiled Hank, as he and Joe prepared for the
night's bivouac. "But Jack aer a long-legged man, and, Injun-like, he
turns his toes in. You could tell his mark in the snow amongst a
thousand, and it ain't much altered even with snowshoes. See
there--there's my marks, there's yourn, here's Beaver Jack's."
"With a longer distance between each one," agreed Joe. "And the back
of each shoe seems to have been trailed along the snow as he went.
There's a clean line every time. With you there's much the same, but
the distance between the shoe marks is less, while mine are broken and
the snow is irregularly marked in between."
"So as you could swear to any one of the three any day," said Hank.
"Now, guess how it war that I steered a course so as to cross his
tracks."
The question was one of greater difficulty, and Joe found himself
unable to answer. However, the explanation was simple enough when it
came to be given.
"It aer like this," smiled Hank. "Beaver Jack don't never come far
into the settlements, and his line ain't never due north. Reckon he
ain't fond of coming across other Injuns that way, nor the half-breeds
that live up towards James Bay. So his line's always to the west.
Ours being north, and cutting up through the country Beaver Jack
crosses, why, in course we was bound to drop across his tracks. Had
sport this season, Jack?"
The Indian turned slowly upon his questioner and straightened himself,
for he had been bending over the narrow sledge upon which he was wont
to haul his pelts when their number became too burdensome for carrying.
The failing light of a midwinter day fell upon a scarred and seamed
face that might have belonged to a man of sixty, of seventy, or even of
eighty. The brows were drawn down over the eyes, the hooked nose
approached closely to the thin, closely-shut lips, while even the chin,
square and determined, and yet narrower than is customary with white
men, appeared to turn up towards the centre of the face. But the eyes
were the feature that attracted one. Small, and set wide apart, they
flashed round at Hank and then at Joe. At one moment they looked
severe, fierce, almost cruel; the next moment one could have sworn that
they were twinkling. As for the remainder of this native trapper, he
was clad in skin clothing of his own making. Fringed leggings covered
his lanky lower limbs, while a shirt of leather, soft and wonderfully
pliable and stained with much exposure, was over his shoulders, wide
open at the neck, the sleeves reaching only down to his elbows. The
man pointed slowly to his pile of pelts, and then, as if to speak would
be to waste words, bent down over his sledge again and went on with the
work that engaged his attention.
"He aer a rare 'un to talk," laughed Hank. "You get almost tired of
hearin' his voice. But he kin hunt, and he aer the best man as ever I
came across for calling up the moose. Know what that means, Joe?"
"Haven't an idea," answered our hero; for even now he was ignorant of
the ways of hunters.
"Then we'll teach you, me and Jack," said Hank. "Jack, have you seen
moose tracks hereabouts? If there's some of the beasts within twenty
mile, you ain't likely to have missed them."
The mention of something to do with hunting brought the Indian to an
erect position again with remarkable swiftness. He lifted an arm and
pointed away to the west, to where the snow-clad landscape reared
itself abruptly till, rising to a great height, it cut across the
darkening sky in a succession of jagged peaks, upon which the rays of
the fallen sun flickered, though the orb itself had long since
disappeared from sight.
"Moose yard up there," he said abruptly; "plenty beast."
"Then to-morrow we'll see what we kin do with 'em," cried Hank. "We
kin leave our traps 'way down here in this camp, and jest take our
rifles with us. We ain't likely to be back before the night comes, and
ef we're still out on the hills, why, in course we'll make a camp
that'll keep us warm and right till the dawn comes. Now, lad, on with
that kettle; it aer time almost for supper."
Joe's experience of moose hunting had not been so great up to this
moment that he was not keen on a hunt. Once only, in fact, had he
encountered this huge, fierce beast of the Canadian forests, and then
the moose bull may be said to have hunted him. It was, therefore, with
a certain amount of elation and excitement that he set off with his
comrades on the following morning. Leaving their pelts behind in the
lean-to--for Joe and Hank had trapped and shot many beasts during the
last two weeks--and taking only rifles and ammunition and ready-cooked
food with them--the three turned their faces towards the west, where
the land reared itself up suddenly into a long chain of hills which
might almost be described as mountains. Trudging along in front went
Beaver Jack, as silent as ever, his face always to the front, never
turning his head by so much as an inch, and yet seeing and remembering
every feature of his surroundings. Joe noted the long swing of his
lanky legs, the sliding stride with which he carried his snowshoes from
one part to another, and the manner in which he kicked his shoes from
time to time. Then came Hank, keen and energetic, his rifle across his
shoulder, his shoes sinking hardly at all into the snow. However, Joe
found walking on this occasion somewhat difficult, for the pace the
Indian set was terrific, while a mild-tempered wind had softened the
snow which clung to his shoes, making them ponderously heavy.
