THE FIRST GOOD LUCK
One side of the cabin had a couple of rude but serviceable bunks built
in the wall. Here the boys arranged their blankets; and thus prepared to
put in their first night in camp with a roof over their heads.
They already saw where they would have numerous things to do in order to
feel comfortable when the snows of early winter struck them; but there
would be plenty of time for all that, as the days glided on.
After all, the night proved to be a quiet one, in spite of Tom's
expressed fear that the swinging body of the cat might attract others of
its species, who, gathering around, might think to hold a regular "wake"
over the remains.
In fact, neither of them heard anything from the time they lay down
until dawn came, and with it a desire for breakfast.
Feeling considerably refreshed, the two comrades set about accomplishing
some of the numerous duties that had been laid out for the day.
Breakfast disposed of, they started to fix up the interior of the dugout
shack, so as to make it seem more comfortable. Dozens of little things
needed to be done. The roof showed signs of wear in several places, and
had to be patched against the time when the cold winds would whistle and
moan around the corners the livelong night, trying to get a nip at their
toes and fingers.
During the morning, then, they were constantly busy, and before noon
came around the camp looked a thousand per cent more cheerful.
"Begins to seem like somebody lived here, eh?" remarked Tom, as he
looked about him with a satisfied air; he was rather "fussy" about how
he did things, never being content to have them just "passable;" the
best was none too good for him, Tom always declared; meaning that if
anything was worth doing at all, it was worth doing well.
Tom had taken off the skin of the wildcat which was making a den of the
dugout at the time of their arrival. This he had stretched in the proper
fashion, over a thin piece of board, many of which they found in a
corner of the place, having evidently served Old Sol for years in the
same way.
Strange to say, Tom, knowing the secrets of trappers had not cut the
skin underneath at all but turned it inside-out; this is called
"casing," and the skin is dried with the flesh side out. Besides
wildcat, a few other animals are also treated this way, notably 'possum,
muskrat, mink and otter. As for beaver, raccoon, marten, fox, lynx,
wolf, coyote and skunk, these may be slit underneath, and when stretched
on the board, the hair is allowed to be on the outer side.
They are never cured near a fire or in the sun; the shade, where the
wind can get at them being much more preferable, if "prime" or
first-class pelts are desired; and of course that is the aim of every
trapper.
Of course, one of the first things both boys had done on this morning
was to take a look for signs of the bear Tom had heard passing in the
night. The experienced Western lad had no difficulty in finding the
tracks, and he showed his chum how the animal, after standing at a
certain point, evidently sniffing in the direction of the smoke that
came from their chimney, had made an abrupt turn, and headed once more
for the neighboring defiles of the mountains, evidently not caring to
remain in the vicinity of man, whom his instinct told him must always be
the mortal enemy of his species.
"He was a bully big grizzly, too, all right, Felix!" announced Tom,
pointing to the tremendous size of the footprints, with the marks of
terrible claws showing; for a bear, like a dog, lacks the peculiar
ability of the cat tribe to draw back its claws entirely except when
needed.
Felix looked rather longingly toward the great rocky uplifts that seemed
so very close by, although he well knew it was quite likely to prove a
little undertaking, reaching any of the gulches and canyons that pierced
the massive barrier.
"Not today, but soon, I hope," he remarked, turning with a smile toward
Tom.
"That's right," remarked the other, "all in good time. We must first of
all manage the eating end; or before we know it we won't have any meat
in the cabin. Then we want to look up Old Sol's cache, where he's got
some of his traps hid away. I'd just like to set a few of the same, to
see if the luck holds good. And when, after a while, the spirit moves
us, why, we'll start out to get that grizzly you've been dreaming about
so long."
So Felix put the thought out of his head, and determined to abide his
time. As he so often said, when some companion tried to make undue
speed, "Rome wasn't built in a day," and the more haste the less speed
to the end.
"How about that cache?" asked Felix, along about the noon hour, as they
sat and rested up a bit after working faithfully all morning at many
tasks.
