LYNX LAW
Donald had asked anxiously several times how the night was going. As a
scout he might possibly have been able to tell this fairly well by the
position of the heavenly bodies, particularly the planets; for every
scout is supposed to include this woodsman’s trick in his education
before he can call himself fit to wander at will in an unknown
wilderness. But then Donald was hardly in a condition to depend on
himself, and so he several times whispered to Rob:
“Is it gitting alang toward eleven, wud ye mind tellin’ me?”
It was still far from that, but evidently the particular hour Donald
mentioned was wearing upon his mind, and he took counsel from his fears.
Rob concluded that the long and heavily-laden munition freight was due
at the bridge about eleven. And at the steady progress they were making
he felt pretty certain they would be in ample time to give warning,
unless something cropped up to detain them, which Rob fervently hoped
would not be the case.
Tubby was still clinging to the rear, but doing nobly—for him. Even Andy
felt a tinge of justifiable pride in the work of the stout chum, because
he knew what a handicap Tubby always labored under when energy and
sustained effort had to be looked to in order to pull one through. It
meant a whole lot more for Tubby to accomplish this swift tramp than to
any one of the other fellows, injured Donald alone excepted.
If he puffed and wheezed occasionally that was no more than might be
expected. Every time Andy glanced over his shoulder on missing these
familiar sounds, a faint fear oppressing him that the other had fallen
out of line, he discovered the stout chum in motion not far back of his
heels.
“Bully for Tubby; he’s all right!” Andy was saying to himself, for
really he had a deep and abiding affection for the good-natured one,
even though addicted to “rubbing it in” occasionally, when an evil
spirit moved him to play practical jokes.
Then it happened!
Donald came to a sudden halt, and uttered a low but disgusted grunt.
“What’s the matter; lost the trail?” whispered Rob, for that was the
first and most natural explanation that appealed to him.
“We’re in hard luck, I ken!” muttered the pilot of the expedition.
“In what way?” demanded Rob.
“It’s a muckle sair job, wi’ that awfu’ creature barrin’ the way. If ye
look, Rab, ye can see his yellow eyes gleamin’ up yonder in the tree.
The beastie is crouchin’ on a lower limb, and right o’er the trail. He
will nae let us pass by, I fear me.”
All of them heard what Donald said, and every pair of eyes was
immediately turned toward the place just ahead that he indicated. Sure
enough something glowed in the semi-darkness, something that seemed like
twin spots of phosphorus, about eight feet or so from the ground, and in
conjunction with the lower limb of the big, bushy hemlock.
Even Tubby knew that only the orbs of the feline or cat species could
display such glaring eyes in the night-time.
“Wow! a bobcat!” exclaimed Andy, fussing with his gun, though Rob
instantly laid a detaining hand on his arm and hastily remarked:
“None of that sort of work, Andy, on your life, remember! It would ruin
the whole business with us! It’s a dangerous job to try to shoot a cat
when you can only see the glare of its eyes. Donald, what do you say?”
“First then, it is no common cat, but a big lynx, a fearsome creature
for any man to tackle,” returned the young Canadian with complete
assurance that told he knew what he was speaking about.
“Worse and worse!” grunted Andy, feeling a trifle disappointed because
Rob had laid down the law, for he aspired to some day kill such a
fighting monster as a full-grown Canada lynx, and it was too bad that
circumstances over which he had no control were now fated to keep him
from carrying out that somewhat ambitious desire.
Rob had been fumbling about his person, and suddenly there shot out a
small but intense ray of light. The scout master had thought to fetch
along with him that exceedingly useful little hand electric torch, and
was now putting the same to good service.
Tubby stood on his tiptoes in order to see better, for he chanced to be
just behind Andy, who somehow did not think to step aside. What he
beheld gave him a further quiver along the region of his spine, as Tubby
afterward admitted “just as if some malicious joker had suddenly emptied
a bucketful of icy water down his back.”
There was no mistake about it. Crouching upon the limb of the hemlock
they could see the beast, much larger than any wildcat they had ever met
in all their travels, and plainly marked with odd-looking tasselated
ears, and the hairy growth so like whiskers, that distinguish the true
Canadian lynx.
The cat did not like that piercing glow from Rob’s dazzling light as was
evidenced by a low fierce growling sound. Tubby had often heard the pet
tomcat at home make that same noise when holding a captured sparrow
between his teeth, and threatened by a rival and envious feline desirous
of taking the prize away from the possessor.
At the same time the lynx showed no disposition to retreat, while they
would not dare venture along the trail, because in so doing they must
pass directly under its “roost,” as Andy called it.
Besides, Rob was not without caution, though on occasion he could be
just as dashing as the next one. There was always a time when discretion
might be deemed the better part of valor; and such an occasion now
confronted them, Rob thought.
