A WEEK ON THE TRAIL
The previous days had been so full of excitement that they had
altogether forgotten that they were to go on a week's trip. Mr. Waterman
went ahead making preparations. On Sunday evening, after the short
devotions they always held on that day, said he:
"Boys, you remember that we are going on an exploring trip this week. So
get ready. You will have to carry everything with you, so take those
things that are absolutely necessary. In addition, remember that each of
you boys is expected to carry his share of the grub for the week."
The boys began to plan and they went to their blankets filled with the
idea of taking a real trip under old-time voyageur conditions.
"Supposing it rains?" suggested Pud.
"Well, what of it?" replied Bob. "Do you think that we're sugar and that
a little rain will hurt us?"
"Don't worry very much," said Mr. Waterman. "If we have any really bad
weather you will be surprised how quickly the guides will make a wood
hut out of birch bark, and a few supports quickly cut in the woods."
Very early the next morning they were astir. Bob had to give many
suggestions to Pud and Bill, too, but at last they had their duffle all
ready so that by means of tump lines they could not only bear their own
blankets and sleeping bags, but also their share of the week's supplies.
"We are going north," said Mr. Waterman.
"Let's go to the spy's cabin," said Pud.
"Ah, do," chimed in Bill. "You see, Pud and I had no part in that
adventure."
"Very well," said Mr. Waterman, "it won't be a bad thing for us to go
there and see how much of the place the Government agents have left."
"Have the police been there?" asked Bob.
"You can bet they've been there," said Mr. Waterman. "A party left
Escoumains the very day we were there."
They were a picturesque party as they set out. Pierre was the only one
left behind. Jean, Jack and Joe were there; Joe with his little pointed
hat, mackinaw and shoe pack, looking all the world like the pictures of
the old voyageurs that one sees in the illustrations of the early French
occupation of Canada. With the three guides, Mr. Waterman, Mr. Anderson,
and the three boys, there were eight in the party. Mr. Waterman led the
way, taking Bob in his canoe. Jack had Pud with him, Jean was paired
with Bill, while Mr. Anderson and Joe brought up the "honorable rear,"
as they say in Japan. In their blue shirts, khaki trousers, bandanna
handkerchiefs around their necks and shoe packs, they looked ready to
tackle a journey to James Bay. In fact, Jean and Joe had both made the
trip to James Bay and back, over the Great Divide almost due north of
Tadousac, going first up the St. John River from Chicoutimi. They would
have been quite willing to make the trip again but, no doubt, they would
have objected to the presence of the boys on such a trip. Such a canoe
journey needs real woodsmen and is not for novices such as the boys
were.
They were soon over into the lake from which the path led to the spy's
cabin. Mr. Waterman steered straight for the trail. They got out and
were soon over the short divide and into the big gulch. They found the
cabin still standing and apparently with everything just as it had been
left by them. When, however, they came to the wireless on the top of the
mountain, they could not find a trace of it. It had been taken away
entirely. The boys enjoyed the view from the top of the mountain.
"I almost believe that in clear weather Field and his mates could
recognize the ships on the St. Lawrence if they had strong glasses, as
they most probably had," said Mr. Waterman.
"Yes, it's so clear to-day," said Mr. Anderson, "that your idea seems
not only possible but very probable. This was a very fine place for such
a purpose. They could read the wireless messages that were sent from
vessels going or coming from Quebec, and if they could get out to the
United States now and then they could very easily keep their Government
informed as to the movements of the British vessels, at least the most
important vessels plying in and out of Quebec."
In a short time they were down the mountain and at the cabin once more.
"I must come in here some time and look for the outlet of this gulch,"
said Mr. Waterman. "There is quite a big watershed here, and the fact
that there is no lake shows that there is a good outlet. Unless this
outlet is underground it will lead down to either the Portneuf River or
the Escoumains or some lake that empties into one or other of these
streams."
"Have we time to look for it now?" asked Mr. Anderson.
