THE WOUNDED MOOSE
In this way he passed the long, terrible hours of the night. But as
soon as it began to grow light he untied the dogs, and took a circle
of several miles through the woods, hoping that he might find some
trace of the missing hunter. But he remembered the old man’s
instruction that he was not to leave the camp to go any very great
distance, and after two hours of futile search he returned in
despair.
The dogs, seeming to realize that something was wrong, were alert to
every unusual sound; and when Larry would spring up and peer through
the trees expectantly, they would leap about and bark excitedly. But
the sun rose higher and higher, and still Martin did not come.
At last the boy could stand the suspense no longer. In defiance of
Martin’s explicit instructions he decided to leave the camp and try
to find him. The thought that the old man must have been injured, or
taken ill, kept forcing itself into the boy’s mind. An experienced
hunter like Martin would not lose his way; and moreover, if he
should become confused, he would still have his own trail to follow
back to camp; for this trail was well marked in the snow. In any
event, Larry could not remain inactive any longer with these
terrible fears tearing at his heart.
So he harnessed the dogs tandem to one of the empty toboggans,
strapped on his snow-shoes, and started out following Martin’s trail
of the day before. At first he took the lead, running at top speed;
but presently he found that, since the trail had been broken out by
Martin, he could make better time by letting the dogs haul him on
the toboggan. His weight was so much less than the load they were
accustomed to haul that now they ran along the trail at high speed,
following Martin’s tracks without any guiding instructions.
For two hours they went forward, Kim leading, his nose close to the
snow, and both dogs keenly alert. The tracks wound in and out among
the thickets, indicating where Martin had explored likely looking
places for game, but their general direction was toward the
southwest, the course the old hunter had said he should take. Once
the snow-shoe trail had followed the track of a deer for half a
mile; but evidently the animal was not overtaken, for presently they
found where Martin turned off into his original course again.
By noon the dogs had begun to slacken their pace a little, and
Larry, thoroughly discouraged, had decided that he would retrace his
course, when they reached the crest of a low hill a short distance
ahead, which seemed to command a view of the country for some
distance around. If nothing could be seen of Martin from this hill,
he would face about and return to camp; and more than likely he
should find the old man there waiting for him. Hardly had he reached
this decision, however, when Kim stopped so suddenly that Jack and
the toboggan bumped into him, and stood with bristling hair and
stiffened muscles for a moment, and then made a frantic leap
forward, snarling and barking.
At the same time Jack seemed to have discovered the cause of his
mate’s excitement, and it was only by twisting the sled rope about a
sapling that Larry prevented them from dashing madly off into the
woods. Yet he was unable to discover the cause of their actions,
although he peered intently through the trees in all directions. But
whatever the cause, he knew that they had scented something quite
out of the ordinary; and as a precaution he drew the little rifle
from its case and made sure that the firing-pin was set for the
heavy cartridge.
Then he took a firm grip on Kim’s collar, putting all his weight
against the dog’s strength, and advanced cautiously through the
trees toward the top of the hill.
The crest of this hill had been cleared of large timber years before
by a forest fire, and there was an open space for several hundred
yards beyond. When Larry reached this cleared space he saw a sight
that made his heart leap into his throat and his hair seem to lift
his cap. His hand trembled so violently that he came near dropping
his rifle, and his breathing ceased altogether for a moment.
For at the opposite side of the clearing stood a huge animal, tall
and gaunt, its thick neck supporting a head like a great black
barrel crowned with a pair of thickly pointed horns that seemed as
long as the toboggan from tip to tip. The great creature stood
facing him, the long, coarse hair about its head and neck standing
out straight, its fore legs wide apart, its hind legs slightly bent
ready for a spring forward. All about it for a space of several
yards the snow was trampled into a hard bed and blotched with blood.
In the center of this trampled space was a huge boulder, and just
beside it a sapling perhaps six inches in diameter. Perched on the
top of the boulder and only a few inches out of reach of the great
antlers, old Martin lay huddled. Or, to be more exact, what appeared
to be a bundle of Martin’s clothes that looked as if they might have
been hurled there by the infuriated animal. The mystery of the old
man’s failure to return to camp was explained.
At the sight of the huge animal so close at hand the dogs became
absolutely frantic; and knowing that it would be folly to try to
control them further, and wishing to give them every possible
advantage in the fight that was now inevitable, the boy slipped the
harness from each.
