THE RETURN TO THE WRECK
Martin was in fine spirits when Larry finally crawled out of his
sleeping bag and set about getting breakfast next morning. The
injured leg was stiff and useless, to be sure, but the acute pain
had subsided and did not bother the old man except when he attempted
to move. “By to-morrow,” he assured the boy, “I’ll be ready to hit
the trail again.”
Larry, with a perplexed look, turned from his work of frying moose
meat to see if Martin was in earnest.
“I guess your tobacco has gone to your head, Martin, if you expect
to be able to use that leg much by to-morrow,” he said indulgently.
“I _don’t_ expect to be able to use it much by to-morrow,” Martin
replied simply, “but we’ll be moving all the same.”
Larry set the frying pan down beside the fire, and came in and stood
before the old man with his arms akimbo, scanning the old fellow’s
immobile face. For a moment or two they faced each other, neither of
them speaking and both looking very serious. Larry was puzzled but
determined.
“Now see here, Martin,” he began, “you don’t really suppose that you
are going to be able to travel to-morrow, do you?”
“I certainly do,” the old man replied without relaxing a muscle;
“and what’s more to the point, I’m going to!”
“But Martin,” Larry protested, “how do you expect that your leg
which is so sore you can’t even move it to-day, will be so you can
walk on it to-morrow?”
“I don’t,” Martin replied.
“Then how do you suppose you are going to stumble on through these
woods mile after mile,” Larry persisted.
“Who said anything about stumbling through these woods, or any other
woods?” the old hunter asked, with a twinkle in his eye. “You
shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Larry.” And he chuckled at the boy’s
discomfiture.
Larry gave a defiant toss of his head and returned to his frying
pan. “Kim and Jack and I are going to eat our breakfast now,” he
announced with a grin. “Perhaps you can beg some breakfast too when
you are ready to tell me what you are driving at.”
“All right,” Martin capitulated; “I’m too hungry to be stubborn.
Bring on the breakfast and we’ll talk while we eat. I’ve been
thinking this thing all out during the night, and here it is:
“We’re going to travel to-morrow, but I intend to ride. I am going
to have you pack me on the sled with a few days’ stock of food, and
get Kim and Jack to haul me. You can come along as escort, if you
care to. In fact if you don’t care to I shan’t go, and we’ll spend
the winter here and starve, instead of going back to the yacht to
get fat.”
At this announcement Larry gave a shout that brought the dogs to
their feet in surprise. The idea of returning to their comfortable
quarters on the coast instead of struggling on through the
wilderness seemed a vision of perfect happiness to the boy.
Martin outlined his plan completely while they ate their breakfast.
They would take the two sleeping bags, the tent, and a supply of
food, harness the two dogs to one of the sleds and “hit the back
trail for ‘home,’” as he called the wreck. He would sit on the
toboggan in one of the sleeping bags and direct the dogs while Larry
would trudge behind helping to steady the sled and prevent it
overturning in the rough places. In this way they could make the
return trip in four days easily unless a storm came up. If a storm
came they would simply “hole up” and wait until it blew over. When
the wounded leg had healed, as it would very shortly in their
comfortable camp, they would make another start for civilization.
It took Larry the greater part of the day to make the necessary
preparations for this trip. Under Martin’s direction he rigged one
of the toboggans with handles at the back, so arranged that he could
use them for steadying the sled or helping the dogs in the hard
places as he walked behind. He also made a back-piece of twisted
branches for Martin to lean against as he sat on the sled,
strengthening this rough framework with cord and strips of canvas.
When finished Martin declared that it looked like a movable brush
heap; but he admitted that it was strong and serviceable, and made a
comfortable support for his back.
The second toboggan and the extra provisions were suspended from
limbs high above the ground where they would be out of the reach of
animal prowlers, and available for future use should they ever need
them.
They broke camp the next day before dawn and headed the dogs out
into the open expanse of glistening crust. There was no need to
direct their course, nor stimulate them to top speed. A trained
sledge dog remembers directions better than a man, and is as keen
for the return trip toward home as his human companions. Indeed Jack
and Kim showed such enthusiasm and found that their load ran so
easily on the hard crust that Larry had difficulty in keeping up
with them at times except by clinging to the handles. Crossing the
plain, which consumed so much time on the outward trip, required
only three hours for the return; and even in the woods that lay
beyond their progress was almost twice as fast as before.
