UP A TREE
“It’s a hold-up,” Bob thought, as he nudged Jack, and at the same
time placed his hand over the boy’s mouth.
“What’s the matter?” Jack whispered, in a low tone.
“Looks as though we’d been held up,” Bob replied.
But just then he heard words which reassured him:
“We’ve had our eyes on you for some time, Sandy, and you might as
well come clean. It’ll be the best for you in the end.”
“But I’m a tellin’ yer, Jake, thot I hain’t got a mite o’ liquor on
board,” they heard the Irishman protest.
“Mebby not just now,” came the reply. “But I knew well enough that
you had some on the down trip.”
“So help me——” Sandy began, but the officer cut him short.
“No use in denying it, man. I wouldn’t believe you on a stack of
Bibles. A man that’ll run whiskey’ll lie about it till he’s black in
the face. Anyhow, we’re going to have a look at what you got, and,
mind you, no funny business.”
Bob now thought it was time that they were showing themselves; so,
with a low whisper to Jack, he threw off his blanket and got up on
the seat, and Jack followed him almost as quickly.
It was very dark and at first they were unable to locate the men
they had heard talking. But soon their eyes became accustomed to the
darkness and they made out the forms of three men standing near the
horse’s heads. At the same time a ray of light from an electric
torch struck Bob full in the face.
“Hello, who’s this?” the man who held the light asked, turning to
the driver.
“Jest a couple o’ kids ridin’ up ter Jackman,” Sandy replied.
“Hum, well we won’t take any chances just the same,” the officer
declared. Then, coming close to the side of the sled, he ordered:
“You boys jump out lively now, and I guess you’d better keep your
hands up too till we give you the once over. What’s your names?”
Bob told him, and instantly the man’s attitude changed.
“Bob and Jack Golden, eh,” he repeated, as he flashed his light full
upon them again, “Well, well, so it is. I’ve seen you boys in
Skowhegan often enough to know you. You can put your hands down. I
know you’re all right, but I didn’t expect to see you way off up
here and at this time of night.”
The boys thanked the officer and climbed out of the pung.
“Somebody’s been toting a powerful lot of whiskey from Jackman down
to Skowhegan,” the officer whispered to Bob, “and we’re pretty sure
that Sandy has had a big hand in it. It’s stuff that’s brought
across the border and, of course, there’s a tremendous profit in it.
I don’t suppose that he’s got any on board now, as he’s going the
wrong way; and I told Jim, back there, that it was foolish to stop
him coming this way, but the poor boob couldn’t see it and insisted
on doing it, so we might as well have a look.”
The look was very thorough but, as the officer expected, nothing of
a contraband nature was found.
“Sure an’ it’s meself as told yer that I didn’t have nothin’,” Sandy
declared, as soon as the search was finished.
“I know you did, Sandy,” the officer said, “but we have almost
certain knowledge that you’ve been running whiskey and I want to
tell you now that if you keep it up we’ll get you and it’ll be the
jug for yours. Better cut it out.”
Sandy made no reply and the officers drove off in their light cutter
and the boys took their places once more in the pung.
“How far are we from Jackman?” Bob asked, as he glanced at his watch
and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock.
“Only ’bout four miles,” the driver replied, as he cracked his long
lash over the heads of the horses.
It was evident from his tone that the man was mad and they asked no
more questions and Sandy did not speak again except to shout to the
horses. A little less than an hour later they drew up in front of
the hotel where they were to spend the night.
The boys paid Sandy for the trip, and, in less than a half hour,
were sound asleep.
They were up before daylight, and having arranged the night before
for an early breakfast, they were ready to start on their long and
uncertain tramp just as the sun was showing in the east.
It was a beautiful morning; such, as Jack declared, is made only in
northern Maine. The thermometer on the porch showed an even zero and
the air was still and clear.
“It doesn’t seem possible that we’ll be sweating before noon,” Jack
declared, as he drank in huge gulps of the stinging air. “Are you
sure you can find the way?” he asked, as they strapped their packs
on their backs.
“Well, we want to hit North West Carry first, and I know the way
that far anyhow, as I went over the trail from here once with
father. It was that winter you had pneumonia,” Bob replied, as he
started off at a rapid walk.
They had no need for snow-shoes now, as the crust was hard enough to
hold a horse, so they carried them strapped on top of the packs.
“We ought to make the Carry by noon easy,” he declared, as he swung
along. “It’s not more than fifteen miles from here. We’ll get dinner
there and then we won’t have to start on our supply till night.”