"Steady!" called Hank, after a while, arresting the rapid progress of
the Indian. "This here pal of mine are puffin' and blowin'. Yer see,
Joe, you ain't so used to snowshoein' as Jack and me, and when there's
a thaw it aer heavy work. But jest you watch Beaver Jack. He gives a
sorter kick every few steps, and so rids himself of the weight that you
have to carry. We'll rest here a few minutes, and then you kin go in
front and so set the pace."
An hour later they began to ascend a little, while within less than two
hours the path they were making took them upward at a somewhat abrupt
angle, which made the work extremely heavy. It was a relief to Joe,
therefore, when Hank called another halt, and when Beaver Jack pointed
away along the side of the mountain.
"We ain't likely to find moose much higher," said Hank, seating himself
beside Joe; "not because it aer too cold for 'em high up, but because
the stuff they feed on don't grow up there. Seems to me that we've a
biggish wood in front of us, and we've got to make right through it
before we shall come across their tracks. Even then there mayn't be
any of the beasts, for ef they happen to have caught sight of us, or
winded us, which aer far more likely, why, the hull crowd will have
gone right off. You could shoot a charging moose, lad?"
"I'd try, anyway," answered Joe, mindful of his previous effort. "I
think that by now I ought to be able to hold a gun straight, and if
only I don't get too excited I ought to be able to hit a beast. I'm
ready to move on if you are."
Once more they began their trudge across the sloping snowfield, Hank
now leading, and presently he plunged into a forest clinging to the
hillside. A wide space beyond was devoid of animal life, though Beaver
Jack declared that moose had recently been across it. Then they dived
into a narrow belt of trees, where the Indian came to a sudden halt.
"Try here," he said. "Not sure, but think beasts near; and if we go
on, sure to hear us. Wait little--soon ready."
"Watch him," whispered Hank; "you'll see him set to work as only an
Indian can. He's looking about for a birch tree, and with that knife
of his will strip the bark in a matter of a few minutes. I kin tell
you this, give a Redskin a knife and firelock and powder, and he kin go
anywhere and make most anything in these forests. Birch bark aer the
stuff he puts to roof his lean-to. A long strip cut from an extry big
tree, and shaped and sewn, makes him a canoe that's better than any
other craft known on any water; while, ef it's pots and kettles that's
wanted fer cookin', he can fix the business easy with his knife, and so
long as there's a tree of the right sort about. See him cut that roll
free. Now, in a jiffy he'll have a trumpet."
Beaver Jack went about his work in a manner which showed that he was
accustomed to it, and came back towards his comrades bearing a long
strip of bark which he was slowly coaxing into the shape of a funnel.
Then with his knife and a few strips of hide cut from the fringes of
his leggings he tied the edges of the bark, so that the implement he
had fashioned retained its shape. A little later he bent his lanky
form, applied the smaller end of the funnel to his mouth, and blew
heavily into it. The lines across forehead and face became even
deeper. To look at the Indian one would have declared that he was in
agony, and no doubt he was making a special effort. The result was
truly wonderful. Joe had heard moose calling before, the sounds they
made echoing through the forest. And here the calls were repeated,
more loudly, it is true, since they were meant to pass to a distance,
but wonderfully realistic and lifelike.
"Now listen," said Hank, in a whisper. "Ef there's a moose bull within
two mile of this he'll answer."
The long, deep-toned call produced by Beaver Jack with the aid of his
birch-bark trumpet was answered by a deadly silence that nothing broke,
and though the call was repeated, it appeared as if the result was to
be similar. But suddenly the Indian stirred, while Joe saw Hank's eyes
concentrate themselves upon the forest. Then, far off, there came a
dismal echo of the sound, as if the hillside were casting it back at
the hunters. At once, without so much as a word, the Redskin slunk off
into the forest, Hank and Joe following closely.
"You kin look for a burst of speed," whispered Hank hurriedly, turning
his head. "There's a moose bull 'way ahead, and Beaver Jack aer going
nearer so as to coax him. Jest make sure as you don't knock that rifle
against the trees, or else there won't be much huntin'."
Silent after that, with hardly a glance to left or to right, the three
pushed on through the wood, Beaver Jack choosing, as if by instinct, a
path that avoided thick underwood, and allowed himself and his comrades
to retain their snowshoes. Slowly the trees diminished in number, till
they straggled out into the open in broken groups of two and three, and
finally singly, scattered here and there over a wide field of snow that
seemed to be unbroken and unmarked by beasts of any description. To
the left the hills reared their heads abruptly, snow-covered to the
summits, grey and forbidding, as if they resented the coming of these
strangers. Ah! The Redskin had lifted a hand; he came to a halt.
