Tom Dalton could not overcome the terror he experienced at the near
proximity of the wolves until Will assured him that they were safe.
“They can’t break in the door nor reach the roof.”
“But we’ll have to stay here all night.”
“Very probably, Tom, and we’ll make the best of it and try and keep
comfortable.”
It was a cheerless outlook, however, for the snow came down through the
roofless top of the cabin the same as if they were out doors.
Will adjusted some logs to form a kind of shelter, however, and then
for some time listened to the noises from the outside.
The wolves were baying and snarling and tearing at the logs as if
hungry for their expected prey.
These sounds died away after a while, the animals seeming to abandon
their assault on the cabin as useless.
“They have gone off on a new trail,” said Will; but half an hour later
his theory seemed to be an incorrect one.
Far in the distance the baying began again, came nearer and nearer, and
sounded more vicious in its echoing tones than before.
“I wonder what it means,” spoke Tom.
“They seem to be coming to the cabin again,” said Will. “Why, one of
them is tearing at the logs.”
A scraping sound emanated from the outside as Will spoke.
“Yes, and the wolf is reaching the top. Oh, Will, we are lost! Look!”
Over the edge of the roof a dark form climbed, plainly visible against
the sky.
“It’s no wolf, Tom,” said Will, quickly.
“What, then?”
“A man. Don’t you see? Some belated traveler like ourselves.”
There was no doubt of Will’s statement, for the form climbed astride
the roof pole, and, as the howling of the wolves sounded below him,
shook his fist in their direction.
“Ye varmints,” the boys heard him cry, “I’ve cheated ye this time; but
I guess this is the only tavern I’ll see to-night.”
His hat had fallen off in climbing to a place of safety, but some
object in a box was clasped in one hand.
Curious, interested at this new phase in the occurrences of the night,
the boys watched the man silently.
He kept talking down to the snarling wolves, seeking vainly to reach
him, in a quaint, complaining tone.
Then he opened the box, and, to Will’s amazement, drew forth a violin.
[Illustration]
“Ye didn’t get this, although ye’ve spoiled the party at the Corners’
tavern,” he shouted at the wolves. “I’ll give ye some music to dance
to, ye jolly varmints.”
A jolly old person himself seemed the refugee, for, without more ado,
as if rather enjoying his strange dilemma than otherwise, he began
playing a quick, merry tune on his violin.
“Hello!”
As the strains of melody died away, Will shouted the word to the
musician.
The latter started and stared all around him.
“Curious,” he muttered; “I knew music tamed animals, but to make ’em
speak! Why, it’s some one inside the cabin,” he cried, in surprise,
looking down as Will shouted up to him again. “Who are you?”
“Two boys driven here by the storm and the wolves.”
“Well, well, if this ain’t a night of adventures my name ain’t Jabez
Brown,” muttered the stranger. “Catch the fiddle, youngsters, and don’t
let it drop, for it’s my bread and butter. I’m coming down.”
He lowered the violin and followed it nimbly, staring curiously at his
young companions in distress.
His big, honest eyes fairly shone in the semi-darkness of the hut as
he questioned Will rapidly, and the latter briefly related the causes
leading to their present dilemma.
In return, the musician informed them that they were in the vicinity
of two isolated settlements, that he was a schoolmaster and musician,
and that he was on his way to a place called “the Corners,” to play at
a party at the tavern, when the storm belated him and the wolves drove
him to the old cabin.
“It ain’t safe to venture out before daylight,” he said, “for the
storm’s heavy and the wolves are as thick as bees. We’ll build a fire
in the old fireplace yonder and keep warm, and I’ve got a little lunch
in my pocket here.”
The bustling old musician, with the help of the boys, made a slanting
cover of the loose logs in the cabin, and then, with his knife, cut
some kindling from one of them.
A cheerful fire soon blazed in the fireplace, warming the chilled
denizens of the hut. The stranger’s lunch was very welcome to the boys,
and his merry stories of frontier life kept them entertained until
nearly morning.
At daylight they started over a trackless waste of snow for the
Corners. Here the boys found some kind-hearted friends of Brown, who
welcomed them to a cozy home until they could decide as to their future
course.
A discussion of the situation with Brown led to an abandonment of the
hope of again joining Mr. Hunter.
The only settlement they could remember where a station had been made,
they were informed, was many miles to the west, through a trackless
wilderness.
“We will have to work our way back to Watertown,” decided Will, and the
ensuing day an opportunity presented itself to begin their progress
homewards.
The storekeeper intended driving to a town some fifty miles distant for
goods, and offered to give them a free ride.
When they reached the place they learned that it would be easier for
them to reach the seacoast and then proceed home than to pass through a
less inhabited portion direct to Watertown.
Four days after leaving the Corners, by means of occasional rides from
farmers and others, they reached the city of Portland.
“We won’t be long in reaching Watertown now,” said Will, confidently.
“Why not?” inquired Tom.
“Because there must be some ships going that way, and I am acquainted
with a good many of the sailors.”
The first place he visited was the wharves of the city. It was
just dusk when they came to a dock where a large ship, which Will
recognized, was moored.
Tom, less observing than his companion, had not noticed it particularly.
“There seems to be only one ship we know here,” said Will.
“I haven’t seen any.”
“Look yonder, then. That one lying nearest to us runs regularly to
Watertown.”
Tom started as he recognized the craft, and looked dismayed.
For it was the Golden Moose.