Rolf began the day by giving Skookum a bath as hot as he could stand it,
and later his soup. For the first he whined feebly and for the second
faintly wagged his tail; but clearly he was on the mend.
Now the chinking and moss-plugging of the new cabin required all
attention. That took a day and looked like the biggest job on hand, but
Rolf had been thinking hard about the winter. In Connecticut the
wiser settlers used to bank their houses for the cold weather; in the
Adirondacks he knew it was far, far colder, and he soon decided to bank
the two shanties as deeply as possible with earth. A good spade made of
white oak, with its edge hardened by roasting it brown, was his first
necessity, and after two days of digging he had the cabin with its annex
buried up to “the eyes” in fresh, clean earth.
A stock of new, dry wood for wet weather helped to show how much too
small the cabin was; and now the heavier work was done, and Rolf had
plenty of time to think.
Which of us that has been left alone in the wilderness does not remember
the sensations of the first day! The feeling of self-dependency, not
unmixed with unrestraint; the ending of civilized thought; the total
reversion to the primitive; the nearness of the wood-folk; a sense of
intimacy; a recurrent feeling of awe at the silent inexorability of
all around; and a sweet pervading sense of mastery in the very freedom.
These were among the feelings that swept in waves through Rolf, and
when the first night came, he found such comfort--yes, he had to confess
it--in the company of the helpless little dog whose bed was by his own.
But these were sensations that come not often; in the four days and
nights that he was alone they lost all force.
The hunter proverb about “strange beasts when you have no gun” was amply
illustrated now that Quonab had gone with their only firearm. The second
night before turning in (he slept in the shanty now), he was taking a
last look at the stars, when a large, dark form glided among the tree
trunks between him and the shimmering lake; stopped, gazed at him, then
silently disappeared along the shore. No wonder that he kept the shanty
door closed that night, and next morning when he studied the sandy
ridges he read plainly that his night visitor had been not a lynx or a
fox, but a prowling cougar or panther.
On the third morning as he went forth in the still early dawn he heard
a snort, and looking toward the spruce woods, was amazed to see towering
up, statuesque, almost grotesque, with its mulish ears and antediluvian
horns, a large bull moose.
Rolf was no coward, but the sight of that monster so close to him set
his scalp a-prickling. He felt so helpless without any firearms. He
stepped into the cabin, took down his bow and arrows, then gave a
contemptuous “Humph; all right for partridge and squirrels, but give me
a rifle for the woods!” He went out again; there was the moose standing
as before. The lad rushed toward it a few steps, shouting; it stared
unmoved. But Rolf was moved, and he retreated to the cabin. Then
remembering the potency of fire he started a blaze on the hearth. The
thick smoke curled up on the still air, hung low, made swishes through
the grove, until a faint air current took a wreath of it to the moose.
The great nostrils drank in a draught that conveyed terror to the
creature's soul, and wheeling it started at its best pace to the distant
swamp, to be seen no more.
Five times, during these four days, did deer come by and behave as
though they knew perfectly well that this young human was harmless,
entirely without the power of the far-killing mystery.
How intensely Rolf wished for a gun. How vividly came back the scene
in the trader's store,--when last month he had been offered a beautiful
rifle for twenty-five dollars, to be paid for in fur next spring, and
savagely he blamed himself for not realizing what a chance it was. Then
and there he made resolve to be the owner of a gun as soon as another
chance came, and to make that chance come right soon.
One little victory he had in that time. The creature that had torn open
the venison bag was still around the camp; that was plain by the further
damage on the bag hung in the storehouse, the walls of which were not
chinked. Mindful of Quonab's remark, he set two marten traps, one on
the roof, near the hole that had been used as entry; the other on a log
along which the creature must climb to reach the meat. The method of
setting is simple; a hollow is made, large enough to receive the trap
as it lies open; on the pan of the trap some grass is laid smoothly;
on each side of the trap a piece of prickly brush is placed, so that
in leaping over these the creature will land on the lurking snare. The
chain was made fast to a small log.
Although so seldom seen there is no doubt that the marten comes out
chiefly by day. That night the trap remained unsprung; next morning
as Rolf went at silent dawn to bring water from the lake, he noticed
a long, dark line that proved to be ducks. As he sat gazing he heard
a sound in the tree beyond the cabin. It was like the scratching of
a squirrel climbing about. Then he saw the creature, a large, dark
squirrel, it seemed. It darted up this tree and down that, over logs and
under brush, with the lightning speed of a lightning squirrel, and from
time to time it stopped still as a bump while it gazed at some far and
suspicious object. Up one trunk it went like a brown flash, and a moment
later, out, cackling from its top, flew two partridges. Down to the
ground, sinuous, graceful, incessantly active flashed the marten. Along
a log it raced in undulating leaps; in the middle it stopped as though
frozen, to gaze intently into a bed of sedge; with three billowy bounds
its sleek form reached the sedge, flashed in and out again with a
mouse in its snarling jaws; a side leap now, and another squeaker was
squeakless, and another. The three were slain, then thrown aside, as the
brown terror scanned a flight of ducks passing over. Into a thicket of
willow it disappeared and out again like an eel going through the mud,
then up a tall stub where woodpecker holes were to be seen. Into the
largest it went so quickly Rolf could scarcely see how it entered,
and out in a few seconds bearing a flying squirrel whose skull it had
crushed. Dropping the squirrel it leaped after it, and pounced again on
the quivering form with a fearsome growl; then shook it savagely, tore
it apart, cast it aside. Over the ground it now undulated, its shining
yellow breast like a target of gold. Again it stopped. Now in pose like
a pointer, exquisitely graceful, but oh, so wicked! Then the snaky
neck swung the cobra head in the breeze and the brown one sniffed and
sniffed, advanced a few steps, tried the wind and the ground. Still
farther and the concentrated interest showed in its outstretched neck
and quivering tail. Bounding into a thicket it went, when out of the
other side there leaped a snowshoe rabbit, away and away for dear life.
Jump, jump, jump; twelve feet at every stride, and faster than the eye
could follow, with the marten close behind. What a race it was, and
how they twinkled through the brush! The rabbit is, indeed, faster, but
courage counts for much, and his was low; but luck and his good stars
urged him round to the deer trail crossing of the stream; once there he
could not turn. There was only one course. He sprang into the open river
and swam for his life. And the marten--why should it go in? It hated the
water; it was not hungry; it was out for sport, and water sport is not
to its liking. It braced its sinewy legs and halted at the very brink,
while bunny crossed to the safe woods.
Back now came Wahpestan, the brown death, over the logs like a winged
snake, skimming the ground like a sinister shadow, and heading for the
cabin as the cabin's owner watched. Passing the body of the squirrel it
paused to rend it again, then diving into the brush came out so far away
and so soon that the watcher supposed at first that this was another
marten. Up the shanty corner it flashed, hardly appearing to climb,
swung that yellow throat and dark-brown muzzle for a second, then made
toward the entry.
Rolf sat with staring eyes as the beautiful demon, elegantly
spurning the roof sods, went at easy, measured bounds toward the open
chink--toward its doom. One, two, three--clearing the prickly cedar
bush, its forefeet fell on the hidden trap; clutch, a savage shriek, a
flashing,--a struggle baffling the eyes to follow, and the master of the
squirrels was himself under mastery.
Rolf rushed forward now. The little demon in the trap was frothing with
rage and hate; it ground the iron with its teeth; it shrieked at the
human foeman coming.
The scene must end, the quicker the better, and even as the marten
itself had served the flying squirrel and the mice, and as Quonab served
the mink, so Rolf served the marten and the woods was still.