"No," was the reply, "I have planned the trip for the week and it will
be best to make a day's trip here just for the purpose."
They then went on their way and were soon over into another lake.
"Do you think you can stand another carry?" asked Mr. Waterman, turning
to the boys.
"Sure," said Bob.
"Ab-so-lute-el-y," said Bill.
"All right," replied Pud.
"Why so modest?" asked Mr. Anderson.
"I find it hard work," said Pud. "I not only have to carry my load but
about twenty-five pounds of superfluous flesh. I guess I can stand it if
they can. I'm here to get in shape, so go ahead."
"We can stay here just as well and go on to the other lake in the
morning. It is only mid-afternoon now, though," said Mr. Waterman, "and
we could make the next lake easily. I plan to stay there all day
to-morrow."
"Don't mind me," said Pud.
So they went ahead. Bob carried the canoe and a duffle bag full of grub,
while Mr. Waterman kept piling on stuff until he had at least one
hundred and fifty pounds on his back. With a tump line over his
forehead, he moved ahead, apparently little concerned about the weight
of his load. Mr. Anderson and the guides were also similarly loaded. Pud
elected to carry his bag and the portion of the grub. Jack kept on
piling up the stuff with a merry wink to Bob. Finally they moved off.
The carry proved to be about a mile and a quarter long. They had to go
up a fairly steep hill first. All did very well, though Pud was puffing
and blowing like a porpoise and sweating like a foundryman when they
stopped at the top of the hill for a short rest. They were soon on their
way again. Jack stayed behind with Pud and the others were soon lost to
view. Bob and Mr. Waterman walked ahead at a good pace and were soon at
the lake, which opened out before them most invitingly. They were all in
swimming when at last Jack and Pud hove in sight. Pud was certainty the
picture of fatigue.
"Don't overdo it, Jack," said Mr. Waterman. "That was really too big a
load for him to carry."
"I guess you're right," replied Jack. "I put it on him more for a joke
than anything else, intending to take it myself later. But that kid's
game. He would not let me have it, although I thought he would melt away
before we got here. I won't overload him again. When he gets back to
Philadelphia he'll be hard as a rock. With his gameness and his weight
and strength, he should tear things loose on that football team. I don't
know much about the game, but they tell me it's rough.
"It is a little rough," said Mr. Waterman, who himself had been a noted
player when he went to college. "A little roughness in sport is really
necessary for the full development of boys. They must get that personal
contact and feel that they have to get the best of the other fellow
through their own efforts. If this is done fairly, the roughness will
not deteriorate into anything dangerous."
In the meantime Pud prepared for a swim, which was certainly a reward
for him after such a long stretch of portage.
"Oh, you water," said Pud, as he luxuriously lay out on his back
floating. "That last carry was some hike. It had all the Plattsburg
full-equipment hikes beaten to death. I'm just going to load my pater
down some day with what I had on my back and then ask him how he would
like to tote that over a young mountain."
"You did very well, Pud," said Mr. Waterman. "I did not notice how much
Jack was piling on you or I would have taken part of it myself."
"Not on your life," said Pud. "I'm here, and that extra sweat I had will
do me good. I told Jack I would switch with him now and then. I did not
realize what a load he had. On the previous carries he walked along just
as if he was out for a little jaunt. He's getting old, too. I don't see
how how he does it."
"They get used to it and know just how to distribute the load so that it
will be carried most easily," said Mr. Waterman.
While the boys were enjoying the water, the guides were busy. Already
they had cut a couple of poles, and with the aid of two trees they had
made a very serviceable fireplace and was getting ready to make
biscuits.
"Hey, you boys," called Mr. Waterman, "get busy. We'll clear up around
here, but you fellows get out and catch us some trout for supper."
"Nothing easier," said Bob, as he came ashore and put on his clothes. In
a little while they were all three out on the lake casting like
veterans. Bob was in one canoe alone while Pud paddled Bill in the other
canoe. In a very short time they had over thirty fine trout, and at a
shout from Jack they came back to camp.
