BEAR’S CLAWS――THE TURKEY TRAIN.
When the boys awoke in the morning they found the Woodranger already
astir. In fact, he had not only brought the wood and re-kindled the
fire, but he had some fine fish broiling and had completed the other
preparations for breakfast.
“Why didn’t you speak to us,” said Norman, “and we would have helped
you?”
“Nay, lad, that would have been childish in me. You will find afore
night that you have needed every bit o’ rest you have got. You have a
goodish walk afore you to-day.”
“I think you said we should reach Pawtuckaway Mountain to-day?”
“I trust we shall be ’lowed to reach there by sundown, though we shall
have no water-courses to help us out. But you have none too much time
in which to wash for breakfast. This fish to be at its best needs to be
eaten smoking hot. That is the great secret o’ the flavour o’ all food.
Nothing is so good that has been ’lowed to lose the flavour o’ its
cooking.”
During the meal, at Bitlock’s request, the Woodranger concluded to let
Norman and Rob take him across the pond in the canoe, in order that
he might return home. Before they started, Johnny Stark went in quest
of the firearm, which the frightened man had thrown away the previous
night.
The journey across the pond and back proving uneventful, upon the
return of Norman and Rob the Woodranger carefully concealed his canoe,
so they might have it on their way back, after which they “broke camp”
at the Devil’s Den.
Their course now lay through a wilderness of vegetation. At first they
advanced quite rapidly through the pine forest, but upon reaching the
expanses of smaller hard woods, such as gray birches, hazels, dogwoods,
alders, sumachs, ironwoods, water-bushes, grapes, apple shrubs, and
running hemlocks, which grew almost everywhere in the swamp and along
the margins of the streams, they often found it difficult to get along.
Here the Woodranger showed the advantage of his training by the greater
ease and speed with which he picked his way.
“It comes very much o’ practice,” he said, as Billy Stark for the
twentieth time was sent flying headlong to the ground by getting caught
in a network of vines. “If you had brought your foot around with a
swinging stride, and not tried to step so boldly over it, lad, you
ne’er would have got caught as you did. But, alack a man, a lad like
you ne’er minds a tumble like that. I do believe you enj’y it. It does
you good. Look hyur, lads!”
The Woodranger’s speech had taken a sudden turn, and ended with an
earnestness which caused the boys to hasten to his side with what
speed they could. He had stopped near the bank of a small stream, and,
as they joined him, pointed to some freshly made tracks in the soft
earth near the water’s edge. The imprint was as wide as that made by
the forester’s moccasin, though shorter, so as to give it a more round
shape. Rob Rogers was the first to recognise it, and he exclaimed, with
some excitement:
“A bear’s track, Woodranger!”
“B’ar sign sure, lad. And the creatur’ has been here inside an hour.
See how it has trod its way to its drinking-place.”
The boys had already seen a beaten path leading to the place, and at
once they said:
“Shall we follow him up, Woodranger?”
The forester shook his head.
“We have no use for him just now. Mebbe when we come back we’ll try a
hand with him. But you remember it is buck or moose that we are the
most detarmined to find. Until we have satisfied our peace o’ mind in
that direction other game must wait.”
Half an hour’s advance was then made in comparative silence, when again
the Woodranger stopped, and, with a smile on his lips, pointed to the
ground, saying:
“Can you read that sign, Robby?”
The boy ranger and his young companions quickly reached the spot, to
see a smaller imprint than that made by the bear, but which bore some
resemblance to it.
“Wildcat!” was Rob’s prompt reply.
“How do you know but it’s a cub’s track?” asked the forester.
“In the bear’s tracks there were traces of the claws, but here there
are none to be seen. Besides, the track is not so round.”
“Good for you, lad. It is a wildcat, and a big one, jedging by its
foot. How long since it was here?”
“Less than an hour. The earth is scarcely dry here where the sun does
not fall.”
“Good jedgment, lad. But I reckon we have as leetle use for cat as we
have for b’ar at this time. We’ll let the varmint go his way, while we
go ours. In the hollow o’er that ridge, if I mistake not, we shall
find something for our dinner. Hark! hear that?”
The loud, piercing scream of a hawk had broken the silence of the
forest, and looking up through a rift in the forest canopy they
discovered the lone bird circling in the air, as it kept up its cries
of alarm.