As the dogs bounded toward the wounded animal, the moose sprang
forward to meet them, snorting fiercely; but in doing this the heavy
creature put itself at once at a disadvantage. For its hoofs broke
through the crust at every step, while the dogs kept their footing
on the surface, darting in and out, snapping fiercely at legs and
flank.
The noise of this battle roused Martin from the stupor into which he
had fallen, so that he raised his head, and then gradually dragged
himself into a sitting posture. Then, as he recognized the dogs, and
saw Larry hurrying forward, new life thrilled the old man, and he
began waving his hand and shouting feebly to the boy.
At first his voice was so low that the boy could not hear it above
the din; but as he approached the rock, waiting for a favoring
moment to place his one shot in some vital spot, he could make out
some of Martin’s instructions shouted through his trumpeted hands.
“Steady, boy, steady!” the old man shouted. “Wait till he turns his
head, and shoot between the eyes! Not now--wait till he turns--not
yet--!”
Just then the moose, frantic with pain and anger, caught sight of
the boy approaching him. At this discovery the huge animal seemed to
forget the dogs, and wheeling, made straight for Larry, head down,
bristles standing, and bloody foam blowing from its nose and mouth.
“Shoot! Shoot! For God’s sake shoot, Larry!” the old man screamed,
half rising, and then toppling back upon the rock.
But Larry needed no instructions. He had proved himself and his
weapon only yesterday, and he had the courage born of experience.
The first terror inspired by the huge animal had passed, and now he
stood with his feet braced wide apart on his snow-shoes, the rifle
at his shoulder and his eye fixed on the little bead of the front
sight as the huge animal plunged toward him. Kim and Jack, realizing
the impending danger to their master, buried their teeth in the
moose’s flanks on either side and hung on grimly causing the animal
to pause momentarily. This was Larry’s chance. There was a flash and
report, and the big animal, rearing upwards and sinking on its hind
legs, plunged sidelong into the snow and lay still. The heavy
steel-jacketed bullet had crashed into its brain, killing it
instantly.
Before the huge head fairly reached the ground both dogs were at the
animal’s throat, tearing and mangling, mad with the lust of battle.
Larry, reacting from the tense excitement, felt his knees sag under
him as he realized the result of the shot. But even this did not
make him forget to load his gun again instantly--a thing that becomes
automatic with the hunter--and approach the beast cautiously, ready
for another shot. But the dogs, with fangs buried in the creature’s
throat, gloating in the hot blood, bore silent witness that more
shots were unnecessary.
Then Larry’s pent-up emotions found expression in a wild shout as he
rushed to where old Martin lay.
But his feeling changed to dread apprehension when he reached the
base of the rock, saw where the blood had trickled down over the
side, and found that the old man had fallen back unconscious.
Perhaps his triumph had come too late after all! In an instant he
had kicked off his snow-shoes, climbed the sapling that rose beside
the rock, and was kneeling over the still, crumpled figure, his warm
hands caressing the white cheeks, his voice choked with emotion.
His warm touch revived the hunter, who opened his eyes slowly, and
then smiled faintly up at the boy.
“I’ll be all right in a minute,” the old fellow whispered; “get me
off this rock and build a fire, quick. I’m frozen.”
But getting the injured hunter off the rocks without hurting him
proved a difficult task. The sides were almost perpendicular, and
Martin too weak to help himself at all. So, after several futile
attempts, Larry was obliged to get the harnesses from the toboggan,
fasten the draw strap under the hunter’s arms, and in this manner
lower him over the side. Then the boy quickly gathered some sticks
and made a hot fire.
During most of this time Martin remained inanimate, but he revived
again when Larry had dragged him near the fire; and now he asked
faintly for water. A few gulps of the melted snow water from Larry’s
cup revived him perceptibly, and meanwhile the boy was chafing his
cold hands, and had removed his moccasins and drawn his feet close
to the fire.
Presently Martin asked feebly for food; but Larry shook his head.
For once he had forgotten one of the old man’s reiterated
instructions--that he should never go anywhere from camp without
taking at least one ration with him. When he started out he had only
expected to be gone a few hours, and in his perturbation he had
forgotten to take anything to eat.
But the old hunter’s wits had not completely failed him.
“The moose,” he said faintly.
And then the boy remembered that a month’s supply of food, upon
which the dogs were still feasting, was lying only a few feet away.
So in a few minutes he had a huge slice of moose steak suspended on
a stick over the fire, from which he cut off thin strips and fed to
the ravenous hunter.
During this process he had time to observe the nature of Martin’s
injury, although he was not quite sure of its exact location, as the
hunter’s clothes were rent and blood-stained in many places.