"Well, did you have any luck?" asked Jack, as they came to the shore.
"Bully!" said Bob. "This lake is full of trout as fine as I have ever
seen."
"No wonder," replied Jack. "There is no one here to catch them, and they
keep on increasing."
"Well, I'll reduce the supply if we stay here a few days," said Pud. "I
could eat an ox, let alone a few trout."
"You'll get all you want to eat and then some," said Jack.
The fish were soon cleaned, and twenty minutes later they sat around a
table made of two big logs with birch bark spread over it. It was not
quite so comfortable as in their home camp, where they had a rude bench
to sit on, but not one of them even thought of any such luxuries. They
had had a strenuous day with but a very small lunch, and they were as
hungry as wolves. The way the biscuits, the trout and everything else
disappeared was a tribute to Jack's cooking. Even Pud at last drew back
from the improvised table fully satisfied.
"The Germans have a proverb to the effect that 'Hunger is the best
cook,'" said Mr. Anderson.
"That's true," broke in Pud, "but when you have a fine cook and hunger
too, then there is real enjoyment in eating even the most simple fare."
"Well said, old top," remarked Bill. "'But first tell me when you got to
be a philosopher."
"The best time to philosophize," said Mr. Waterman, "is just after such
a meal as we have had. Then there is such a sense of bodily satisfaction
that everything else appears to us as if detached from our own selves.
The true philosophers are the woodsmen. They have time to think over
life and its many chances, and they get to know things at their true
worth. That is why men who are brought up near to nature are always such
good judges of character either in men, women, or animals."
"Now we are philosophizing," said Mr. Anderson. "I think you're right,
though, for practically the only true philosophers that I have ever
known are men of the woods. Pierre is a good example of this. His views
of life and death would do credit to Dr. Talmage or any other of our
great preachers."
"Well, all I can say is this," said Pud, "I'm glad I'm here."
At this everybody laughed, for it was typical of big, hearty, jovial
Pud, that any real serious conversation should go over his head, even
though his own ideas may have started the talk.
After supper the boys got their sleeping bags ready and everything else
so placed that they would not be wet by the dew, which is very heavy in
the Saguenay region. Then, like true sons of Nimrod, they once more
sought the limpid waters of the little lake in quest of the ever elusive
and ever interesting trout. They all had good luck, which guaranteed
them a hearty breakfast. As Bob and Pud came back to the camp they found
Jack out on a log casting. The woods were back of him and almost
directly above him, but in some uncanny way he managed to cast his fly
just where and just as far as he wanted to. As they came by he showed
them a dozen fine specimens that he had hooked.
"Why go so far from camp?" said he, in his quizzical way. "They bite
just as good here."
"For you," said Bob. "You're a wizard with the fly, but for a poor
novice like myself it is better to seek the fish where they are pretty
sure to be found. I'm no Pied Piper of Hamlin to be able to draw fish to
my fly as he did rats with his pipe."
The camp fire proved more than usually attractive that evening. All
gathered around, even the guides, after they had straightened everything
up.
"Well, we don't need to worry much now," said Mr. Waterman. "We'll stay
right here to-morrow and have a good day's fishing and possibly
hunting."
"What kind of hunting?" asked Pud.
"I was thinking merely of a partridge or two," replied Mr. Waterman.
"Arc you going to use your sleeping bag to-night?" asked Bob.
"Sure thing," replied Mr. Anderson. "We're going to have a fine night,
but about four o'clock to-morrow morning you are liable to make the
acquaintance of some of those moustiques or gnats that Pierre tells
about. If you are in your sleeping bag you can then just pull over the
flap and have another snooze."
"It certainly looks like fine weather," said Bill. "I think that I'll
get up real early and visit that trout hole I found to-night. They just
jumped at the fly. It was almost dark when I struck the place, so I had
time only for a 'strike' or two."
"I'm with you," said Pud, with a yawn.
"Swell chance," said Bob. "We won't be able to waken you to-morrow
morning until you hear Jack's voice yelling that breakfast is ready."
