FAT AND FURIOUS
Anyone who had watched the two boys skating slowly up the river next
morning would surely have been puzzled. Before them, now darting up a
steep bank and now scurrying along over the snow, were two brown,
fur-clad creatures. Neither dogs nor cats, they still appeared quite
domestic in their actions. Once when they had gone racing ahead too far
Johnny let out a shrill whistle and they came dashing back to peer up
into his face as if to say, “Did you call me?”
“They’re great!” Lawrence chuckled. “Got a dog beat a mile. They never
bark.”
“And yet they can find where wild creatures live,” Johnny agreed.
Just now, as you no doubt have guessed, the boys were looking for the
spot, under some great rock or at the foot of a tree, which the silver
fox called his home.
“We must find him,” Johnny had exclaimed only an hour before.
“We surely must,” Lawrence had agreed.
And indeed they must, for three principal reasons. Last night the fox
had, by shrewd cunning, managed to pry the chicken coop door open and
made off with a rooster. The fox was worth a lot of money—they were sure
of this—dead or alive. They must get him before someone with a gun or
with traps got sight of him. And they must take him alive, if possible—a
very large contract.
Their desires had been redoubled by something that had happened only the
night before. Mack Gleason, the settler whose claim joined them on the
west, had been in for a friendly chat.
“Got your tractor yet?” he had asked of Mr. Lawson.
“Not yet,” had been the reply.
“Well, you better hurry. They’re going fast. May not be another shipment
until it is too late for spring’s work.”
“No money just now.”
“Money!” Mack exploded. “Who said anything about money? Government gives
’em to you on time.”
“But time has a way of rolling around,” Mr. Lawson had replied quietly.
“Oh, the Government wouldn’t be hard on you,” Mack laughed. “Look at us.
We’ve got a washing machine and a buzz-saw, and a motor to run ’em, a
tractor, plow, harrow, everything, and all on time.”
“Yes, I know,” had come in the same slow, quiet tones. “And I know the
Government won’t be hard on you. Still it will want its money, same as
any loaning agency. It just has to be that way.
“This week,” Mr. Lawson went on after a moment, “I received a letter from
an old friend of mine. Few years back he secured a government loan on his
home. He didn’t keep up the interest and payments. They took it from him.
Now he’s unhappy about it. But people who borrow must pay. That’s why
we’re trying not to borrow.”
“And we won’t, not if we can help it.” Lawrence set his will hard as he
now followed those dark brown creatures over the ice.
“Johnny,” he said suddenly. “Do you think father should let us use
traps?”
“I—I don’t know,” Johnny replied slowly. “But that, for us, is not the
question. Ours is, ‘Have we a right to urge him to let us use them?’
“And the answer is, ‘No,’” he chuckled. “So we’ll have to trust our
little old otters to lead the way. When they find Mr. Silver Fox for us
we’ll have to grab him.”
“If only one of those trapping fellows doesn’t get him first,” Lawrence
said, wrinkling his brow.
Early in the season, as, with dreamy eyes, the boys wandered over the
forty acres of land that was, they hoped, to be their home for years to
come, they had caught the low, whining notes of some small creatures
apparently in distress.
“It comes from under that rock,” Johnny had said.
“No, over here beneath this dead tree trunk,” Lawrence insisted.
He was right. Having torn away the decayed stump, they had found two
round, brown balls of fur. These balls were baby otters. Taking them
home, they had raised them on a bottle. And now, here they were, paying
their debt by scouting about in search of the silver fox.
Pets they were, the grandest in all the world. The happiest moments of
their young lives were these long hikes. Never once did it seem to occur
to them that it might be nice to desert their young masters and answer
the call of the wild.
Now, as the boys followed them, they went gliding here and there peeking
into every crack and crevice of ice or frozen shore. From time to time
they poked their noses into some hole into which strange tracks had
vanished. After a good sniff they put their heads together and uttered
low whining noises. These noises varied with their opinions on the
condition of each particular hole. At times they appeared to shake their
heads and whine, “Too bad. He was here three hours ago. Now he’s gone.”