Despite Larry’s efforts, however, the sled received severe bumps at
times, that made Martin groan with pain. But the old hunter would
not allow any stops or slackening of speed for so trivial a matter
as his personal discomfort. His dominant idea was to get back “home”
as quickly as possible, and his attitude spurred Larry on to exert
himself to the limit of endurance. By sundown they had covered a
quarter of the distance to the coast; and in the afternoon of the
fourth day they came tearing into the home camp, the dogs barking
frantically and Martin and Larry shouting their delight.
Here they found everything practically as they had left it, so that
they had only to open the tent flaps, light a fire in front, and sit
down to rest and enjoy themselves.
But it was no part of Martin’s plan to let Larry sit idle during the
long weeks that lay ahead of them, or to remain inactive himself one
hour longer than his injured leg compelled him to. He knew that
idleness and lack of diversions were bad things for the boy, who
would very soon feel the strain of their solitary surroundings if
not kept so fully occupied that the time would pass quickly. He
could offer few diversions, but he had planned plenty of active
work.
His first move next day, therefore, was to have Larry haul him to a
point where he could inspect the wreck. He found it frozen in where
they had left it, and wedged into a huge mass of ice that would hold
it fast until the warm spring weather. So he transferred their
living quarters temporarily to the after cabin, which Larry made
snug with a little tinkering. Here, warmed by the galley stove, he
could give his wound more effective treatment than in the open tent.
Meanwhile he set Larry to work building a hut made from the wood of
the forward cabin.
The task of tearing this cabin to pieces was even greater than that
of actually putting it together again, but Larry set about it with
saw, axe, and crow-bar. At first he worked alone; but after a few
days Martin was able to crawl up on deck and superintend things from
his seat in a sleeping bag, while the dogs acted as interested
spectators. The days were very short now in this far northern
latitude, and every hour of daylight was devoted to the wrecking
work, leaving the “housekeeping” work to be done by lamplight. In
this way the boy was kept so completely occupied, doing and
accomplishing, that there was little time left to dwell upon the
loneliness of their situation. So that, on the whole, the time
passed quickly and pleasantly. This was what Martin had hoped to
accomplish.
By the time the house-building material was secured, the old hunter
could hobble about on extemporized crutches and give directions
about building the hut, and sometimes assist Larry in steadying the
boards that held the frame in place. And when their new home had
reached a stage that called for finishing touches he was able to
handle hammer and saw in performing some of the lighter work.
The hut was a curious little creation, with round port holes for
windows and a ship’s cabin door, which gave it the appearance of
having been cast up from the sea. It was made of the tight fitting
boards, and rendered doubly wind proof by two thicknesses of canvas
stretched over every part of it and nailed securely. Inside it was
made attractive with all manner of ornaments taken from the yacht.
There were two comfortable bunks arranged cabin-fashion one above
the other at one end, a table and chairs, a case of books, and the
little stove from the galley that kept the room warm even in the
coldest weather. With its complete equipment, even to spring cots
and mattresses, Martin declared it the finest winter home ever owned
by shipwrecked hunters.
By Christmas day it was completed even to the smallest detail, and
on that day they moved in and formally took possession, deserting
the yacht forever. This day was made one of special merriment and
rejoicing, for Martin was able to dispense with his cane or crutches
for the first time, and use his leg in a natural manner without
assistance. It was still weak, but strengthening so rapidly that it
promised soon to be completely restored to power. So, to celebrate
this combination of happy events, they brought all manner of
delicacies from the pile of stores, and devoted the first part of
the day to preparing for a grand feast.
In the afternoon they harnessed the dogs tandem to the toboggan,
Martin took his place in the “movable brush heap,” and all went for
a “joy ride” of several miles through the woods in a great circle
that brought them back to the cabin about sundown. In several places
on this journey they crossed caribou tracks, the sight of which made
Martin’s eyes sparkle, and he predicted great hunting trips before
the winter was much older.
In the evening they had their grand dinner which the dogs attended,
all hands doing full justice to every course. After the feast Martin
and Larry played cards until far past their usual bedtime. Taken all
in all Christmas day proved a very cheerful one in the great
wilderness.