“It’s my left leg,” Martin said, interpreting the boy’s anxious
expression. “It’s all ripped to pieces. But it was the cold that was
killing me. Now I’m getting warm and feeling stronger every minute.
In another half hour I’ll be ready to take a ride home with you
while the sun is high.”
By the time the steak was consumed Martin was sitting up, taking
sips of hot water out of the tin cup from time to time. Every
movement caused him great pain, but he strove stoically to conceal
this from the boy.
“Harness up the dogs,” he said presently, “pack me into the
toboggan, and let’s start for camp. We haven’t any time to lose, for
it gets cold on a sled when the sun goes down.”
So Larry called the dogs, who were loth to leave their feast, packed
the old man into the bag on the toboggan so that only his head
showed above the flaps, and started.
Several times he had tried to get the old hunter to tell him how it
had all happened; but Martin put him off, assuring him that there
would be plenty of time for talking when they were back in camp
again.
Once the start was made there was no chance for talking, all Larry’s
energies being required to keep the now lazy dogs up to their usual
speed. And now he realized the wisdom of not feeding them until
their day’s work was done, as was Martin’s inflexible rule. He was
kept busy steering the toboggan around rough places that would jar
his passenger, as the old man’s excruciating pain was accentuated by
every additional shock. Yet Martin would not consider stopping, or
even slackening the pace; and as the dogs warmed to their work after
the first few miles they were able to make the camp just as the sun
was setting, all hands ready to drop from exhaustion.
They found Larry’s big fire still burning, and in a few minutes he
had warmed up the remains of the feast he had planned for the night
before. Then, when he had wrapped up the injured leg, and propped
the old hunter in a comfortable position before the fire, Martin was
ready to tell his story.
“Don’t you mind now, and look scared whenever I screw up my face,”
the old man began; “for the pain shoots around pretty bad at times.
But I’ll stand it all right, and I’ll kill many a bull moose to pay
for it, too.”
Then he chuckled softly in the old familiar manner.
“What makes me laugh,” he said, “is to think that all this time I
have been letting you think that I am something of a hunter, trying
to show you how to kill game; and here you go out and kill the moose
that came mighty near killing me. This is how it all happened:
“I came across signs of game after I had left the camp about an
hour, and the signs were good too; but still I didn’t get sight of
anything, and I kept going right on until well after noon. So I
decided to turn about and take the back track home, feeling sure
that I should have better luck on the way in. Sure enough, when I
came near the place where you found me, I found where a moose had
floundered along through the snow, probably scared from some yard by
my scent as I passed. He was standing near the big rock and as the
wind was blowing toward me, he hadn’t discovered me.
“So I worked around to get the rock between us, and then I sneaked
up so as to get a close shot and make sure of him. I ought to have
tried a longer shot at him, but you see the .38-40 is a pretty small
cartridge for moose except at close range, and I intended to get
him, sure.
“I sneaked along until I was right behind the rock, and then I
stepped out and shot point blank for his head. But just at the very
second I pulled the trigger the old rascal had to jerk his head
about six inches to one side, so that the bullet ploughed deep into
his neck, just where it would hurt and make him mad, but nothing
more.
“And then all the trouble happened in about three seconds. I jerked
down the lever to throw in another cartridge, for he was coming
right at me. But Jumping Jee-rusalem! if the old gun didn’t jam. The
head of the empty shell had broken off and stuck in the chamber! I
didn’t have any time for investigating, for the bull was right on
top of me, so I just jumped for the side of that rock. Nothing but a
fly could have gone up it--without help; and I knew that then as well
as I do now. But I hadn’t any choice. And the curious thing is that
the old moose himself furnished the _help_.
“He was so close to me when I jumped that one of his points caught
my leg and ripped it open as he went along; but at the same time he
flung his head up and threw me clean up the side of the rock. So by
the time he could stop and turn around I was up out of his reach.
But I was his meat, all the same. All he had to do was to sit down
and wait long enough and I’d freeze or starve to death.
“He had no notion of waiting, though,--that is, not at first. He
planned to come right up there and finish the job. But you see he
didn’t have any friend around to hook him in the leg and give him a
boost as I had, so he couldn’t make it. He tried for a full hour,
getting madder and madder every minute, snorting and pawing up the
snow, and then coming back for another try at me. And there I had to
sit and take it, with my gun lying down below in the snow.