At other times they put their noses in the air and sang triumphantly,
“He’s there. He’s right in that hole this minute.”
Had the boys been able to train their pets to go in the hole and frighten
out the prey, they might have held a moose-hide sack at the entrance to
each hole and added quite rapidly to their collection of living Arctic
animals. This, however, the otters would not do. They were not looking
for a fight. And indeed, why should they? They did not live upon
squirrels and muskrats, but upon fish. “We’ll find ’em, you catch ’em,”
seemed to be their motto.
For the boys, finding the lair of the silver fox would not insure his
capture. It merely meant that they would know where he lived and would
watch that spot in the hope that he might come out on the ice in search
of food or a drink and that then they might come speeding in to grab him.
“Look!” Lawrence exclaimed suddenly, “there are Old Silver’s tracks!”
“Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to the river. He—” Suddenly
Johnny broke off to peer upstream.
“Something moving up there,” he whispered. “Maybe—”
But the otters had smelled the fox tracks and were off on swift tracking
feet. Johnny bent over to examine those tracks.
“It’s the old fellow or his brother,” he murmured. “No other fox around
here has such large feet. Boy! He’s a humdinger!”
Once more his keen eyes swept the upper reaches of the river. “Huh!” he
grunted. “Whatever that was, it’s vanished now.”
“Might as well follow the otters,” Lawrence suggested.
They did follow. Soft-footed in silence they tracked on for a mile. Up
banks and down again, over a ridge, back to the river. “Look at those
feathers!” Lawrence whispered.
“Got a ptarmigan,” said Johnny. “After that he should have made a bee
line for his lair.”
That was just what the fox had done. Straight as an arrow he had returned
to the stream, then he had sped away along its course until he came to a
huge gray rock. There the trail ended. And beneath this rock, according
to the verdict of the two singing otters, he must still lie fast asleep.
“Good old otters!” Lawrence exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.
“They’ve found us his hiding place,” Johnny agreed. “And will we watch
it? We—”
Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly upstream.
“A bear cub!” Lawrence exclaimed low. “He’s going to cross the river.”
“We—we’ll get on our sk-ates,” said Johnny excitedly. “Then let’s take
him.”
“Can we?” Lawrence was doubtful.
“Sure! We’ll lasso him and tie him up. He’ll make a grand addition to our
zoo. Come on!”
Swinging out on the shining ice, skating silently from the hips, the boys
glided like two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear cub who, at that
moment, had started to cross a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence
is, however, a game that two can play at. This the boys were to learn
very soon and to their sorrow.
One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly, upon a half-grown white
caribou, or perhaps it had been a reindeer, that had wandered down from
some far northern herd. However that might have been, they were filled
with regret at the thought that they were not equipped for capturing it
for their “zoo.” From that time on they had carried lariats and, by way
of some added safety, short, stout spears. They were thus equipped today
as they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.
“I’ll toss the lasso over his head, then you watch the fun,” Johnny
chuckled.
“I’ll watch all right,” Lawrence agreed. And he did.
Slowly, clumsily, the young bear, no larger than a good-sized dog, made
his way across the ice. The wind was away from him. He could not smell
the intruders, nor was he aware of their presence until, with a sudden
rush, Johnny was upon him.
Never will the boy forget the look of surprise that came over the young
bear’s comical face as he stared straight into his eyes. The whole affair
was easy, too easy. He passed so close to the cub that he might have
touched him. He did not. Instead, he dropped his noose over his head,
pulled it tight, then, letting out slack, whirled about to face the cub.
What would the cub do about that? He was to know instantly. Throwing
himself back on his haunches, the cub began backing and pulling like a
balky horse. On his skates, Johnny was no match for him. All he could do
was to come along. To his further annoyance, he found that his lariat had
whirled about his wrist and tied itself into a knot. As long as the cub
kept the line tight he could not untie the knot. He did not quite relish
the idea of dashing up to the cub and saying, “By your leave, I’ll untie
this knot.” So, for the moment, he played into the cub’s hand.