The old man had cherished the hope that his leg would heal and gain
strength so rapidly that they could make another attempt to reach
the settlements before the winter was over. For he knew that if they
did not do so they must wait until the unsettled weather of spring
was over, and the ground dry enough for reasonably easy traveling.
At that season they would encounter the terrible wood flies and
insects, far more to be dreaded in certain regions than cold and
snow. But it would be madness to attempt to make the winter journey
until his strength had returned fully, and he soon realized that
this would not be until well on toward spring. Very soon he was able
to take fairly long snow-shoe tramps, assisted by the dogs and the
toboggan, but hauling a heavy sled was quite out of the question. So
he finally resigned himself to spending the winter at the cabin.
Larry had shown such aptitude in learning the many secrets of
woodcraft that he determined to make a “land pilot,” as he called it
facetiously, of him during their exile. As the boy had become
proficient in the use of the rifle, Martin devoted part of the time
to instructions in the art of trapping. They were in the land of the
silver fox,--the most highly prized skin of all the fur-bearers--and
so they concentrated their efforts to catch some of these wary
animals. Meanwhile they made constantly lengthening hunting
excursions after caribou, Larry occupying the position of chief
hunter with the old man playing assistant. But on these hunting
trips the little gun that Larry had carried at first was left
hanging on its peg in the hut. In its place Larry now carried a
repeater similar to Martin’s--a heavy weapon, that gave the boy many
an arm ache.
Game was not very plentiful, however, and it required constant
efforts to keep their larder supplied with fresh meat. But this
scarcity of game gave the old hunter more opportunities for teaching
the boy all manner of woodland tricks to secure it. Meanwhile he
imparted to his pupil the most important and difficult feature of
woodcraft--the art of “being at home” in the woods--to know directions
instinctively, to observe and interpret every sign, and to take care
of himself under all conditions.
Several times, when the injured leg was stronger and his pupil more
advanced, Martin made practical tests of the boy’s progress. He
would select a day when snow was falling, harness the dogs to the
toboggan loaded with tent, sleeping-bags, and provisions, and make a
zigzag journey into the heart of the woods. Here they would pitch
camp and wait until the storm ceased. By that time their trail would
be completely obliterated. Then, without any guiding suggestions, he
had Larry take the lead and pilot them back to the cabin.
At first the boy would become confused, and be obliged to call upon
the old hunter to straighten him out; and sometimes Martin allowed
him to become completely at fault before he would aid him. But
little by little Larry learned to observe and remember
instinctively, until presently Martin found it impossible to confuse
him even on long trips.
He learned how to interpret the signs of game, also, how to approach
it successfully, and where to expect to find the wood denizens under
the ever varying conditions. And when they were successful with gun
or traps, Martin taught him how to skin and dress the game, and to
care for the pelts.
“We’ll have to leave all these good furs behind us, I know,” the old
man would say; “but we won’t waste them; and perhaps some other
fellow will come along some day and find them. There’s just one pelt
that we won’t leave, if we get it. That’s the silver fox.”
But this silver fox is a wily fellow. He seems to realize the value
of his coat; or at least he knows that it is very valuable to
himself, and uses his cunning to retain it. Week after week Martin
used his knowledge and Larry’s increasing skill to trap one of these
fine fellows, only to be disappointed on each occasion. They would
find where Reynard had hovered about their trap, sometimes actually
stepping over it to steal the bait, knowing in some occult manner
just where the fatal jaws were concealed. It was in vain that Martin
coated the trap with wax to disguise the scent, covering his hands
and feet with the skins of the wild animals in setting or
approaching the trap. Reynard refused to be deceived.
But perhaps success made him careless, although it was probably the
fault of the thin covering of wet snow that fell one day late in the
spring. For at last, after Larry had almost given up hope of getting
even a single silver fox skin, the inevitable happened. Poor Reynard
walked deliberately into a trap that had been set rather carelessly
to catch a marten.
When Larry discovered this long sought prize held securely by one
foot in the jaws of the trap, he gave a shout of delight at his
unexpected success. The little animal had evidently been caught
several hours before, and from the appearance of the ground about
the trap had struggled fiercely to free itself. But now it seemed
resigned to its fate, and stood crouching, watching Larry’s approach
without making any further effort to escape. Even when the boy
raised a heavy stick to despatch the captive, the little animal made
no attempt to evade the blow, acting more like a dog resigned to
take punishment from its master than a denizen of the wilderness
accustomed to battle for its existence. But its wide, intelligent
eyes, seemed to beg mutely for mercy.