Donald, poor fellow, was figuratively speaking on “needles and pins,”
what with his impatience to get on, and his knowledge of the dauntless
habits of the animal that now disputed their right to that trail.
“There’s only one thing we can do,” said Rob decisively, for he was a
great believer in “taking the bull by the horns,” or cutting the Gordian
knot when it could not be untied, just as Alexander the Great is said to
have done on occasion. “We must turn aside, and go around the brute. Let
him stay in the tree where he is, if that’s his game. All we want is to
get along, and lose no more time than is necessary.”
Andy was heard to give a sigh. How he did hate to “knuckle down” to a
miserable old lynx that considered them trespassers on his domain, and
perhaps knew they were just invading Yankee boys who had crossed the
line despite the law that forbade trespass on the part of foreigners.
“A gude idea, Rab!” exclaimed Donald, overjoyed. “Mair strength to yer
elbow, man. And let us gang awa’ without anny more bother.”
“Oh, well, all right,” grumbled Andy, in a disgusted tone. “It’s hard
lines, let me tell you.”
Tubby was not saying anything, but he did a heap of staring. He noticed
that as they left the trail and began to make a half circle so as to
pass around the big hemlock containing that audacious lynx, Rob
continued to play his electric torch so that its glow fell upon the
crouching beast. There was a double object in this, for not only could
they keep watch over the animal, and feel assured it had not left that
limb to follow them; but at the same time the lynx would have to remain
under the mystic spell of the glowing orb that dazzled it.
Andy kept his gun in readiness, for he was determined that should the
beast make any attempt at attacking them he could not be bound by any
order which would prevent him from shooting. But there was no occasion
for violence. The lynx twisted its head around so as to follow their
passage, but when last seen it had not even changed its position on the
limb. As Tubby told himself half humorously it “just seemed bent on
seeing a disreputable rabble well off the premises,” when it could once
more take up the necessary duty of securing a dinner.
Tubby was also concerned in casting his eyes about him in momentary
expectation of discovering another pair of glowing eyes amidst the
tangle of branches above; for he remembered that most cats hunt in
couples, often surrounding their game. He was looking for the mate of
the lynx in the hemlock, looking, but at the same time fervently praying
that it would only be conspicuous by reason of its absence, for Tubby
was not at all fond of any sort of cats, domestic or wild.
All of them breathed sighs of satisfaction when they could no longer see
any sign of the ferocious four-footed hunter of the trail. Rob had now
extinguished his light, for he did not wish to needlessly exhaust the
little battery; it had already proven worth its price, and was likely to
come in handy on still further occasions in the near future.
“Not much danger of his following after us, I suppose, Donald?” Rob
asked softly. He felt that the Canadian boy must be much better
acquainted with the characteristics of such a native animal than he
could boast of being.
“Na, I dinna think so. The beastie is satisfied to see us go around and
leave him in possession. He is nae lookin’ after the likes o’ us just
noo. But I hae another trouble facin’ me.”
“You mean finding the trail again, don’t you, Donald?” asked Rob.
“Just so,” came the reply. “I know the general direction we must be
goin’ till we reach the railway, but it wud be so much better if we were
able to continue alang the path.”
“We turned off to the right,” said the observing scout master, “and so
it is bound to lie over on our left. You could tell when you struck it,
I suppose, Donald?”
“Oh! ay, if on’y I could _see_,” the pilot assured him.
“Well, we’ll soon fix that part of it easy enough,” remarked Rob, and
once more he had recourse to his invaluable vest pocket edition of a
hand torch.
He and Donald walked side by side, using their eyes to the best
advantage as they slowly advanced. Rob, being a clever woodsman, could
pick out a trail that had been frequently used by passing human beings
and animals, even though he may never have previously set eyes on the
spot himself. As for Donald, surely he ought to be able to equal the
cousin scout from over the border, for he was quite at home in these
Canadian woods.
Andy, not being able to assist, was well contented to follow after those
in the lead, and let them shoulder all the responsibility. Andy had a
little weakness in this direction, which sometimes cropped up; and many
boys are apt to think it a good thing when they can get some one else to
assume all the care, while on their part they go “scot free.”
Tubby was beginning to worry. He fancied they might have “rough
sledding” ahead of them. Why, this even began to look a little as though
they were getting lost; at any rate, the _trail_ was lost, which
amounted to nearly the same thing. So Tubby was feeling that queer
sensation again in the region of his heart, which had begun to pump
doubly fast. Tubby’s naturally timorous nature had never been fully
conquered, and there were plenty of occasions when it gave him much
trouble. He feared lest he might be disgraced in the eyes of his chums
by appearing a coward, something he sincerely detested.
Several precious minutes passed. In vain did Tubby listen to hear either
of the trail hunters declare that their efforts had met with success.
“Yes, I guess after all we must be lost!” the stout scout began to admit
to himself forlornly; and, indeed, it looked rather serious.