As the sun rose higher and higher, the temperature seemed to more
than keep pace with it, and by nine o’clock they were glad to stop
and take off their heavy mackinaws, which they added to their packs.
The sun was now getting in his work on the snow, and soon they were
obliged to don their snow-shoes. And now their progress became much
slower as the melting snow showed a decided tendency to cling to the
shoes until they became so heavy that they seemed like lead.
“Gee whiz, but this bears a great resemblance to work,” Jack panted,
as he stopped and leaned against a big spruce. “How far do you think
we are from the Carry?” he asked.
“Not more than a mile or two,” Bob replied cheerfully. “Getting
tired?”
“Well, I don’t know as you’d call it tired,” Jack laughed. “But I
never knew snow could get so sticky.”
“It sure is kinder heavy,” Bob smiled. “But you see we’ve been in
the open most of the time where the sun gets a good whack at it.
After we leave the Carry it’ll be most all woods and I hardly think
the snow’ll be so wet. Let’s hope not anyway.”
It was only a little past ten o’clock when they reached the North
West Carry, a small settlement consisting of a few log cabins and a
general store, at the extreme northwestern point of Moosehead Lake.
During the summer and fall it is a busy place thronged with summer
visitors and hunters, but now it was all but deserted. The boys knew
no one there as they had spent the most of their time, when at the
lake, on the other shore.
There was no one in the store as they entered except the man who ran
it, but he greeted them as though they were the first outsiders he
had seen for a long time.
“You look as if you’d found some prutty hard tramping,” he said
after he had shaken them both by the hand.
“Sure is pretty hard going after the snow gets soft,” Bob smiled. “I
wonder if we can get dinner anywhere here?” he asked.
“You wait a minute and I’ll see if the wife can fix you up,” the
storekeeper replied as he left the store by a back door.
He was back again almost immediately with the welcome news that if
they could wait a half hour dinner would be ready for them.
“Where you boys goin’?” he asked as he motioned to them to sit down.
“That is,” he added, “if I hain’t stickin’ my nose inter what’s none
of my business.”
For a second Bob hesitated, then thinking that it could do no
possible harm to tell him, he explained their mission.
The storekeeper, a man about sixty years old, listened intently
until he had finished.
“So you are goin’ ter hike it up ter Musquacook, eh,” he said
slowly.
“Yes. Do you know how far it is from here?” Bob asked.
“Wall, it about sixty-five miles as the crow flies but ye’ll have
ter go ’bout five miles outter yer way ter git round Churchill
Lake,” the man replied. Then, as if a sudden thought struck him, he
asked, “Ye don’t happen ter know what that guide’s name was, do ye?”
“No.” Bob replied. “You see, they went in from Presque Isle.”
“I see,” the man said soberly. “Course I hope yer friend’s all right
but I do know that there’s some mighty onery guys what call
themselves guides over that way.”
Just then a woman stuck her head in at the door and said that dinner
was ready. The boys followed their host into what was evidently the
combined sitting-room and dinning-room back of the store.
“We don’t put on much style here but you’re welcome to what we got,”
he said as he motioned to them to sit up at the table.
In another moment the storekeeper’s wife, a motherly woman of about
his age, brought in a steak which fairly made the boys gasp. She sat
it on the table in front of them with a word of apology.
“If I had known that you were coming I’d have had something fit for
you to eat.”
“My goodness, if that steak isn’t fit to eat I hope I never see one
that is,” Jack gasped as he watched the rich juice oozing out.
The woman flushed with pleasure at the praise and, a moment later,
brought in a large dish of potatoes fried a rich brown, and a plate
of fresh biscuits.
“There, I hope you’ll be able to make out,” she said as she sat the
last dish down.
“If we can’t we ought to starve,” Bob declared as he helped himself
to a piece of the steak which was all of three inches thick.
And as he told Jack afterward, it was just as good as it looked. So
tender that they could almost cut it with a fork, they both declared
that it was the best steak they had ever eaten. For dessert they had
a huge piece of apple pie covered with rich yellow cream.
“I never ate a better dinner in my life,” Bob declared as he pushed
back his chair. And Jack heartily seconded the statement.
Both the man and his wife seemed much pleased at their praise.
“And now how much do I owe you?” Bob asked as he pulled out his
pocketbook.
“Not a cent,” the man shook his head. “You are welcome to what ye
had.”
Bob started to insist but the man refused to listen and, seeing that
he would be offended if he pushed the matter further, he gave up the
argument and both boys thanked the man and his wife for their
kindness.
“I only hope that we may be able to do as much for you sometime,”
Bob declared.
