During that same winter I caught many wolves and foxes who did not have
Bingo's good luck in escaping the traps, which I kept out right into the
spring, for bounties are good even when fur is not.
Kennedy's Plain was always a good trapping ground because it was
unfrequented by man and yet lay between the heavy woods and the
settlement. I had been fortunate with the fur here, and late in April
rode in on one of my regular rounds.
The wolf-traps are made of heavy steel and have two springs, each of one
hundred pounds power. They are set in fours around a buried bait, and
after being strongly fastened to concealed logs are carefully covered in
cotton and in fine sand so as to be quite invisible. A prairie wolf was
caught in one of these. I killed him with a club and throwing him aside
proceeded to reset the trap as I had done so many hundred times before.
All was quickly done. I threw the trap-wrench over toward the pony, and
seeing some fine sand nearby, I reached out for a handful of it to add a
good finish to the setting.
Oh, unlucky thought! Oh, mad heedlessness born of long immunity! That
fine sand was on the next wolftrap and in an instant I was a prisoner.
Although not wounded, for the traps have no teeth, and my thick trapping
gloves deadened the snap, I was firmly caught across the hand above the
knuckles. Not greatly alarmed at this, I tried to reach the trap-wrench
with my right foot. Stretching out at full length, face downward, I
worked myself toward it, making my imprisoned arm as long and straight
as possible. I could not see and reach at the same time, but counted on
my toe telling me when I touched the little iron key to my fetters. My
first effort was a failure; strain as I might at the chain my toe struck
no metal. I swung slowly around my anchor, but still failed. Then a
painfully taken observation showed I was much too far to the west. I set
about working around, tapping blindly with my toe to discover the key.
Thus wildly groping with my right foot I forgot about the other till
there was a sharp 'clank' and the iron jaws of trap No. 5 closed tight
on my left foot.
The terrors of the situation did not, at first, impress me, but I soon
found that all my struggles were in vain. I could not get free from
either trap or move the traps together, and there I lay stretched out
and firmly staked to the ground.
What would become of me now? There was not much danger of freezing for
the cold weather was over, but Kennedy's Plain was never visited by the
winter wood-cutters. No one knew where I had gone, and unless I could
manage to free myself there was no prospect ahead but to be devoured by
wolves, or else die of cold and starvation.
As I lay there the red sun went down over the spruce swamp west of the
plain, and a shorelark on a gopher mound a few yards off twittered his
evening song, just as one had done the night before at our shanty door,
and though the numb pains were creeping up my arm, and a deadly chill
possessed me, I noticed how long his little ear-tufts were. Then my
thoughts went to the comfortable supper-table at Wright's shanty, and I
thought, now they are frying the pork for supper, or just sitting
down. My pony still stood as I left him with his bridle on the ground
patiently waiting to take me home. He did not understand the long delay,
and when I called, he ceased nibbling the grass and looked at me in
dumb, helpless inquiry. If he would only go home the empty saddle might
tell the tale and bring help. But his very faithfulness kept him waiting
hour after hour while I was perishing of cold and hunger.
Then I remembered how old Girou the trapper had been lost, and in the
following spring his comrades found his skeleton held by the leg in a
bear-trap. I wondered which part of my clothing would show my identity.
Then a new thought came to me. This is how a wolf feels when he is
trapped. Oh! what misery have I been responsible for! Now I'm to pay for
it.
Night came slowly on. A prairie wolf howled, the pony pricked up his
ears and, walking nearer to me, stood with his head down. Then another
prairie wolf howled and another, and I could make out that they were
gathering in the neighborhood. There I lay prone and helpless, wondering
if it would not be strictly just that they should come and tear me to
pieces. I heard them calling for a long time before I realized that
dim, shadowy forms were sneaking near. The horse saw them first, and his
terrified snort drove them back at first, but they came nearer next
time and sat around me on the prairie. Soon one bolder than the others
crawled up and tugged at the body of his dead relative. I shouted and he
retreated growling. The pony ran to a distance in terror. Presently
the wolf returned, and after after two or three of these retreats and
returns, the body was dragged off and devoured by the rest in a few
minutes.
After this they gathered nearer and sat on their haunches to look at
me, and the boldest one smelt the rifle and scratched dirt on it.
He retreated when I kicked at him with my free foot and shouted, but
growing bolder as I grew weaker he came and snarled right in my face.
At this several others snarled and came up closer, and I realized that I
was to be devoured by the foe that I most despised; when suddenly out
of the gloom with a guttural roar sprang a great black wolf. The prairie
wolves scattered like chaff except the bold one, which, seized by the
black new-comer, was in a few moments a draggled corpse, and then, oh
horrors! this mighty brute bounded at me and--Bingo--noble Bingo, rubbed
his shaggy, panting sides against me and licked my cold face.
"Bingo--Bing--old--boy--Fetch me the trap wrench!" Away he went and
returned dragging the rifle, for he knew only that I wanted something.
"No--Bing--the trap-wrench." This time it was my sash, but at last
he brought the wrench and wagged his tail in joy that it was right.
Reaching out with my free hand, after much difficulty I unscrewed the
pillar-nut. The trap fell apart and my hand was released, and a minute
later I was free. Bing brought the pony up, and after slowly walking to
restore the circulation I was able to mount. Then slowly at first but
soon at a gallop, with Bingo as herald careering and barking ahead, we
set out for home, there to learn that the night before, though never
taken on the trapping rounds, the brave dog had acted strangely,
whimpering and watching the timber-trail; and at last when night came
on, in spite of attempts to detain him he had set out in the gloom and
guided by a knowledge that is beyond us had reached the spot in time to
avenge me as well as set me free.
Staunch old Bing--he was a strange dog. Though his heart was with me,
he passed me next day with scarcely a look, but responded with alacrity
when little Gordon called him to a gopher-hunt. And it was so to the
end; and to the end also he lived the wolfish life that he loved, and
never failed to seek the winter-killed horses and found one again with
a poisoned bait, and wolfishly bolted that; then feeling the pang, set
out, not for Wright's but to find me, and reached the door of my shanty
where I should have been. Next day on returning I found him dead in the
snow with his head on the sill of the door--the door of his puppyhood's
days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts--it was my help he
sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity.