SHOOTING A MOOSE
It was the work of but an instant for the travelers to slip on their big
fur coats, and they were ready to go outside, for going to bed in the
arctic regions is more a process of dressing than undressing, and they
had lain down with even more clothes on than they wore during the day.
Mr. Baxter, kicking his sleeping bag to one side, loosed the fastenings
of the tent and stepped out. He was followed by Fred and Jerry, Johnson
coming last.
Fred was not prepared for the wonderful sight that met his gaze. At
first he thought he had been transported back to his own home, and that
a Fourth of July celebration was in progress. The sky was streaked with
long streamers of colored fire that waved and undulated to and fro,
beginning at the horizon and extending to the zenith.
"The Northern Lights!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter.
Then Fred understood that he had looked for the first time on the
wondrous and beautiful Aurora Borealis.
Suddenly the peacefulness of the night was once more broken by the
fierce howls, and this time they were answered by the sled dogs, who,
raising their sharp muzzles in the air, sent their answering challenge
to the wolves.
"There they are!" cried Fred, pointing to a dark mass on the white,
snowy expanse. "They're headed this way."
"Are your rifles ready?" asked Mr. Baxter. "We'll probably have to fight
them off."
"Will they attack us?" asked Jerry.
"Wolves have to be in large numbers or desperate with hunger before they
will tackle a man," said his father. "Especially where there is such a
large number as there are of us. But they may fight with our dogs and
injure them, and that would be the worst thing that could happen to us,
as we have to depend entirely on the dogs for traveling here."
"They are coming closer," remarked Fred.
"Yes. It's curious the Indians don't awaken. I think I'll call them."
Mr. Baxter stepped toward the enclosure of sleds, tipped on their sides,
which formed the Indians' camp. There was a small fire burning in the
center, and grouped around it, with their feet toward the embers, were
the dog-drivers. They were huddled up in their fur blankets, sound
asleep. Holfax said afterward that it takes more than the howling of
wolves to awaken an Alaskan Indian tired out with a day's work.
But at a call from Mr. Baxter the four guides sat up suddenly. They did
not need to be told what the matter was, for the wolves were now quite
close, and were howling fiercely, while the dogs were trying to break
the thongs that held them, so that they might seek a place of safety.
For, though an Alaskan or Eskimo dog is really a species of wolf, it is
no match in a fight for the wilder creature.
In a few minutes the Indians had the dogs safely inside the square of
sleds, and not a moment too soon, for the foremost of the pack of wolves
snapped at the heels of Holfax as he led the last dog in.
"Now, boys, let them have it!" exclaimed Mr. Baxter as he fired his
repeating rifle several times into the midst of the ravenous pack. There
were howls of pain, and several forms stretched out on the snow told how
effective had been his aim.
Jerry and Fred fired together, and Johnson coming to their help, they
had four rifles to turn against the savage creatures.
It was a wild scene, encamped there as they were on that dreary expanse
of snow, with the mysterious Northern Lights flashing overhead, giving a
weird illumination, the snarling wolves fairly surrounding the tent,
and the frightened Indians guarding the whimpering dogs.
It did not need an expert marksman to find a target in that pack. There
must have been at least fifty wolves in it, and their hunger had made
them exceedingly daring. They leaped against the sleds, and tried with
their keen teeth to bite through the lashings to get at the frozen fish
and seal blubber which formed the rations for the dogs.
"Give 'em some more!" cried Mr. Baxter. "They are coming closer!"
Indeed some of the wolves had actually invaded the tent, hoping to find
something to eat there. The rifles cracked, the wolves howled and the
dogs yelped, while the Indians called to one another in their harsh
tongue, asking if their white masters would be able to drive off the
foe.
Fred and Jerry were firing as fast as they could work the ejection
levers and triggers of their guns. At first they did not notice the
cold, but after a few shots the piercing frost began to numb their
fingers, for they had taken off their big, heavy mittens, which made it
impossible to work their guns, and had on only light gloves.