“Talk about being goodhearted,” Jack said a little later, when they
were again on their way. “That man’s a king and his wife’s a queen,
and I can lick the fellow who disputes it.”
“Well, you won’t have to lick me on that score,” Bob laughed. “I
most heartily indorse your sentiments.”
Almost as soon as they left the Carry they plunged into thick woods.
Here the snow was much deeper than out in the open but, as Bob
hoped, it was not so wet and the traveling was easier, although it
was by no means good.
They had gone but a short distance when Bob stopped and pulled a map
out of his pocket.
“Now here’s a map of this part of the state,” he explained. “Here’s
where we are now and there’s where we want to go. I’ve got my
compass with me and I’m going to lay a course and keep by it as
closely as I can. As near as I can figure it out,” he said a moment
later, after carefully studying the map, “Musquacook Lake is about
twenty points east of north, and that’s just about that way,” and he
pointed with his finger. “We must do our best to keep it straight as
we don’t want to lose any more time than we can help.”
It was impossible to make anything like fast time and the boys were
too wise to tire themselves out by trying to hurry. A steady easy
pace they knew would result in the most speed in the end. So they
ploughed steadily forward only stopping now and then to consult the
compass.
“My, but this is great timber up here,” Bob declared after they had
covered some miles. He stopped as he spoke and looked about him at
the mighty spruce trees which lifted their lofty heads high up into
the air. “I’ll bet it would cut close on to 15,000 feet to the acre
right here.”
“Wouldn’t wonder,” Jack replied. “I wonder who owns it.”
“Don’t know, but whoever does has got one pretty bit of timber,” Bob
replied.
They started on again, but had gone a short distance when Jack, who
was leading, stopped suddenly and, pointing ahead, said,
“I say, Bob, look at that spruce will you.”
Bob looked and saw, a few feet ahead of them, a queer looking
spruce. It stood in the center of a small clearing, perhaps twenty
feet across. The middle branches had been trimmed away in a broad
ring, leaving the tufted top and the bushy bottom, with only the
bare trunk in between.
“What, in the world, do you make of that?” Jack asked.
For a moment Bob did not reply. He was deep in thought. Then, as
Jack was about to ask him again, he said:
“Unless I’m very much mistaken that’s a lop stick.”
“Come again, please,” Jack laughed.
“I said it is a lop stick.”
“Well, it’s lopped all right, all right,” Jack declared. “But how
did it get that way?”
“Some Indian trimmed it that way,” Bob explained. “You see,” he went
on, “it’s a kind of a talisman or mascot. I remember reading, not
long ago, that a certain tribe of Indians do that to trees. You see
an Indian trims a certain tree that way and then he believes that,
in some way, his fate is linked with it. That’s about all I know
about it.”
“Well, they can’t be very abundant around here,” Jack said as they
started off again.
About four o’clock it began to grow colder and as the sun sank lower
in the west, the snow began to stiffen, and they were able to make
better time. Rapidly the temperature fell with the sun and soon they
stopped and put on their mackinaws.
“I believe the crust will hold in another half hour,” Jack declared.
“But I’m ready to call it a day. How about you?”
“I’m pretty tired myself and as soon as we find a good place to
camp, I move that we do it. We must have made pretty near twenty
miles from the Carry.”
It was after five o’clock and it had been a hard day.
“How about that for a place?” Jack asked a few minutes later as they
came to a small clear place. “We can dig away the snow at the foot
of that big pine and there’s lots of water in that little brook.”
“I guess it’ll do as well as any other,” Bob decided after a hasty
glance around.
They quickly threw off their packs and, breaking through the light
crust, they soon had a hole about six feet long by four wide, down
to the bare ground, using the snow-shoes as shovels.
“I’ll make the beds if you’ll get the fire going,” Bob said and to
this Jack readily agreed.
He had no trouble in finding plenty of dead branches and in a short
time a brisk fire was burning near the “bedroom.” In the meantime
Bob had been cutting spruce boughs with a small hatchet which Sim
had loaned them. These he spread on the ground in the hole which
they had dug, until he had a bed nearly a foot thick. Over them he
spread a thick blanket and the bed was ready.
“Gee, but I’d like another whack at that steak,” Jack said a little
later as they sat by the fire eating their supper of sandwiches
washed down with huge mouthsful of hot coffee. “These sandwiches are
all right, but oh you beefsteak.”
“You said a mouthful then,” Bob laughed as he drained the coffee pot
into his tin dipper.
Darkness was silently stealing through the vast forest as they
finished the simple meal and by the time they had washed their
plates and cups in the brook, it was almost dark.
