in the day, he would not have cared; but now it would soon be night. He
had no great dread of bears, as a rule. He was willing to tackle
several of them at once, as long as he had his Winchester and a clear
chance to use it--but after dark he would be at a grievous disadvantage.
If the trail had still been leading away from home, he would probably
have turned back and planned for an early start again next morning. But
as his enemy was going in the right direction, he decided to follow on
as fast as possible, and see if he might not succeed in obtaining a
decision before dark.
The trail was now almost insolently clear, and he followed it at a lope.
He gained no glimpse of the quarry even at this pace; but at least he
had the satisfaction of knowing, from the increased heaviness of the
footprints and the lengthening of the stride, that he was forcing his
adversary to make haste. Presently it appeared that this was displeasing
to the adversary. The trail went off to the left, at a sharp angle, and
made for a dense cedar swamp, which Murray had no desire to adventure
into at that late hour. He decided to give up the chase for the day and
keep straight for home.
By this time Murray felt that his knowledge of bears was not quite so
profound as he had fancied it to be. Nevertheless, he was sure of one
thing. He was ready to gamble on it that, as soon as they realized he
had given up trailing them, they would turn and trail him. The idea was
more or less depressing to him in his present mood. He did not greatly
care, however, so long as it was fairly light. He did not think that his
adversaries would have the rashness to attack him even after dark, the
black bear having a very just appreciation of man's power. Still, there
was the chance, and it gave him something to think of. He made a hurried
estimate of the distance he had yet to go, and it was with a distinct
sense of relief he concluded that he would make the open fields before
the closing in of dark.
The woods at this point were somewhat thick, an abundant second growth
of spruce and fir. Presently they fell away before him, revealing a few
acres of windy grass-land surrounding a deserted cabin. At the sight of
the space of open ground Murray was seized with a new idea. His face
brightened, his self-confidence returned. The bears had, so far, outdone
him thoroughly in woodcraft. Well, he would now show them that he was
their master in tactics.
He ran staggeringly out into the field, and fell as if exhausted. He lay
for a few seconds, to make sure he was observed by his antagonists, then
picked himself up, raced on across the open as fast as he could, and
plunged into the thick woods on the opposite side.
As soon as he was hidden, he turned and looked behind him. The growth of
bushes and rank herbage which fringed the other side of the clearing
whence he had come was waving and tossing with the movement of heavy
bodies. For a few moments he thought that his pursuers, grown bold with
his flight, would break forth from their concealment and follow across
the clearing. In that case he might count on bagging them both.
But no, they were too wary still for that. Presently the tossing of the
bushes began to separate, and moved rapidly both to right and left along
the skirts of the clearing. A smile of triumph spread over Murray's
face.
"My turn at last!" he muttered, and ran noiselessly, keeping well
hidden, down toward the left-hand corner of the field. He had an idea
that it was the bigger bear which was coming to meet him in that
direction, because the movement of the bushes had seemed the more
violent on that side. He was himself again fully now, the zest of the
hunter swallowing up all other emotions.
Just at the corner of the field, behind a heap of stones half buried in
herbage, he hid himself, and lay motionless, with his rifle at his
shoulder and finger on the trigger. He could hear the bear coming, for
she was running more carelessly now, under the impression that the enemy
was in full flight. Dry branches snapped, green branches swished and
rustled, and occasionally his straining ears caught the sound of a heavy
but muffled footfall.
She was almost upon him, however, before he could actually get a view of
her. She came out into a space between two clumps of young fir trees,
not twenty-five yards from his hiding-place, and was just passing him
diagonally, offering a perfect mark. Murray's finger closed, softly and
steadily, on the trigger. The heavy, soft-nosed bullet crashed through
her neck, and she dropped, collapsing on the instant into nothing more
than a heap of rusty-black fur.