"That's a fact!" exclaimed Tom, jumping up again in a hurry; "I'd let
that slip my mind. And I'm a whole lot curious to know how the steel
contraptions have stood the three years that have gone by since Old Sol
was up here."
"Didn't you say he wanted you to try and lug the traps back, when we
started for home again?" inquired the other boy.
"He said he had an enduring affection for the traps, and that if we
could manage to carry a few, he'd think it just prime. I suppose an old
fellow does kind of get attached to anything he's handled so long.
P'raps some of the traps have histories, too. And since we expect to
make a sledge, and pull all our stuff over the snow to where we agreed
to meet Frazer on Christmas day, why, chances are, we can take the whole
caboodle out of the mountains. I know it would tickle the old man a lot,
and he's been mighty kind to me, let me tell you, Felix."
"Oh! we can do that easy enough," returned Felix, always ready to
oblige; "when we leave here there'll be plenty of snow; and with our
shoes we can make good time, picking out a day that's suited to the
work."
Tom went over to the lower bunk. Getting down on his hands and knees he
reached underneath, and presently drew forth what seemed to be a rudely
made box. This he had some difficulty in opening, and when the top was
finally pried off they found that the traps had been wrapped, each one,
in an old, poor quality skin, that seemed to be in a pretty good state
of preservation.
Of course Old Sol had expected to be up there again on the following
Fall, when he put his traps away like this; and never dreamed that three
years would slip by before the cache was opened. But he had carefully
greased them with bear's fat, and as a whole they were looking very
decent.
Altogether they made quite an assortment when Tom laid them out. The boy
handled them almost with reverence. He knew that, as he had said before,
each one must have a history. Many a story could they tell, if those
grim-looking jaws could only speak--stories of captured wild animals
galore, and of more than one fierce fight before the prisoner finally
gave up the ghost.
"Tomorrow, perhaps, we can get several of these placed," Tom remarked,
as, having hung the traps up from pegs in the wall, he started
preparations looking to having some warm lunch, for the day was quite
cold. "If I go out for a little turn this afternoon, as you said, why,
I'll keep my eyes about me for likely places. Sol, in his many stories
about his life up here, gave me more than a few hints about the favorite
places he had for certain animals. I rather guess this place must have
been his pet camp, and he used several in his day."
Felix was not quite recovered from his fatigue, and hence it had been
agreed between them that perhaps he would be wise to stay in camp, and
let Tom take the first look for meat.
Tom was as tough as a pine-knot. He had been used to roughing it all his
life, and hardly knew such a thing as getting real tired. Besides, as he
had known Old Sol personally, the chances were he would be able to find
a deer more quickly than his cousin might. With that rough chart to
guide him, and the stories of the old trapper still fresh in his mind,
Tom believed he had a pretty comprehensive idea concerning the lay of
the land, even before he had taken one step towards exploring the
vicinity.
"The woods ought to be good enough for me," he had said; "and I hope to
bring back a load of juicy venison; but if I don't strike up with my
deer, why, we'll just have to fall back on that piece of ham that's left
over."
"I hope not," remarked Felix, with a shrug; "I'm just tired of ham and
bacon for a steady diet, and ache to have a piece of venison between my
teeth. So here's wishing you the best luck ever, Tom, which is saying a
good word for myself, too."
When Tom shouldered his gun, and took one last look at the now cozy
interior of the cabin, he smiled back at his chum.
"Let me tell you, Felix," he remarked, "it looks good to me already; and
I just know we're going to have the best sort of time up here, if only
we manage to keep the wolf from the door."
"I'll do all I can to assist," laughingly responded Felix, little
dreaming how shortly circumstances, just then utterly unseen, would
bring these words of his companion forcibly before his mind.
"If you feel like it, Felix, you might be cutting up that big limb that
was torn off the tree in some storm; we can't have too big a pile of
fire wood, against the coming of winter, you know; and once we get a
string of traps to look after, the less time we have to spend in
chopping wood, the better."
