IN POSSESSION OF THE DUGOUT
"Wow! would you hear that, now?" exclaimed Tom. "Pleasant sort of
welcome to a pair of tired, footsore pilgrims, I should say."
"By George! there's some sort of animal that thinks it owns the shebang,
and has made its den in the dugout!" remarked Felix, in a tone of
astonishment.
"Just what's happened," continued his chum, stepping back, rifle in
hand, in order to look around; "but what's bothering me, is to know how
the beast got in, when both door and window blind were closed tight.
Why, to be sure, it was the easiest thing going, to drop down that
chimney! Old Sol forgot to fix that against a smart bobcat!"
"A bobcat!" echoed Felix, "do you think that's all it was? Sounded to me
heavier than any cat's growl I ever heard. You must have whoppers up
here in Wyoming, when you find them at all, Tom."
"Why, what did you think it could be?" asked the other, quickly.
"My first idea was that it might turn out to be a panther," said Felix,
"or one of those bad fighters that they call Indian devils; but then,
you ought to be the best judge. No matter what it is, we want that
shack, don't we, Tom?"
"And we're going to have it, right away, Felix, as soon as we can
dislodge that critter. I was in hopes he'd crawl up out of the chimney,
and give us a crack at him; but it looks like he was too smart to try
such a dodge, with two handy guns waiting to bowl him over."
"Suppose I pound on the door, and give him notice that he'd better be
making his way out as fast as he can," proposed the taller lad.
"Let me do that, while you stand here, ready to give him a bullet the
instant his head shows above the top of the chimney; that's made of
slabs, you notice, and mud baked so hard that it's more like cement now.
The light ain't all it might be; but by stepping over here, you ought to
get him against that brighter background. All ready, are you, Felix?"
"Go ahead; and it's just like you, Tom, waiting to give me the first
chance at everything. Knock him up, and tell him to vamose the ranch,"
with which Felix raised his Marlin repeater to his shoulder, and stood
at attention.
With the butt of his rifle Tom gave several sharp pounds on the door of
the dugout cabin. In response, the hairy occupant simply growled some
more. Again did Tom tap his summons, and the growling continued.
"That's what I call real sassy," chuckled Tom. "He says he won't budge
an inch, if we have got a quit claim deed from Old Sol to this shack!
And he wants to know what we're going to do about it, either."
"I don't suppose it would be the right thing to do to open the door, and
rush the beast," remarked Felix. "They're a bad lot, and scratches from
their claws are apt to give a fellow blood poisoning, unless he's got
the stuff to counteract it. How are we going to dislodge that cat, Tom?"
"You watch my smoke," went on Tom, "and in this case that ain't just a
figure of speech, either, let me remark."
"Smoke! Oh! I'm on to your game, old fellow; and let me say it's the
best thing we could do. Want any help?" Felix remarked, deeply
interested.
"Not me," sang out the other, who had laid his gun aside, and seemed to
be looking around for certain dead twigs, and such things as would be
apt to take fire readily; "I'll get a little blaze started, and then
give this green weed a chance to smoulder. It'll put up the rankest
smell you ever did whiff, and when I toss the same in through the door,
take my word for it that cat will soon make a run up the chimney."
He busied himself for another minute, and then struck a match. As a
little fire started Tom stepped back and gathered an armful of a certain
weed that had not yet been killed by the frost. This he threw upon the
flame, when immediately a dark smoke began to rise. As Felix got a scent
of it he gave a snort.
"You're sure right, when you said that beat anything I ever ran up
against," he declared, vigorously; "whew! it must be the stink-weed of
the Indians. Nothing else could throw off that awful smell."
"Just what it is; and now take care, for I'm going to open the door a
little to toss the stuff inside," replied Tom.
"I see our finish, if that weed ever gets to smoking inside the dugout,"
sighed Felix, rather disconsolately, as he held his fingers to his nose,
and tried to deep his rifle in position at the same time.
"Oh! we'll soon chase that out with coffee and such things," returned
the cheerful Tom; "besides, you've got to stand lots of things when you
can't help it. Here goes, Felix. Now, Old Claws, will you be good?"