Immensely elated, his dear sheep avenged, and his standing as a hunter
vindicated at last, young Murray strode over and examined his splendid
prize. It was by far the biggest black bear he had ever seen. To the
other of the pair he gave not a thought; he knew that the crack of his
rifle would have cured it of any further curiosity it might have had
about himself. He took out his handkerchief, tied it to the end of a
stick, and stuck the stick into the ground beside the heap of fur, to
serve both as a mark and as a warning to possible trespassers. Then he
made haste home, to fetch a lantern and the hired man, for he would not
leave so splendid a skin all night to the mercies of fox and fisher and
weasel and other foragers of the dark.
Cock-Crow
He was a splendid bird, a thoroughbred "Black-breasted Red" game-cock,
his gorgeous plumage hard as mail, silken with perfect condition, and
glowing like a flame against the darkness of the spruce forest. His
snaky head--the comb and wattles had been trimmed close, after the mode
laid down for his aristocratic kind--was sharp and keen, like a living
spear-point. His eyes were fierce and piercing, ready ever to meet the
gaze of bird, or beast, or man himself, with the unwinking challenge of
their full, arrogant stare.
Perched upon a stump a few yards from the railway line, he turned that
bold stare now, with an air of unperturbed superciliousness, upon the
wreck of the big freight-car from which he had just escaped. He had
escaped by a miracle, but little effect had that upon his bold and
confident spirit. The ramshackle, overladen freight train, labouring up
the too-steep gradient, had broken in two, thanks to a defective
coupler, near the top of the incline a mile and a half away. The rear
cars--heavy box-cars--had, of course, run back, gathering a terrific
momentum as they went. The rear brakeman, his brakes failing to hold,
had discreetly jumped before the speed became too great. At the foot of
the incline a sharp curve had proved too much for the runaways to
negotiate. With a screech of tortured metal they had jumped the track,
and gone crashing down the high embankment. One car, landing on a
granite boulder, had split apart like a cleft melon. The light crate in
which our game-cock, a pedigree bird, was being carried to a fancier in
the nearest town, some three score miles away, had survived by its very
lightness. But its door had been snapped open. The cock walked out
deliberately, uttered a long, low _krr-rr-ee_ of ironic comment upon the
disturbance, hopped delicately over the tangle of boxes and crates and
agricultural implements, and flew to the top of the nearest stump.
There he shook himself, his plumage being disarrayed, though his spirit
was not. He flapped his wings. Then, eyeing the wreckage keenly, he gave
a shrill, triumphant crow, which rang through the early morning
stillness of the forest like a challenge. He felt that the smashed car,
so lately his prison, was a foe which he had vanquished by his own
unaided prowess. His pride was not altogether unnatural.
The place where he stood preening the red glory of his plumage was in
the very heart of the wilderness. The only human habitation within a
dozen miles in either direction was a section-man's shanty, guarding a
siding and a rusty water-tank. The woods--mostly spruce in that region,
with patches of birch and poplar--had been gone over by the lumbermen
some five years before, and still showed the ravages of the insatiable
axe. Their narrow "tote-roads," now deeply mossed and partly overgrown
by small scrub, traversed the lonely spaces in every direction. One of
these roads led straight back into the wilderness from the
railway--almost from the stump whereon the red cock had his perch.
The cock had no particular liking for the neighbourhood of the accident,
and when his fierce, inquiring eye fell upon this road, he decided to
investigate, hoping it might lead him to some flock of his own kind,
over whom he would, as a matter of course, promptly establish his
domination. That there would be other cocks there, already in charge,
only added to his zest for the adventure. He was raising his wings to
hop down from his perch, when a wide-winged shadow passed over him, and
he checked himself, glancing upwards sharply.
A foraging hawk had just flown overhead. The hawk had never before seen
a bird like the bright figure standing on the stump, and he paused in
his flight, hanging for a moment on motionless wing to scrutinise the
strange apparition. But he was hungry, and he considered himself more
than a match for anything in feathers except the eagle, the goshawk, and
the great horned owl. His hesitation was but for a second, and, with a
sudden mighty thrust of his wide wings, he swooped down upon this novel
victim.
The big hawk was accustomed to seeing every quarry he stooped at cower
paralysed with terror or scurry for shelter in wild panic. But, to his
surprise, this infatuated bird on the stump stood awaiting him, with
wings half lifted, neck feathers raised in a defiant ruff, and one eye
cocked upwards warily. He was so surprised, in fact, that at a distance
of some dozen or fifteen feet he wavered and paused in his downward
rush. But it was surprise only, fear having small place in his wild,
marauding heart. In the next second he swooped again and struck
downwards at his quarry with savage, steel-hard talons.
He struck but empty air. At exactly the right fraction of the instant
the cock had leapt upwards on his powerful wings, lightly as a
thistle-seed, but swift as if shot from a catapult. He passed straight
over his terrible assailant's back. In passing he struck downwards with
his spurs, which were nearly three inches long, straight, and tapered
almost to a needle-point. One of these deadly weapons found its mark, as
luck would have it, fair in the joint of the hawk's shoulder, putting
the wing clean out of action.
The marauder turned completely over and fell in a wild flutter to the
ground, the cock, at the same time, alighting gracefully six or eight
feet away and wheeling like a flash to meet a second attack. The hawk,
recovering with splendid nerve from the amazing shock of his overthrow,
braced himself upright on his tail by the aid of the one sound wing--the
other wing trailing helplessly--and faced his strange adversary with
open beak and one clutching talon uplifted.
The cock, fighting after the manner of his kind, rushed in to within a
couple of feet of his foe and there paused, balanced for the next stroke
or parry, legs slightly apart, wings lightly raised, neck feathers
ruffed straight out, beak lowered and presented like a rapier point.
Seeing that his opponent made no demonstration, but simply waited,
watching him with eyes as hard and bright and dauntless as his own, he
tried to provoke him to a second attack. With scornful insolence he
dropped his guard and pecked at a twig or a grass blade, jerking the
unconsidered morsel aside and presenting his point again with lightning
swiftness.
The insult, however, was lost upon the hawk, who had no knowledge of the
cock's duelling code. He simply waited, motionless as the stump beside
him.
[Illustration: Leaping upwards and striking downwards with his
destroying heels.]
The cock, perceiving that taunt and insolence were wasted, now began to
circle warily toward the left, as if to take his opponent in the flank.
The hawk at once shifted front to face him. But this was the side of his
disabled wing. The sprawling member would not move, would not get out of
the way. In the effort to manage it, he partly lost his precarious
balance. The cock saw his advantage instantly. He dashed in like a
feathered and flaming thunderbolt, leaping upwards and striking
downwards with his destroying heels. The hawk was hurled over backwards,
with one spur through his throat, the other through his lungs. As he
fell he dragged his conqueror down with him, and one convulsive but
blindly-clutching talon ripped away a strip of flesh and feathers from
the victor's thigh. There was a moment's flapping, a few delicate red
feathers floated off upon the morning air, then the hawk lay quite
still, and the red cock, stepping haughtily off the body of his foe,
crowed long and shrill, three times, as if challenging any other
champions of the wilderness to come and dare a like fate.
For a few minutes he stood waiting and listening for an answer to his
challenge. As no answer came, he turned, without deigning to glance at
his slain foe, and stalked off, stepping daintily, up the old wood-road
and into the depths of the forest. To the raw, red gash in his thigh he
paid no heed whatever.
Having no inkling of the fact that the wilderness, silent and deserted
though it seemed, was full of hostile eyes and unknown perils, he took
no care at all for the secrecy of his going. Indeed, had he striven for
concealment, his brilliant colouring, so out of key with the forest
gloom, would have made it almost impossible. Nevertheless, his keenness
of sight and hearing, his practised and unsleeping vigilance as
protector of his flock, stood him in good stead, and made up for his
lack of wilderness lore. It was with an intense interest and curiosity,
rather than with any apprehension, that his bold eyes questioned
everything on either side of his path through the dark spruce woods.
Sometimes he would stop to peck the bright vermilion bunches of the
pigeon-berry, which here and there starred the hillocks beside the road.
But no matter how interesting he found the novel and delicious fare, his
vigilance never relaxed. It was, indeed, almost automatic. The idea
lurking in his subconscious processes was probably that he might at any
moment be seen by some doughty rival of his own kind, and challenged to
the great game of mortal combat. But whatever the object of his
watchfulness, it served him as well against the unknown as it could have
done against expected foes.
Presently he came to a spot where an old, half-rotted stump had been
torn apart by a bear hunting for wood-ants. The raw earth about the
up-torn roots tempted the wanderer to scratch for grubs. Finding a fat
white morsel, much too dainty to be devoured alone, he stood over it and
began to call _kt-kt-kt_, _kt-kt-kt_, _kt-kt-kt_ in his most alluring
tones, hoping that some coy young hen would come stealing out of the
underbrush in response to his gallant invitation. There was no such
response; but as he peered about hopefully, he caught sight of a
sinister, reddish-yellow shape creeping towards him behind the shelter
of a withe-wood bush. He gulped down the fat grub, and stood warily
eyeing the approach of this new foe.
It looked to him like a sharp-nosed, bushy-tailed yellow dog--a very
savage and active one. He was not afraid, but he knew himself no match
for a thoroughly ferocious dog of that size. This one, it was clear, had
evil designs upon him. He half crouched, with wings loosed and every
muscle tense for the spring.
The next instant the fox pounced at him, darting through the green edges
of the withe-wood bush with most disconcerting suddenness. The cock
sprang into the air, but only just in time, for the fox, leaping up
nimbly at him with snapping jaws, captured a mouthful of glossy tail
feathers. The cock alighted on a branch overhead, some seven or eight
feet from the ground, whipped around, stretched his neck downwards, and
eyed his assailant with a glassy stare. "_Kr-rr-rr-eee?_" he murmured
softly, as if in sarcastic interrogation. The fox, exasperated at his
failure, and hating, above all beasts, to be made a fool of, glanced
around to see if there were any spectators. Then, with an air of
elaborate indifference, he pawed a feather from the corner of his mouth
and trotted away as if he had just remembered something.
He had not gone above thirty yards or so, when the cock flew down again
to the exact spot where he had been scratching. He pretended to pick up
another grub, all the time keeping an eye on the retiring foe. He crowed
with studied insolence; but the fox, although that long and shrill
defiance must have seemed a startling novelty, gave no sign of having
heard it. The cock crowed again, with the same lack of result. He kept
on crowing until the fox was out of sight. Then he returned coolly to
his scratching. When he had satisfied his appetite for fat white grubs,
he flew up again to his safe perch and fell to pruning his feathers.
Five minutes later the fox reappeared, creeping up with infinite stealth
from quite another direction. The cock, however, detected his approach
at once, and proclaimed the fact with another mocking crow. Disgusted
and abashed, the fox turned in his tracks and crept away to stalk some
less sophisticated quarry.
The wanderer, for all his fearlessness, was wise. He suspected that the
vicious yellow dog with the bushy tail might return yet again to the
charge. For a time, therefore, he sat on his perch, digesting his meal
and studying with keen, inquisitive eyes his strange surroundings.
After ten minutes or so of stillness and emptiness, the forest began to
come alive. He saw a pair of black-and-white woodpeckers running up and
down the trunk of a half-dead tree, and listened with tense interest to
their loud rat-tat-tattings. He watched the shy wood-mice come out from
their snug holes under the tree-roots, and play about with timorous
gaiety and light rustlings among the dead leaves. He scrutinised with
appraising care a big brown rabbit which came bounding in a leisurely
fashion down the tote-road and sat up on his hindquarters near the
stump, staring about with its mild, bulging eyes, and waving its long
ears this way and that, to question every minutest wilderness sound; and
he decided that the rabbit, for all its bulk and apparent vigour of
limb, would not be a dangerous opponent. In fact, he thought of hopping
down from his perch and putting the big innocent to flight, just to
compensate himself for having had to flee from the fox.