“We want to be off as soon as it is light in the morning,” Bob said
as he threw a couple of big logs, which he had found near the camp,
on to the fire.
“If we get started early enough we ought to make twenty miles or
more before the snow gets soft, so I move that we hit the hay right
off.”
“I guess you mean hit the boughs,” Jack laughed. “But anyhow if you
have the idea of going to bed in your mind I’m with you. I’m tired
enough to go to sleep standing up.”
So they lost no time in crawling into the sleeping bags, which lined
with sheep’s wool, were very warm, and pulling over themselves
another blanket, they were soon lost to the world.
The next day was Sunday and they never did any traveling on that day
if it could be avoided. But, in the present case, they both felt
that it was perfectly justifiable.
Long ago Bob had acquired the ability to wake at any time he desired
and, before going to sleep, he had set his mental alarm clock, as he
called it, for four o’clock, and almost to the minute he opened his
eyes. It was still dark and for an instant he wondered where he was.
Then memory, aided by the heavy scent of the spruce boughs, returned
and moving quietly, so as not to disturb his brother, he crawled out
of his bag.
A few live embers still smouldered among the ashes of last night’s
fire and, with the aid of a few bits of birch bark, he soon had the
blaze leaping toward the sky.
Jack was a much sounder sleeper than his brother and, knowing that
the boy would need all his strength for the strenuous day ahead, he
let him sleep until breakfast was ready.
“Why didn’t you let me sleep all day and be done with it,” Jack
growled when Bob finally woke him.
“It’s all right, dear boy,” Bob smiled. “There was no need of both
of us getting up so early and I was awake and so I got up.”
“Of course you didn’t have it planned or anything like that. Oh no,
of course not. You always want to do all of your own work and a good
part of mine too.”
Bob laughed.
“Never mind the bouquets,” he said. “Come and get some of these
flapjacks under your belt and we’ll be hitting the long trail.”
Dawn was just breaking when they started. It was cold and not a
sound, save the soft creak of the frozen snow beneath their
moccasins, broke the silence. One by one, as it seemed, the stars
faded from out the cloudless sky as the darkness gave way to light.
The sharp air, heavily laden with the odor of spruce and of balsam,
made their lungs tingle with life as they drew in great gulps.
“My, but it’s great just to be alive a morning like this,” Bob
declared.
“And especially up here in the Maine woods,” Jack added.
“You said it,” Bob smiled. “It beats me how a man can be content to
spend his life in a city and never know what the great out of doors
is like.”
Their way led through dense woods nearly all the time, and thanks to
the heavy shade, the snow did not begin to soften until nearly
eleven o’clock. By that time Bob estimated that they had made all of
twenty miles and perhaps a little more.
“Guess this is a good place for dinner,” he said as they came to a
tiny stream about a foot wide. The land here was evidently rocky as
the water was running with great swiftness. “I’ll bet this stream
will be a rod wide in a few days, when the snow begins to go in good
earnest,” he said as he threw off his pack.
“We better rest for an hour,” Bob suggested after they had eaten
their simple lunch. “We’ll more than make up for it. No use in
wearing ourselves out and the going from now till night is going to
be pretty heavy, let me tell you.”
They had been sitting on an old log for several minutes when,
suddenly, a short distance away to their right, came a sound which
made Bob jump to his feet. It sounded like the noise which a small
boy makes when he blows on a horn made from a pumpkin vine.
“That’s a bull moose,” Bob said in a low tone, “and I’m afraid he’s
coming this way.”
The boys had seen a number of deer since leaving the Carry the
previous day, but although they had crossed a number of tracks, they
had sighted no moose. Usually unless wounded a moose will run from
man, but if hurt they will not hesitate to attack, striking with
their fore feet and horns. A single blow from one of the sharp hoofs
is almost always fatal.
“What of it?” Jack asked as he too got to his feet. “This isn’t the
mating season and he’ll run as soon as he sees us.”
“He will unless he happens to be hurt,” Bob agreed as he peered
through the thick trees.
Just then the call sounded and this time it was much nearer.
“He’s coming all right and it sounds to me as though he was mad
about something. There he comes, see,” and Bob pointed with his
hand.
The moose, a magnificent specimen, as large as a large horse, was
slowly making his way toward them, sinking nearly to his belly in
the deep snow. A moose’s sense of smell is very keenly developed but
a fairly strong wind was blowing toward the boys and, as they kept
very quiet, he was unaware of their presence until he was less than
thirty feet from them.
“If he charges jump for that tree,” Bob whispered.
As soon as the moose saw the two boys he stopped and for a moment
stood gazing at them as though undecided what to do about it.