He gathered up the smouldering weeds, and opening the door with one
hand, suddenly tossed his burden within, slamming the barrier shut
again, and turning the bar. They plainly heard some heavy object come
with a crash against the door, as if the cat had sprung savagely, hoping
to land on its enemy, as it undoubtedly considered the one who was
bothering with its peaceful occupation of the apparently abandoned
shack.
Snatching up his gun, Tom sprang back to where he too could get a dim
view of the top of the short chimney, not more than ten feet away.
"You first, remember, Felix; I'm only going to break in if you fail to
get him," he said, hastily.
They plainly heard the cat jumping around within the place, as though it
resented the odor of smoke, and such smoke too! Felix certainly could
sympathize with the animal.
"He's coming!" warned Tom, suddenly.
A distinct scratching sound came to the ears of Felix. He understood
what must be the cause of this; the inmate of the dugout was about to
vacate. Defying all other arguments, the cat had to succumb to that of
smoke from the stink-weed.
Felix kept his eyes fixed on the top of that stumpy chimney, and his
gunstock was already fast against his shoulder.
"There," exclaimed Tom, as something pushed up into view, and the form
of a big bobcat was seen emerging.
It had just about all appeared in view, when the report of the Marlin
sounded sharply through the neighboring woods, where perhaps a gun had
not been fired for several years, so far as they knew.
"Back!" cried Tom, dragging at the arm of his comrade, as the monster
cat came whirling down toward them, in such a mixed-up mess that it was
impossible to say whether the animal were in its death throes, or making
a savage leap at its tormentors, though in either case it was the safe
policy to sheer off.
When the cat landed on the ground they both saw that it had received its
death wound, and hence there was no need of a second shot from either of
their guns.
"That settles him for good," remarked Tom, when, with a last spasmodic
movement, the savage looking beast stiffened out. "Nice to have such a
warm welcome, eh, when you get to your future snug home? Now to kick
that weed out of doors in a big hurry, Felix."
"Go slow," warned the other.
"What for? Do you think there might be another inside? Not much. If one
had to vacate, the other would have been on his heels. This was an old
hermit cat, without any family, I guess; and a buster, too. Here goes,
then."
With that he flung open the door. No growling greeted them, which was a
pretty good indication that the shack had yielded up its entire quota of
cats.
Tom jumped in and in a trice had tossed out the smouldering weeds; which
Felix trampled under foot, until they ceased to give out any smoke or
smell.
"Pretty rank in here, what with the cat and the weed; hard to tell which
is the worse," declared Tom; "but we'll remedy that right quick."
Both boys bustled about, getting wood for a fire; and Tom selected as
much fragrant burning fragments as his knowledge of the forest trees
allowed. They carried this into the dugout, the shutter of which had
been opened to admit of fresh air.
The big fireplace seemed to fairly yawn, and ask for a supply of fuel,
and in a very short time they had the fire going briskly.
First of all, they did everything possible to get rid of the awful
odors. The two big packs were brought inside and opened, so that the
coffee could be reached, and once Tom had sprinkled a few pinches of the
powdered grain on the hearth, and set a burning brand alongside, to
cause it to catch fire, a different scent filled the place.
"Is that any better?" he asked, laughingly.
"A thousand per cent," replied Felix. "But say, I'm as hungry as a bear;
and we can't get supper any too soon to suit me."
"Same here," chirped Tom; with which remark he started in to make
immediate preparations for the meal.
Expecting to depend for the most part on the game they would find, for
their subsistence while in the wilderness, they had carried only certain
things along, in the shape of bacon, salt pork, coffee, tea, some sugar,
flour, rice, hominy, and about a quart of onions for an occasional
relish. That, with their blankets, some extra clothes, and ammunition,
made up the heavy packs which the boys had been carrying on their backs
for three full days now--the snow-shoes counted for little, as they were
light weight.
While Tom made the coffee, Felix busied himself in cooking some of the
bacon. Until they had managed to knock over a deer, or supplied
themselves with meat in some other fashion, they must make a raid daily
on their scanty stock of food.