But while he was meditating this venture, the rabbit went suddenly
leaping off at a tremendous pace, evidently in great alarm. A few
seconds later a slim little light-brownish creature, with short legs,
long, sinuous body, short, triangular head, and cruel eyes that glowed
like fire, came into view, following hard upon the rabbit's trail. It
was nothing like half the rabbit's size, but the interested watcher on
the branch overhead understood at once the rabbit's terror. He had never
seen a weasel before, but he knew that the sinuous little beast with the
eyes of death would be as dangerous almost as the fox. He noted that
here was another enemy to look out for--to be avoided, if possible, to
be fought with the utmost wariness if fighting should be forced upon
him.
Not long after the weasel had vanished, the cock grew tired of waiting,
and restless to renew the quest for the flock on which his dreams were
set. He started by flying from tree to tree, still keeping along the
course of the tote-road. But after he had covered perhaps a half-mile in
this laborious fashion, he gave it up and hopped down again into the
road. Here he went now with new caution, but with the same old arrogance
of eye and bearing. He went quickly, however, for the gloom of the
spruce wood had grown oppressive to him, and he wanted open fields and
the unrestricted sun.
He had not gone far when he caught sight of a curious-looking animal
advancing slowly down the path to meet him. It was nearly as big as the
rabbit, but low on the legs; and instead of leaping along, it crawled
with a certain heavy deliberation. Its colour was a dingy, greyish
black-and-white, and its short black head was crowned with what looked
like a heavy iron-grey pompadour brushed well back. The cock stood
still, eyeing its approach suspiciously. It did not look capable of any
very swift demonstration, but he was on his guard.
When it had come within three or four yards of him, he said
"_Kr-rr-rr-eee!_" sharply, just to see what it would do, at the same
time lowering his snaky head and ruffing out his neck feathers in
challenge. The stranger seemed then to notice him for the first time,
and instantly, to the cock's vast surprise, it enlarged itself to fully
twice its previous size. Its fur, which was now seen to be quills rather
than fur, stood up straight on end all over its head and body, and the
quills were two or three inches in length. At this amazing spectacle the
cock involuntarily backed away several paces. The stranger came straight
on, however, without hastening his deliberate steps one jot. The cock
waited, maintaining his attitude of challenge, till not more than three
or four feet separated him from the incomprehensible apparition. Then he
sprang lightly over it and turned in a flash, expecting the stranger to
turn also and again confront him. The stranger, however, did nothing of
the kind, but simply continued stolidly on his way, not even troubling
to look round. Such stolidity was more than the cock could understand,
having never encountered a porcupine before. He stared after it for
some moments. Then he crowed scornfully, turned about, and resumed his
lonely quest.
A little further on, to his great delight, he came out into a small
clearing with a log cabin in the centre of it. A house! It was
associated in his mind with an admiring, devoted flock of hens, and
rivals to be ignominiously routed, and harmless necessary humans whose
business it was to supply unlimited food. He rushed forward eagerly,
careless as to whether he should encounter love or war.
Alas, the cabin was deserted! Even to his inexperienced eye it was long
deserted. The door hung on one hinge, half open. The one small window
had no glass in it. Untrodden weeds grew among the rotting chips up to
and across the threshold. The roof--a rough affair of poles and
bark--sagged in the middle, just ready to fall in at the smallest
provocation. A red squirrel, his tail carried jauntily over his back,
sat on the topmost peak of it and shrilled high derision at the wanderer
as he approached.
The cock was acquainted with squirrels, and thought less than nothing of
them. Ignoring the loud chatter, he tip-toed around the cabin, dejected
but still inquisitive. Returning at length to the doorway, he peered in,
craning his neck and uttering a low _kr-rr_. Finally, with head held
high, he stalked in. The place was empty, save for a long bench with a
broken leg and a joint of rust-eaten stove-pipe. Along two of the walls
ran a double tier of bunks, in which the lumbermen had formerly slept.
The cock stalked all around the place, prying in every corner and
murmuring softly to himself. At last he flew up to the highest bunk,
perched upon the edge of it, flapped his wings, and crowed repeatedly,
as if announcing to the wilderness at large that he had taken
possession. This ceremony accomplished, he flew down again, stalked out
into the sunlight, and fell to scratching among the chips with an air of
assured possession. And all the while the red squirrel kept on hurling
shrill, unheeded abuse at him, resenting him as an intruder in the
wilds.