And with these words, followed by a cheery wave of his chum's hand, Tom
strode off for his first side hunt. They really were in need of fresh
meat. Some five days had passed since leaving home, and with three to
feed part of the time, this had made a little hole in the stock of
provisions brought along with them.
Tom had done a great deal of hunting, and was familiar with most of the
tricks resorted to by those who are most successful in getting game. Of
course he took occasion to notice the direction of the wind before
leaving the cabin. It would be the height of folly to try and stalk a
deer with the breeze blowing his scent directly to the delicate nostrils
of his intended quarry, for the wary animal must detect his presence
long before he could hope to get within gunshot, and as a consequence
would be off "like a streak of greased lightning," as Tom himself put
it.
As he went along, the boy kept his eyes about him, observing numerous
things of a nature to interest a hunter and trapper. The sigh of the
wind through the tree-tops was sweetest music in the ears of Tom Tucker;
many a night had it lulled him to sleep when in the woods; or stealing
softly over the grassy prairie, where the cattle grazed, it had carried
with it the chirp of crickets and katydids and all the other familiar
sounds of a summer night on the range.
Never a leaf came floating to the ground near him but that his quick eye
sought it out instinctively. If some little squirrel rustled the leaves,
his ear was on the alert, even as his eager finger touched the trigger
of his gun, ready for a shot at a bounding black-tail deer.
So Tom went on for perhaps an hour.
He was not more than half a mile away from the camp at most, since he
had considered it good policy to make a half circle, covering as much
ground as possible in this, his first tramp.
So far he had seen nothing worth shooting at, though signs of deer had
caught his watchful eye numerous times; and he felt sure they used these
grounds for feeding purposes, as there were patches of green grass every
little while.
And then, all of a sudden, there was a loud rustle of the leaves that
sent a thrill through the young hunter. He saw a deer leap over a fallen
tree with all the ease in the world, and start to bound away, taking
great springs. Instinct rather than anything else caused Tom to throw
his rifle to his shoulder; and then he fired, just as the buck turned
slightly in order to avoid some obstruction, which Tom had already known
would make him veer.
With a crash the deer went down. Throwing another cartridge into the
firing chamber of his gun, Tom started full speed toward the spot, ready
to finish his quarry, if such a thing proved necessary; for he had known
deer to get up again, full of fight, after being thrown to the ground by
a shot.
But that first well-placed ball had accomplished its work. The buck was
dead by the time Tom reached the spot, pleased with his success, which
he looked upon as a splendid sign of future luck.
As the afternoon was well along, and he would have half a mile to "tote"
his burden, the boy lost no time in setting to work removing the skin of
the animal, and then cutting the deer up, so as to secure the choice
portions, including of course the two haunches.
Outside of the hams and perhaps the shoulders there is not a great deal
about a deer worth taking; so in due time Tom had packed all he wanted
in the hide, which he made up into a compact bundle, and threw over his
shoulder.
Thus loaded, and in a happy frame of mind, he started in the direction
of camp. Never once during his hour's tramp had Tom been compelled to
guess where the dugout lay. The woods were as an open book to him, so
accustomed was he to unconsciously noting many little things around
him--the moss on the trees; the way the forest monarchs inclined away
from the prevailing storms that came from the west in this region,
sweeping down the sides of the mountains; with these and many other
signs to tell him, a hunter can read locations as easily as you or I
might a printed page in a book.
Tom had been moving along a short time in this way when suddenly he
stopped to listen. The report of a gun had been borne to his ears, and
from the direction of the camp, though the breeze was not favorable for
carrying sounds.
"Hello!" he started to remark; when to his surprise a second shot
followed the first, and quickly came a third.
By this time Tom was excited. He fancied that this might be a signal
calling for help, as is well known among woodsmen, and cattle rustlers.
Thoughts of the rough characters said to be somewhere in this vicinity,
after being run out of Yellowstone Park by the soldiers guarding the
preserves, flashed into his mind.
And so Tom, hastily throwing his pack up over a limb, where it would be
safe for a while at least, and carefully noting the spot, so he could
find the meat again, started on a wild run for the location of Old Sol's
hideout.