"He aer going to call agin," whispered Hank, who seemed to be tingling
with excitement. "Ain't that 'ere Beaver Jack clever?"
None but an expert could, in fact, have produced the impression this
seamed and lined Indian contrived at. That long, deep-toned call,
rising and falling in cadence and halting abruptly, as if only
half-completed, went booming across the snowy waste, and echoed amongst
the pinnacles above. It was followed by a second call, the tone of
which was distinctly angry, as if the beast summoning its own kind were
vexed at the want of an answer. Then, as the same faint response came
to their ears--but this time distinctly nearer--a plaintive note crept
into the summons which Beaver Jack produced with the aid of his
trumpet, till one would have said that even the most heartless of
listeners would have dashed forward promptly. But your moose is
perhaps one of the wariest of beasts. Gifted with acute hearing and
still more pronounced sense of smell, he is almost always suspicious.
The least doubt as to the genuineness of a call, the faintest suspicion
of the presence of others, will keep him sulking in the background,
hidden by the trees, or will send him dashing off madly, his huge
antlers steered with wonderful skill between the branches, so that not
so much as a sound might help a would-be pursuer. It seemed as if the
one in the far distance were of this character, as if he were
suspicious. It made no difference to his movements even when Beaver
Jack, working himself almost into a frenzy with his efforts, produced
more mournful sounds, and then struck the tree trunk beside him
heavily. Still the answering response was weak-toned and far off.
"He ain't coming, that's truth," whispered Hank. "We shall have to get
along towards him, and this time we shall have to creep over every
yard. Ef the brute does come, you shoot, Joe. I've had many a chance;
so's Jack. Take him jest below the point of the shoulder."
Joe gripped his rifle with both hands, and saw that the safety catch
was in position; then he fixed his eyes on his two companions. Nor was
it long before there was a movement. Beaver Jack bent double and,
thrusting the muzzle of his weird birch trumpet into the snow, sent
forth a challenge which seemed to skim curiously over the hillside and
burst into bigger volume in the distance. Then he dropped on to hands
and knees, having already kicked off his snowshoes and slung them over
his shoulders. A second later he was creeping away amidst the
scattered trees, casting more than one glance over his shoulder.
"This aer a fair conundrum," whispered Hank to Joe, when the little
party again came to a standstill. "I've hunted moose many a time, and,
as a rule, ef there ain't no wind, as is the case jest now, and a
hunter aer cautious, there ain't no great difficulty in coming up with
them. Of course it isn't every Indian who can call, let alone a white
man. A Redskin is kinder born to it, and most of 'em can call same as
ef they was real moose. Guess Beaver Jack aer one of 'em. But look
what's happenin' to-day. There's no getting nearer the beast that's
answered. He's heard our call and has challenged back, but he goes off
a bit every time we move forward."
"Perhaps there's something else disturbing him," ventured Joe, somewhat
baffled for an answer, cautiously raising his lips to Hank's ear. "I
notice that Beaver Jack has looked over his shoulder once or twice as
if he thought there might be something behind us. Perhaps he's heard a
call from that direction."
"Nary a one. Ef there had been I'd have heard it," asserted Hank, with
decision; "but there may be beasts following. Ef it warn't fer the
snow you could hear 'em by listening closely with an ear to the ground
or placed hard up agin the trunk of one of the trees. But snow muffles
most sounds, especially footsteps. Ah! That 'ere beast called from a
point a little closer."
Whatever the cause of their want of success, Beaver Jack and Hank were
not the men to give up the chase without a further effort, and without
some show of that wonderful patience for which hunters are notorious.
Time and again the Redskin repeated his call, and on a dozen occasions
the trio went forward, crawling over the snow on their stomachs. At
length, when Joe's small stock of patience was almost exhausted, the
answering call came from a point distinctly nearer.
"That 'ere bull aer fair bothered," observed Hank, as Beaver Jack again
buried the muzzle of his trumpet. "He aer been retreating all this
while, and now it seems to me as ef he'd made up his mind that things
was square, and had come towards us at a gallop. Ef he charges, don't
wait too long. Give him a shot, and then ram in a cartridge."