“Pretty soon I saw that the old scoundrel had settled down for a
regular siege. He gave up trying to reach me, but he never took his
eyes off me, and just walked ’round and ’round that rock hoping I’d
come down. I’ll bet he made that circle a thousand times in two
hours.
“I thought when night came that he would start off and give it up,
and several times he did go away behind a clump of trees a few rods
away. But the minute I raised my head or moved a finger he was right
back on the job again.
“Then I knew that my time had come. It wasn’t such a terribly cold
night, you know, but I lay out there in the open with nothing over
me, and I was mighty weak from the blood I’d lost. And I knew that I
was slowly freezing to death. I thought of a dozen things to try,
but all of them were hopeless. There was no use in sliding off and
grabbing the rifle for by the time I could get the broken cartridge
out the moose would have killed me several times over. If it hadn’t
been for the leg I’d have come down and fought it out with the old
brute with my hunting knife. I have done that before with a wounded
bull. But I was so weak that I could hardly raise my body, let alone
my leg. So I just settled down to freeze.
“But you see I’m a tough old rooster, and when the sun came up this
morning I was still there, with my moose taking good care that I
should _stay_ there. By that time, though, I didn’t care much
whether he stayed or not. It didn’t make any difference. For I
couldn’t have crawled fifty yards if I’d had the chance I was so
stiff and weak.
“After a while I dozed off; and the next thing I remember I heard
the bull fighting with some wolves. I thought they were wolves then,
but I didn’t even open my eyes to see, although I hoped they’d kill
him. And then something sounded familiar about those wolves’ voices,
and I turned my head. And there was old Jack and Kim trying to even
up my score with the old critter.
“My God! boy, I never knew what it was to be glad about anything in
my life before! There you were coming with the little gun, and there
was Jack on one side and Kim on the other taking out hunks from the
old moose’s side at every jump, and--”
The old man stopped, and brushed his arm across his eyes, unable to
go on for a minute, while Larry sat blinking hard at the fire. But
presently the hunter regained his composure a little, and continued:
“And then when you fired and shot that old devil right between the
eyes, I was willing to die for sheer joy.”
The old man paused again and tried to force a little laugh.
“And to think that you had to come and kill him with the little gun,
while the best that I could do was to make him mad.”
And he patted the boy’s shaggy head affectionately.
“But you see, Martin, I’ve been having more practice lately than you
have,” the boy said, springing up. “Wait till I show you something.”
He darted out of the tent and came struggling back hauling the big
white wolf and dropped it before the fire, and then brought the
other three and laid them in a row for Martin’s inspection. His eyes
were shining with pride and the old hunter’s face beamed with
genuine admiration.
“Just four cartridges--one for each wolf,” Larry said proudly, “and a
little tap with a club thrown in for good measure.” And then he told
the old man the story of the wolves, and exhibited the rip in his
coat sleeves.
Several times during the recital Larry noticed that Martin’s face
twitched with the agonizing pain he was suffering, although the old
man tried hard to conceal it, protesting that it was a thing too
slight to be worth noticing.
“It isn’t the pain so much,” the old man said, at last. “I can stand
that all right. But I could stand it just a thousand times better if
I had my old pipe and one pinch of tobacco. Boy, I’d give one long
year of my life if I could have five minutes’ smoke. I’d get up and
fight a moose, or a grizzly, or both, right now for a dozen whiffs
of the old pipe.”
With a little laugh Larry jumped up, ran to their pile of plunder,
and fumbled in his ditty bag. Then he turned and held up a pipe and
a plug of tobacco for Martin to see.
“Will this new pipe do?” he asked, laughing, as he handed Martin the
precious articles.
The old man’s eyes were round with astonishment, and his hands
trembled with eagerness. They trembled so that he could hardly pare
off the shavings of the plug and load the pipe, and light it with
the brand that Larry handed him from the fire. But a few whiffs
steadied him.
“You see,” Larry explained, “when you told me to put something or
other into my ditty bag for luck, I couldn’t think of anything that
would be luckier than a pipe and some tobacco for you--just to buy
you off some time when you got cranky, you know. So here’s your
bribe to keep you good natured about my running off and leaving the
camp when you told me not to.”
“Well, this makes twice to-day that you’ve saved my life,” the old
man grinned, “so I’ll forgive you. And now pile some wood near me so
that I can keep the fire going, and then you crawl into bed and get
some sleep. I don’t suppose this moose leg of mine would let me
sleep anyhow, but even if it did I wouldn’t waste my time doing it
when there was a pipe and some tobacco around. I am almost glad now
that the old beast gouged me.”