"But tomorrow we'll both get busy, and see what we can bag," remarked
Tom, when the other mentioned this depressing fact.
There were a few crackers left, as well as some cheese, upon which they
had subsisted at "noonings" on the way, not wishing to bother lighting a
fire, and spending time in cooking anything, when in such haste to get
located in their quarters.
Altogether they had a good satisfying meal, and Felix declared after it
was over that he felt many times better.
"I'm going to smoke one pipe, just to give a flavor to the old shack
where Sol burned many a pound of the weed in his day," remarked Tom,
settling back comfortably, with a block of wood to support him.
"And what's in the wind then?" asked his cousin.
"I might try my hand at taking our first pelt," chuckled the other.
"Oh! yes, to be sure, I'd about forgotten that he's got a fur worth
keeping. And Tom, every time we look at it, won't we just remember what
a welcome he gave us on our arrival. To be sure it was only in growls;
but then, that's the only language a poor old cat's got. But when you
say you mean to try your hand, you're only joking, because I wager you
took off many a pelt when out with Old Sol Ten Eyck."
"Of course, and I hope I haven't forgotten the lessons he taught me; for
there never was a better trapper known than Sol in his prime. He's
brought in the skins of every kind of animal in the country, from a
black fox, down to muskrat hides, when you couldn't hardly give these
last away. But nowadays, with the big demand for all kinds of furs, and
a shortening supply, the muskies are fetching a price that makes it pay
a fellow to gather them."
"That's what I understood from a big fur dealer," Felix went on to
remark. "What's going to happen when all the seals and foxes and mink
and otter are gone, nobody knows. He said that people would either have
to quit wearing any kind of furs; or else be satisfied with muskrat, or
something that never will be extinct."
"Look at the wolf, for instance," said Tom. "Time was, when it hardly
paid to skin one on the ranch, when we shot them. How is it now? Why,
they've found that those skins make the finest kinds of warm coats for
men driving in automobiles; and the consequence is the price keeps going
up right along. Mr. Wolf has a rough road ahead of him in the next ten
years. But nobody will cry if he's wiped out, because he's a bad lot,
and sure death to young calves in the herd."
Felix was not addicted to the smoking habit, which probably was a good
thing, as he lacked the robust figure of his western cousin. But Tom did
certainly seem to suck a great deal of consolation from that little pipe
of his, and the other boy had no objection to the fumes, indeed, the
fragrant odor of the tonca bean, which was mixed with Tom's tobacco
rather pleased his senses.
After he had finished that one pipe, Tom arose, and picking up his
knife, said he would step out to attend to the dead cat.
"If I can't get the right light, why, I might hang the old boy up from
the limb of a tree until morning," he said; "only that's likely to fetch
others of the breed yowling around tonight. But I'll see."
A full moon had arisen after sunset, and while the trees kept much of
her light from reaching the ground, still it was far from dark. Tom,
however, was particular with respect to how he took off any pelt, and
decided that it had better wait until morning. He stood outside there
quite a little while, until Felix came to the door to ascertain what he
was doing.
"Not taking time to bother with the hide tonight, then?" he asked, as he
discovered the dead cat swinging about six feet from the ground, having
been fastened there with a stout cord.
"Changed my mind, and concluded it would make a better job in daylight,"
answered the other. "But I was standing here, listening to something
that ought to make you feel happy."
"What was that?" asked Felix, his curiosity of course aroused.
"I heard a 'woof woof' over there that told me a bear was passing by,
and had got a whiff of human presence here," Tom went on to say,
chuckling in his usual way.
"And do you think it could be a grizzly?" demanded Felix, thrilled with
the very thought of such a thing.
"Oh! well, I never shot a grizzly, myself, and in fact only hunted for
the breed once; so my ear isn't educated enough to tell the difference
between the sounds made by a cinnamon, and his black cousin; but then, a
bear means game, one way or the other; and that suits us both. Besides,
bear steak ain't so _very_ bad, even if it is tough generally. We'll
look up that gentleman tomorrow, Felix, just as sure as anything."