"My fingers are too stiff to pull the trigger!" exclaimed Fred as he
vainly tried to fire another shot. "They feel like pieces of ice."
"So do mine," added Jerry.
"Give 'em one more volley and I think we'll scatter 'em," called Mr.
Baxter as he and Johnson fired again.
The boys managed to do it, though the cold, which was intense, was
making itself felt more and more. But the tide had turned. More than
half the wolves had been killed and a number wounded, for it was
impossible to miss, firing into the midst of the pack as they did. With
snarls of baffled rage the remainder of the fierce creatures withdrew to
some distance, and, sitting down on their haunches, howled dismally,
with their muzzles lifted in the air toward the flickering Aurora
Borealis. The dogs howled back in answer, and then, after a few shots at
long distance, the battle was ended. The wolves turned tail and trotted
off across the snow-covered waste.
"It's lucky we heard them in time," commented Mr. Baxter, "or they might
have been the means of depriving us of all our dogs. Then we would have
had to give up the expedition for the time being."
As it lacked several hours to morning, and as every one was cold, Mr.
Baxter had Johnson make a big pot of tea, some of which was served to
the Indians. The beverage warmed every one up, and then the treasure
hunters once more crawled into the sleeping bags, where they remained
until the sun, coming just a little way up, told them another day had
begun. The sun did not rise very high, and the day was of short
duration, but the Aurora Borealis at night partly made up for the short
visits of Old Sol.
Breakfast was a short meal, as indeed were all the ones that they had in
that cold clime, for it is not pleasant to linger sitting down with the
thermometer hovering around thirty below zero. The dogs, who always
seemed ravenous, were tossed some frozen whitefish, which they bolted
almost whole. Then the harness was adjusted, the sleds looked to and the
start made.
Though the dogs were capable of great speed and endurance, even while
pulling the heavy sleds, which each contained a load of over four
hundred pounds, Mr. Baxter had given orders that the animals were not to
be driven to their utmost. He wanted to be sure of reaching his
destination and getting back.
It was about noon when, having passed through a gloomy stretch of
woodland, they came out on a vast, level snow-plain which seemed to
stretch away for many miles. At the farther end was a low range of
mountains.
"Those are the mountains we are headed for," said Mr. Baxter in a low
voice to the two boys. "There is where we will begin to search."
They knew by that he meant that was where the treasure might be hidden.
Suddenly Fred, whose sled was in advance, uttered a cry, and pointed to
what seemed like a black rock on the snow.
"What is it?" called Mr. Baxter.
"A moose! A big moose! I'm going to have a shot at it!"
As he spoke Holfax gave a cry, and the dogs of all the sleds stopped.
Fred was busy loosening the fur robe that covered him in order to get
up.
"Take the snowshoes!" advised Mr. Baxter.
The driver of Fred's sled must have understood, for he handed the boy a
pair of the contrivances which enable one to walk on top of soft snow.
Fred, with the Indian's aid, quickly adjusted them. By this time the
moose, which had been nosing under the snow to get the mosses which grow
there, and on which it feeds, lifted its immense head with the sweeping
horns.
"Oh! He's a beauty!" cried Fred. "I wonder if I can get him?"
"I'll help!" cried Jerry.
"No, let Fred see if he can't get it alone," advised Mr. Baxter.
With a snort the big animal was off, but the snow was deep, and it sank
down at every step. Holding his rifle in readiness, Fred glided forward
on the snowshoes. They gave him a great advantage over the beast, for
otherwise he would not have been able to get anywhere near it.
As it was, even with sinking to its shoulders at every plunge, the big
brute was slowly distancing the boy. Fred determined on a long shot, for
he was a fair marksman. Taking as good aim as he could in the excitement
of the moment, he fired.
The moose plunged on.
"You've missed!" cried Jerry.
Fred fired once more. But there was no need. By great good luck his one
bullet had reached a vital spot, and a moment later the big moose sank
down in the snow.