"Is that so?" replied Pud. "Now, don't you believe it. I've turned over
a new leaf, and I'm going to get up promptly from now on."
"The only thing you'll turn over to-morrow at dawn is yourself for
another nap," said Bill.
"Just try me and you'll see," said Pud.
"You're on," was the reply, "but I warn you that I'll call you just
once."
Just then Mr. Waterman broke in by asking Joe if this was not the lake
where he had had such an experience with wolves some years before. Joe
nodded. The boys immediately wanted to know the story. Bob sat down by
Joe and was soon lost as he listened to the vivacious tale of the French
habitant.
"That isn't fair," said Bill, to no one in particular.
"What isn't fair?" asked Mr. Anderson.
"Why, Bob knows French, so he is having Joe tell him the wolf story.
We'd like to know that too."
"It is really a fairly common occurrence; at least was some years ago in
this country," said Mr. Anderson.
"But Bob will tell us, won't you?" said Pud, turning to him.
"Sure." So Bob began the interesting tale.
"Joe was up here with Pierre and another Indian hunting some years ago.
The winter had been a very severe one with a wealth of snow. On this
account, the wolves had been able to get but little to eat. They were
then much more numerous than they are to-day. At that time there was a
bounty on wolves and hundreds of heads were turned in to the government
each winter and spring. Joe and his party were coming back to Escoumains
after a good winter's hunt. They stopped on the next lake at a hunter's
shack that was there at that time. As the weather promised to keep cold,
they determined to stay there, feeling that if the spring should come
with a rush that they would be able to get down to Escoumains, as it was
only a week's journey distant.
"They therefore set their traps and went methodically about their
business of gathering in the furry harvest made profitable to them
through the desires of 'My Lady' in the large cities, whose fair necks
must be covered and protected from even the cold autumn's breath. One
fine day Joe set out to make the round of the traps. He had good luck
and was going home about four o'clock in the afternoon, laden with two
foxes and four rabbits. Joe was hurrying on, for there was no moon and
the shades of night fall very early in these latitudes even in March.
They had heard a wolf occasionally, but had felt no fear of them, so
that when Joe heard the long-drawn note, he did not give it even a
thought. He was intent on getting back before nightfall, so he failed to
note that the howls were rapidly approaching.
"As he reached the surface of the lake, which was of course frozen
tightly at that time of year, he was astonished to hear the howl of a
wolf, immediately followed by other howls only a short distance in his
rear. He hurried on, but before he could get across the lake, he saw
several dark forms dash out on the ice behind him. He broke into a run,
but the pack rapidly overtook him. Raising his gun to fire, he was
thunderstruck to find that in some way he had jammed the trigger and
that it would not work.
"He did not have any time to waste, so he threw down two rabbits and
hurried on. The wolves stopped only a moment, when they came to the
rabbits. He could hear them snarling and quarreling over their small
carcasses. He felt his blood run cold and wondered if he was to be torn
to pieces in like manner. Once more the pack came on, so he threw
another couple of rabbits to them and ran ahead. They got quite near to
him the next time, so he dropped the remainder of his load and fled for
the shore. He felt that his only chance lay in getting ashore and up a
tree. As he ran he tried to fix the trigger of his gun, but he could not
get it working. He was quite near the shore now, but the wolves were
close behind. With a last desperate rush, he sprang up the steep bank.
Turning around, he was just in time to strike down with his clubbed gun
a big gray form that leaped at him with gleaming fangs. This lucky
stroke probably saved Joe's life, for the rest of the pack stopped to
devour their comrade, thus giving Joe time to get safely into the
branches of a tree. The wolves, now with bloody mouths and glaring
eyeballs, surrounded the tree and let out howls of such fierceness that
they made Joe tremble even though he knew that he was safe for the
present. He was only about a mile and a half away from their shack, and
he knew that if he did not turn up, that sooner or later Pierre would be
out to hunt him.