Then the unexpected happened. With a grunt and a snarl of rage, a huge
black bear, the cub’s mother beyond a possible doubt, dashed over a ridge
to come charging straight at Johnny and the cub.
“Hey! Hey! Look out!” Lawrence shouted. “Drop your rope and beat it.”
“I—I can’t,” Johnny cried in sudden consternation. “He—he’s got me tied.”
“Tied!” Lawrence gasped.
“It’s ’round my wrist.” Johnny watched wide-eyed while the huge mother
bear came tobogganing down the high, steep river bank. She hit the ice
like a bobsled and, dropping on hind legs and tail, came sliding straight
on.
Just in time, Johnny came to his senses and began doing a back-stroke.
Only by inches did he miss the husky swing of the angry bear’s paw.
“Cut the rope,” Lawrence shouted.
“Al-all right, I’ll—I’ll cut it.” Johnny dug into a pocket with his free
hand. A pocket knife. It must be opened. With one eye on the cub, who for
the moment sat whining, and the other upon the mother bear, who was
scrambling awkwardly to her feet, he had no eyes left for his knife. Just
as, having gripped the handle with one hand, the blade with the other, he
managed to open the knife, the cub, going into frenzied action, gave him
a sudden jerk that sent the knife spinning far out on the ice.
“It’s gone,” he groaned.
No more time for this. Old mother bear was after him. Fortunately this
old bear was heavy with fat. She had been preparing for a winter’s sleep.
Still she could travel and she was fat and furious. Her skill as a skater
was something to marvel at.
Since he could not escape from the rope, the only thing for Johnny to do
was circle. Circle he did. One time around with the bear at his heels;
two times around he had gained a little; three times around he caught the
gleam of his knife. Could he stoop and pick it up? He bent over, made a
reach for it, struck a crack with his skate and all but fell.
“I—I’ll get it next time,” he breathed.
To his surprise he found that next time the knife was well out of his
reach. Then to his utter horror, he saw that the perverse cub was
standing still, making an animated Maypole out of himself and that it
would be no time at all until the rope would be all wound around him.
They would meet face to face, cub, mother bear and boy. And after that?
He shuddered as he sped along that ever-narrowing circle.
“I’m coming in,” Lawrence shouted.
“No, you—”
Johnny could say no more. Lawrence was already in. Skating straight at
the bear to attract her attention, Lawrence shot past her and slapped her
sharply on the nose.
It was a daring and effective endeavor. Turning with a snarl, completely
abandoning her cub at this fancied insult, the bear went after him with a
rush.
That was all right as far as it went. The skating was good. The bear was
fast, but not fast enough to catch him. There is, however, an end to all
things. There was an end to that stretch of ice. It ended in a series of
rapids that were not frozen over.
Lawrence groaned as he saw open water ahead. To his added terror, he saw
that the river narrowed at that point. That the bear could outrun him on
land he knew all too well.
“Got to be an artful dodger,” he told himself.
At that moment how he rejoiced that he had trained himself as a hockey
skater. Swinging about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand
bank. But the bear was there ahead of him.
Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer blow, the boy whirled squarely
about and shot away to left. Again he was too late for a safe passage,
but not so much too late. He was gaining. Three more times, then with a
joyous intake of breath he shot past the bear and was away.
In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment from the mother bear, had
hastily unwound the surprised cub, then had rushed him with such speed
that the rope was off his neck before he could lift a paw. The cub was
free. So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.
“Johnny,” said Lawrence as he joined his companion five minutes later, “I
don’t think we want any bears in our zoo. They’re too playful.” They were
to change their minds about this, but that was to come sometime later.
“That,” said Johnny with a chuckle, “was almost funny.”
“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “almost.” He did not laugh. “Almost, but not
quite.”
A moment later he exclaimed, “Johnny! Where are the otters? We can’t lose
them.”
“They’ll probably hunt us up. They—” Johnny broke off short. “Look!” he
murmured low. “Look! There’s the silver fox. He’s out of his hole.
He—he’s going to cross the ice.”
Lawrence glanced back to the spot where the bears had been. They had
vanished. “This time,” he whispered, “we’ll get that old silver fox. We
simply must.”