It is a peculiarity of the wilderness, be it in the frozen north or
under the blazing sun of the southwest, that it breeds in its dwellers
and sojourners a stout and hardy independence and self-reliance that no
other life can. In the midst of primitive solitudes, where man has to
battle with nature for his means of life, every quality of hardiness and
ingenuity that may have been dormant in civilization is called forth by
that stern task-mistress, necessity.
Thus it was that, though only boys so far as years were concerned, their
many adventures had made of Tom and Jack Dacre two woodsmen of unusual
competence, considering that they had not been born and bred to the
life. Brown as berries, with muscles like spring-steel, and in the pink
of condition, the lads were as well equipped almost as veteran woodsmen
to fight the battle of the wilds which lay before them.
As they glided along over the hard crust of the snow, always with the
trail of the sled stretching before them, a sort of feeling that was
almost exultation came over them. Both boys possessed a love of
adventure, a delight in meeting with and conquering difficulties and
asserting their manliness and grit, and surely if ever they had an
opportunity before them for the exercise of these faculties they had it
now.
Along with their heavy garments and thick hoods, the lads carried packs
and their rifles, besides ammunition. In his belt each lad had a stout
hunting knife and a serviceable hatchet. Stoutly laced leather boots
encased their legs as far as the knees, and altogether, to anyone
encountering them, they would have looked to the full the part of
efficiency and capability demanded by the problems of the north woods.
As they ascended the valley and the tracks they were following began to
leave the side of the river, they found themselves gliding through open
woods of spruce and balsam. In these woods signs of animal life began to
be plentiful. Everywhere the parallel lines of the thief’s sled were
criss-crossed with tracks of martens, and scored deep with the runways
of the big hares.
Sometimes they came on a spot where a pitiful little pile of bedraggled
fur and scattered splashes of scarlet showed that a weasel or an ermine
had made a banquet on some small woods creature.
It was when within a short distance of one of these mute evidences of a
woodland feast that Tom, who was in advance, came to a stop. Jack also
made a quick halt. Running parallel to the trail of the sled was another
track,—that of an animal.
Tom dropped his rifle butt on the ground and looked at Jack with
quizzical eyes.
“One of our old friends!” he said with a short laugh.
The trail, which was somewhat like that of a small bear but much
narrower in the feet, was a thoroughly familiar one to them. It was that
of the most cunning creature to be found north of fifty-three, and one
that is pretty well distributed throughout the wild regions of the
north.
It was, in fact, the track of a wolverine, carcajou, or, to give him the
trapper’s and woodsman’s expressive title, “the Glutton.” No animal is
so detested by the trappers. The wolverine’s hide is of little value,
but one of his banquets, made invariably at some luckless trapper’s
lure, may destroy a skin worth a hundred dollars or more.
Among his other talents, the Glutton is possessed of a sense of smell
and wariness keener than that of a fox. No bait has yet been devised
that will lure him into a trap, no poisoned meat, no matter how
skillfully set out, has, except on rare occasions, been known to tempt
him. And so the wolverine, low, black and snakey-eyed, with ferocious
teeth and claws, roams the northern woods seeking what, of other’s
capture, it may devour. Nor does it confine its depredations to the
trap-lines.
Many a trapper on reaching one of his huts where he has carefully cached
away his flour and bacon to serve in an emergency, has found that it has
been raided in his absence by wolverines, who have spoiled what they
could not destroy. The camp of our friends on the Porcupine River had
been visited on several occasions by wolverines, but they had merely
contented themselves with prowling about the fox-kennels and on one
occasion ripping open a fish-pound and devouring all the supply of fox
food contained therein.
“I’ll bet that fellow has smelled the blood of the black fox on that
rascal’s sled and is on his track,” exclaimed Tom, as the boys stood
looking at the often anathemized footprints.
“In that case he may get to the carcass before we do,” remarked Jack.
“Not very probable,” said Tom; “you can be sure that a man carrying a
valuable skin like that would guard it day and night, and——”
He stopped short and his brown face grew confused. It had just occurred
to him that to guard the black fox day and night was just what they
ought to have done. Jack noticed his confusion.
“Cheer up, old fellow,” he struck in consolingly, “it couldn’t be
helped, and——”
“But don’t you see that that is just what we can’t explain to Uncle
Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth?” demanded Tom. “How are we to get them to
see that it couldn’t be helped?”
Jack looked rather helpless.
“But we’ll get it back,—at least we’ll get the skin,—if we ever catch
up with this chap,” he insisted.
“Yes, and that ‘if’ looks as big as the Washington Monument to me right
now,” responded Tom, “but come on. Hit up the trail again. I wonder how
much ahead of us he is, anyhow?”
“Funny we haven’t struck any of his camps yet. He must have stopped to
eat.”
“The very fact that he hasn’t shows what a hurry he is in, but if he
keeps on at this rate his dogs will give out.”
“And that will give us our chance?”
“Exactly. He must guess that we are on his track and is going to drive
ahead like fury.”
“But he can get fresh dogs.”
“Not without entering a settlement, and I guess he wouldn’t take a
chance on doing that just yet.”
“If only we could get another dog team and a good guide, we could run
him down without trouble.”
“I’m not so certain of that, but anyhow I’d rather have the dogs than
the guide. A blind man could follow this trail.”
After this they pushed on in silence, watching as they went the stealthy
tracks of the wolverine following, like themselves, the unknown marauder
of the night.