“Let me get a shot at it!” cried Billy, excitedly.
“A wanton waste o’ powder, lad,” said the Woodranger. “Instead o’
firing away your ammunition, let’s watch the bird a bit. I opine it is
pretty well frightened.”
“What can have frightened it?”
“A man and a white one at that. Just wait a minute and see if I’m not
right.”
“How can you know it is a white man?”
“Because a red is too often seen to raise all that rumpus for, and――ha!
just as I expected. And the fool has burned his powder for nothing.”
The report of a gun had been heard in the midst of the forester’s
speech, immediately following which, with a louder scream, the hawk
flew to a greater height.
“Who can it be?” asked Norman.
“Not one you would be hankering to meet, if my ol’ ears don’t deceive
me,” replied the Woodranger, resuming his advance.
“You don’t mean Gunwad?”
“I do. None but sich a varmint would be wasting his ammunition on a
hawk. No truer saying than ‘birds o’ feather flock together’ was e’er
spoken; and it is equally true that birds o’ feather war on each other.”
“But how could you tell this was Gunwad? You must have had another
reason for being so sure.”
“Exactly, lad. I knowed it was the deer reeve by the peculiar sound o’
his gun. If you want the proof o’ sight we’ll perambulate that way.”
“No――no! But can you tell any one by the report of his gun?”
“Ginerally, lad, after a fair trial. I find it is a handy knack.”
After this, little was said for half an hour. Norman was thinking of
the near presence of Gunwad, and was wondering if his having come into
that region meant anything to him. In one respect he was relieved to
know the unprincipled deer reeve was near; he could not be troubling
those at home. This fear had made him loath to leave them. In the midst
of his speculations he found that the Woodranger had again stopped,
and the boys had imitated his example. As the little group waited in
silence, the younger members of the party wondering what this sudden
halt signified, a tremulous, guttural cry, repeated three times in
rapid succession, reached their ears.
“There’s our dinner,” said the forester, in a low tone, “and I will
warrant you he is a fat old gobbler. Mind you how husky his voice is.
To save running after him I will ask him to come and deliver himself
up.”
When the Woodranger had finished speaking, he placed his left hand to
his lips, and half closing it, he gave expression to a cry so like that
of the wild turkey that even Rob Rogers looked surprised. Giving this
sound three times in quick succession, he stopped and listened with his
companions.
They didn’t have to wait long before the answer was sounded, louder
and clearer than the notes before. Again the Woodranger gave forth
his challenge, and again he received his reply. When these calls and
replies had been made alternately half a dozen times, it was evident
the turkey was near at hand. Each time the answering cry grew nearer
and clearer, until the forester, parting the shrubbery with one hand,
and pointing into the forest ahead with the other, said, in a whisper:
“See the old fellow and his brood! I s’pose you are anxious to try your
hands, lads, and you’ll have no fairer chance. Take your pick, and fire
when I give the word.”
It was a beautiful sight that greeted the eyes of the boys, as their
companion ceased speaking, and one that must have stirred the heart of
any sportsman. Marching through the forest, with head held high, with
the air of one leading a victorious legion, strutted the largest turkey
gobbler any of them had ever seen. Close behind him came the hen, and
at her heels, following in single file, like a war-party of red men
going to battle, were the family brood of ten, the young nearly as
large as the parent turkeys.
Notwithstanding his great weight, the leader stepped noiselessly over
the leaf-strewn pathway, while he was continually looking upward or
sidewise, on the alert for the least suspicion of danger. He stopped
abruptly in full view, his head bent slightly over and his small, clear
eye looking sharply ahead. So suddenly had this been done, as if he had
in some unknown manner been warned of peril, that one foot remained
raised. In a moment every member of the turkey train was motionless.
The old chief of the feathered legion seemed about to give expression
to another cry, and the Woodranger raised his hand as a signal for the
boys to fire. Norman had chosen a fine bronze gobbler of good size,
and his young companions had each selected a victim, but before they
had time to aim and fire, a dark, lissom form was seen to spring from
behind a huge boulder upon the leader of the troop. The hen gave a
quick, sharp cry of alarm, and in the twinkling of an eye disappeared
with her brood.