It was perhaps some ten minutes later that the undergrowth clambering
about the stems of a thick clump of evergreen pines three hundred yards
from the hunters was suddenly rent asunder, and there emerged into the
open two gigantic animals, the moose bull ahead and his consort behind
him. As for the former, Joe could even at that distance see that his
short mane was bristling, while his head was thrown upward, his antlers
being carried high in the air, while one fore leg was poised, as if he
were in the very act of galloping forward.
"Hah!" Joe heard Hank grunt. "That aer the meaning of the mystery.
That 'ere bull has gone on retreating till he felt as ef he were bound
to go no farther, as ef, in fact, he'd be a coward ef he didn't turn
and face the danger. You kin look out for trouble."
Click! went the safety catch of Joe's rifle. He swung it into position
and, taking careful aim, pulled the trigger. Almost at once there came
a snorting grunt from the moose bull. The beast threw his fore legs
into the air and stood there poised for the instant. A second later he
had launched himself against the little group of hunters, and came
charging towards them at a speed which was terrific.
"Agin!" cried Hank, his eyes gleaming, while his fingers closed round
his own weapon. Up went our hero's gun again, and once more his eye
ranged along the sights. But he never pulled the trigger, for, of a
sudden, there came a loud report from behind him, while something
struck the snow three yards in rear and ricochetting from the surface
went humming and screaming over his head. Then came a second shot,
falling almost on the self-same spot, while the powdered snow driven
upward by the bullet swept against his face in a thick cloud which
almost blinded him. Sweeping the crystals away with one hand, he
stared across the open, while Hank's sharp tones roused him from the
form of stupor into which he had fallen.
"Git loaded," he commanded shortly, "and soon as you've given 'em a
shot, run back where that 'ere moose has bolted. Reckon there's a pack
of half-breeds after us."
The sharp snap of his weapon was heard instantly, and was followed by a
shot from Beaver Jack's rifle. Then Joe, wrestling with the excitement
into which this sudden interference had thrown him, levelled his own
weapon at the foremost of two dog sleighs dashing across the open
towards them, and steadily pulled the trigger.
"On snowshoes," cried Hank sharply. "Now, Beaver Jack, you kin take
post behind us. You're the best when it comes to huntin', but when
there's a ruction same as this is, guess Hank ain't in need of no
coaching. Joe, you come second. Ef they gets much closer, you've to
keep a tree between you and them most of the time, and ef they looks
like heading us, why, in course we shall have to look lively to find a
suitable place to hold, and must get to and fight 'em."
He turned without further warning, and with his rifle trailed in one
hand dashed across the snow towards the thick clump of evergreens from
which the bull moose had so lately put in an appearance. As for the
beast and his consort, both had turned at the sound of that far-off
shot and had dashed away at a pace which took them out of sight within
a minute. It was but a few seconds later when the same evergreens
closed about the figures of our hero and his comrades.
"We've got to search for thick forest all the while," called Hank
softly over his shoulder. "Then those dog sleighs won't be able to
make much pace, and so won't easily come up to us. Gee, this aer a do!
I reckoned all the while as there was something queer happenin',
something that that bull moose kinder scented and yet warn't sure of.
This aer a fair business."
The sudden change in the fortunes of the little party was indeed
extraordinary and inexplicable. Had either of the three been asked the
question that morning, they would have declared that to the best of
their belief there was not another living human being within a radius
of perhaps a hundred miles. Yet see what had happened. Ever since an
early hour that morning two sleighs, drawn by dogs, had been following
their tracks up to the hills and along the elevated ground they had
taken. Figures wrapped in skin garments much the same as Beaver Jack
wore had trudged beside the sleighs, whirling their whips now and again
above the heads of the teams they were driving. Then, coming to that
open space across which the chase had taken our hero and his friends,
these strangers had leaped on to their sleighs and had come across the
frozen surface at a rattling pace that brought them within long rifle
shot of the hunters as Joe was in the very act of achieving a triumph.
When the latter turned, having narrowly escaped two bullets, it was to
perceive the two sleighs being driven rapidly forward, one some ten
feet in advance of the other. Instantly his eyes were attracted to the
former; for in front sat a huddled figure, above whose head a
long-lashed whip swirled and cracked, while behind there stood a burly
man balancing himself wonderfully, and with rifle at his shoulder.
Who could he be? What was the cause of this sudden and unprovoked
attack? From whence had come these men who had sprung upon the scene
so unexpectedly? No wonder that Hank was troubled. Beaver Jack's
seamed and heavily-lined face displayed not the smallest surprise or
vexation; but Joe's features were a study. There was anger on his
face; his lips were firmly pressed together. His bull-dog chin was, if
anything, a little squarer than usual.
"Gee!" he cried. "Well, I'm jiggered."