"But, can you imagine how pleasant it must be to be up in a tree, with
broken gun, a dozen hungry wolves beneath you and a cold night coming
on? Already Joe began to get very cold, for in his race across the lake
through the heavy snow he had broken out into a heavy perspiration. As
darkness came down he could feel the cold hand of King Frost, as it
were, reaching for him and trying to throw him down to the beasts below.
This idea took possession of Joe's mind and he fought it off with all
his strength. He tried as best he could in the gathering darkness to fix
his gun, but it was hopelessly jammed. At last he gave this up and
settled down to wait for the morning, which would surely bring Pierre to
his rescue.
"As the cold became greater, his desire to sleep became the stronger. He
felt himself nodding several times and once awoke just as he was on the
point of falling from the tree. He grabbed a branch lower down, but his
feet swung beneath and before he could get back safely on the limb one
of the watchful band below by a mighty leap snapped at his leg and took
a piece cleanly out of the calf, tearing his trousers leg almost
entirely off him. The smell of the blood put the wolves into a frenzy
and they tried again and again to reach him by leaping. They seemed
maddened by hunger, for when one of their number fell after making a
mighty upward bound, the pack was on him in a minute, and before the
horrified eyes of Joe, they tore their mate to pieces and in ten minutes
there was neither hide nor hair of him to be seen.
"Joe now had to bind up his leg as best he could. He bound the rags of
his trouser leg around so that it kept out the cold pretty well. This
excitement kept him up for some time, but about twelve o'clock Joe felt
that the cold was sure to get the better of him if he did not do
something. He thereupon undid the leather strap that he used ordinarily
to carry his gun over his back when not in use. This strap, together
with his belt, made a strap sufficiently long so that he was able to
bind himself to the tree. He then felt easier, for he knew that at
least, even though he went to sleep, that he would run no risk of
falling down as prey for the murderous pack below. He wondered if he
would be able to stand the cold night or whether when Pierre came in the
morning he might not find him stark and rigid, tied to the branch of the
tree.
"He shuddered as he remembered the gruesome sight he had once noted far
to the north one day. Then, on one of his fishing expeditions, he had
come upon the body of a man hanging in a tree, evidently treed by wolves
and then frozen. He wondered if some chance passer-by in after years
would find his skeleton in a similar way and would pass on with only a
'Dieu benisse' (May God bless) as he had done, and not even give him
decent burial. He commenced to think that his present position was
directly due to his haste on this former occasion. He begged God to
forgive him and promised to burn a hundred candles for the soul of the
unknown if he ever got back to Escoumains.
"At last human strength could hold out no longer and Joe fell asleep,
asleep with the cold, that forerunner of death. Joe knew nothing until
he awoke in the cabin with Pierre busy about him. It seems that when he
did not return Pierre had gotten uneasy. He and his mate had started
out. With pine torches they followed his trail, and when they saw the
numerous wolf tracks they feared for the worst. They followed across the
ice and were themselves attacked by the pack. Their guns soon put them
to flight and a few minutes later they found Joe insensible up in the
tree. They hurried him back to the hut and in a few days Joe was none
the worse for his experience except for the painful wound on his leg
made by the champion high jumper of the pack."
"Are there any wolves up here now?" asked Pud, as he looked out into the
forest with its dark avenues of trees.
"Not so many," replied Mr. Anderson, "but Sandy, down at Escoumains,
told me the other day that they were getting numerous again, and that a
bounty had once more been put on their heads."
"Don't be dreaming of wolves and pounce on me again, as you did when
dreaming of bears," laughed Bob.
"Yes, to bed, to bed, now," cried Mr. Waterman. "I'm sure we all need
the rest, for we have had a great day."
They all agreed with him and were soon warm and cozy in their sleeping
bags, sleeping as only tired men can sleep out of doors. The fire died
down, the greenness of the nearby branches became gray and then black
and were finally merged into the blackness of the surrounding woods, and
not a sound told that here under God's own canopy slept human beings
enjoying nature as the primeval men of old did.