“Look, Bob,” Jack whispered, “No wonder he’s mad. Look at that right
shoulder.”
Bob looked and saw that the shoulder was badly torn and was bleeding
freely.
Bob did not have time to speak for, at that moment the moose,
evidently deciding that, in some way, the two boys were responsible
for his injury, lowered his head and with an angry snort plunged
forward.
“Quick old man. He’s coming. Grab your snow-shoes,” he shouted as he
made for a big spruce with low branches.
Fortunately their packs were at the foot of this tree and as Bob
leaped for the lowest bough and swung himself up Jack quickly handed
them to him. Although the snow was deep and the moose was unable to
make fast time, there was no time to lose and Jack barely escaped
the horns as he swung himself up beside Bob.
“I thought you’d never get those bags up,” Bob said with a sigh of
relief.
The moose stood at the foot of the tree angrily pawing the snow and
sending call after call through the forest.
“Sorry we can’t accept your kind invitation and come down,” Jack
chuckled from his perch some ten feet above the moose’s head. “But
really I don’t like the looks of those horns. I say, Bob, how long
do you think our friend will favor us with his company?”
“That’s hard to say,” Bob replied shaking his head. “But they’re
mighty persistent critters once they get their mind fixed on an
idea, and this boy seems to have his fixed pretty firmly on us just
at present.”
“Well, I hope he gets another idea pretty soon so we can be on our
way,” Jack said as he shifted to a more comfortable position.
“Great Scott, Jack, I forgot all about Rex for the minute,” Bob
cried in alarm. “We can’t stay here. Think what it may mean to Rex.
An hour sooner or later may make all the difference.”
“Spoken like a general,” Jack declared. “But our friend below seems
to be master of ceremonies just now.”
“Don’t you think we’d be justified in shooting him?” Bob asked.
“Have you got the Winchester?”
“Sure. It was tied to my pack.”
“Then I believe I’d do it. It looks to me as though he’d bleed to
death in time anyhow, and we certainly ought to be on our way as you
said.”
“I hate to do it, but I honestly think it’s the only way out,” Bob
said slowly as he reached for the rifle. “He’s apt to keep us here
for hours.”
As he cocked the rifle the moose turned slightly and exposed his
left side. Bob took careful aim at a spot just back of the fore leg
and pulled the trigger. For a second the moose stood as if
surprised, then slowly he began to totter and, with a low moan, sank
to the ground.
“Right through the heart,” Jack cried. “He never knew what hit him.”
“I feel almost like a murderer,” Bob declared as he lowered himself
to the snow. “I certainly do hate to shoot anything.”
“Well, I do too for that matter, but it couldn’t be helped. In this
case there’s no good in feeling bad about it,” Jack assured him as
he began to fasten on his snow-shoes.
Again the going was heavy and their progress slow. Still they
expected it and so took it philosophically. After they had been
trudging about an hour they suddenly came to a large lake.
“This must be Churchill Lake,” Bob declared as he stopped and took
out his map. “See. We must be right here and if so then we’ve kept a
mighty straight course.”
“Funny the ice hasn’t gone yet,” Jack said as he looked out over the
frozen surface.
“Not so strange,” Bob assured him. “The ice goes out of some of
these lakes much earlier than others, and I guess this must be one
of the late ones.”
“Think it’ll be safe to cross it?” Jack asked.
“Not on your life,” Bob answered quickly. “That ice must be pretty
rotten by now and, anyhow, we wouldn’t gain much as our way is
nearly straight up past it.”
“About how long is it?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “But from the map I should say that it
was ten or fifteen miles. These maps are not much good when it comes
to estimating distance.”
“Well, I guess we go up the left side don’t we?” Jack asked.
“I should say so,” Bob replied studying the map. “If this map gives
the right shape of the lake it would be quite a lot out of our way
to go around that point on the right side.”
They had made seven or eight miles more, keeping the lake in sight
the most of the time when, suddenly, they came to a large stream,
still covered with ice. As is apt to be the case there was but
little snow over the ice.
“Suppose that ice’ll hold?” Jack asked as he stopped on the bank.
“Looks pretty good, but you never can tell this time of year. Let me
try it first,” Bob said as he started to take off his snow-shoes.
“Not much, you won’t,” Jack replied as he hastily kicked off his
shoes and started across the ice heedless of Bob’s orders to wait.
Jack had reached the other bank in safety when he heard a loud crash
and a frightened cry. He turned and, for an instant, his heart
stopped beating. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a large hole in the
ice near the middle of the stream, told only too plainly what had
become of him.