The actions of the little animal completely unnerved the boy: he
could not strike the crouching figure. If the fox had struggled
fiercely, or attempted to fight for its life as a mink or marten
always did, Larry could have despatched it at once; but that
submissive attitude completely disarmed him. He could not resist the
mute appeal in those eyes.
He lowered the club and turned away, ashamed of his weakness. But
when he turned again, determined to overcome his scruples, the eyes
met his with their mute plea, and again he lowered the club.
What would Martin think of such girlishness? he asked himself. Would
Martin, or any good hunter, hesitate to snatch the prize that he had
been struggling for all winter? He was sure they would not, and he
despised himself for his weak-heartedness.
The longer he hesitated the surer he felt that he could not strike.
Then the thought obtruded itself: Who would ever know if he did not
strike? Who would there be to judge him but his own conscience if he
were to set the little animal free instead of killing it? The moment
these thoughts passed through his mind he knew that the fox had won
its freedom. He should have struck at once: now it was too late.
But freeing the captive foot from the jaws of the trap without
encountering the animal’s sharp, white teeth was no easy task; for
he could not expect the fox to interpret his humane action
correctly, and stand mutely while he forced down the trap spring. So
it was not until after several fruitless attempts that he succeeded
in placing a heavy limb across the spring, and by bending it down,
allowed the jaws to fall open and release the foot.
During this manipulation the fox made no attempt to struggle, simply
crouching down and watching the boy with its haunting eyes. And even
when the jaws of the trap relaxed it did not bound away as Larry had
expected, but slipped out of sight stealthily and with no apparent
haste, not yet fully assured of its unexpected good fortune.
The boy watched the animal disappear with mingled emotions of shame
and satisfaction. But when it was out of sight he drew a long
breath, and went back to camp in a sober mood.
That night at supper Martin was unusually talkative. In about a
week, he said, they should start for home if the fine weather
continued, and the thought of it put him in a happy frame of mind.
But Larry ate his supper in silence, trying to excuse himself for
his deception, and his “chicken-heartedness” in freeing the fox.
Martin, who was watching him out of the corners of his eyes,
suddenly surprised him by stopping in the middle of a story to ask:
“Larry, what happened out in the woods to-day that you are so
ashamed of?”
The boy replied evasively at first, but the old hunter shook his
head incredulously.
“See here, Martin,” Larry said at last, “what would you do if you
happened to come along to a marten trap and found a silver fox
there--not a dead fox, you know, and not one that snarled and snapped
and tried to bite you. But a fox that had fought to get loose until
he couldn’t fight any more, but just stood there and looked you
straight in the eye even when you raised a club to kill him, and
seemed to say to you:
“‘That’s right, take your club and kill me, I can’t get out of your
way now. I’m only a poor little fox, anyway, while you are a big,
brave boy, with guns and dogs and traps, and you needn’t even come
near enough so that I can bite you. You have been trying to kill me
all winter, just because some woman will give you a thousand dollars
for the fur I wear to keep warm in, and now you’ve got your chance
to do it.’--What would you do, Martin, if a fox looked at you and
talked to you with his eyes like that?”
“What would I do, Larry?” the old man repeated, looking at the roof
and puffing slowly at his pipe. “Why, I’d say, ‘Martin, here’s your
chance to make a thousand dollars mighty easy. I’ll just hit him a
rap on the head, and take him home and skin him.’ That’s what I’d
_say_, Larry. But what I’d do when I saw the little fellow’s big
brown eyes asking me to let him go home to his family--what I’d _do_,
probably, would be to look all around to make sure that no one was
looking to see what a coward I am in my heart, and then I’d spring
the trap and turn the little rascal loose.”
With a bound Larry was out of his chair.
“That’s just what I did this afternoon, Martin,” he shouted, dancing
joyfully about the room to relieve his pent-up feelings.
“And so you sat here all the evening calling yourself a coward,”
said Martin, when Larry had subsided, “just because you couldn’t
bear to kill a fox in a trap. How about killing wolves, Larry, and
moose that are trying to kill you? Cowards don’t act that way, boy.
And the bravest men usually have the softest spots in their hearts.”