FELIX TAKES HIS TURN
So another day found the campers under the shadow of the great Rockies.
They were up early, for it had been about nine o'clock when they turned
in on the preceding night; and there was plenty waiting to be done.
"Suppose you let the pelts go until later in the day, Tom," remarked
Felix as they ate breakfast at the rough table, which Old Sol had built
for his use when he used to spend so many months every winter up here,
in this favorite nook.
"What for?" asked the other, well knowing that Felix would never make
this odd proposition without having some good reason for it.
"Well," said his chum, slowly, "I'd like to go with you for a little
while, and see how you set the traps you think of putting out. Then,
later on in the day, perhaps after we've had a bite of lunch, I might
try a tramp in another quarter from where you went, just to see what the
country looks like."
"Just as you say," replied Tom, readily enough. "I didn't stop to think
that perhaps you'd like to see the operation. And I guess it's just as
well that you pick up some information about how to do the job; because
some days perhaps you'll want to run the line of traps yourself; and
then you'll have to know how to set them, as well as keep your scent
from staying around, and warning timid animals away."
In about half an hour they started forth, each carrying a few traps. Tom
had been cudgeling his brains to remember all that Old Sol had told him
about his favorite places for setting his mink traps. There was a little
ravine close by, through which a stream of water ran; and along the
banks of this the wary animals abound.
Perhaps Tom may not have gone about his task in exactly the same way an
experienced trapper would; for it takes years of work to learn all there
is to know in connection with the cunning little fur-bearing animals
that look on man as their most implacable foe, as indeed he has been
ever since the world began.
Some people have a knack for doing this sort of thing, while others
never seem able to learn anything about the game. Tom was one of the
former. He had spent enough time with Old Sol to learn a great many
points that were worth knowing. The rest could only come through
personal experience in the field.
These mink traps were set in front of certain openings in the banks
which, from the signs, were "used" by the mink in traveling about, a
peculiar habit they have of doing at certain times of the year.
Then a couple of fox traps were left at spots which Tom understood were
likely to bring about results. Great care had to be exercised in setting
these traps, so as to conceal the human scent, which would come to the
acute sense of smell of the sly fox, and completely baffle the designs
of the would-be trappers.
After that some muskrats traps were placed in a little marsh where the
rodents lived in great numbers. They are possibly the easiest animal to
trap there is; and as the price of their skins has been going steadily
up from next to nothing, until now they bring as high as sixty-five
cents apiece, it pays a trapper to devote his entire time to taking the
rats; which, truth to tell, are really no relation to the ordinary house
rats, but are called musquash by the Indians, and are really very tasty
as food.
It was when the boys were starting back to the dugout, after locating
the last of their muskrat traps in the marsh, that Tom made a discovery.
"Looky here!" he exclaimed, pointing to one side; "what's been going on,
d'ye suppose? Part of a deer, and it hasn't been killed more'n a week.
Why, the foxes haven't made way with it all. Queer those hungry wolves
didn't scent it; but then they don't eat carrion as a rule, like the
coyotes. They're daintier in their choice of food."
"Whatever do you suppose killed this deer?" asked Felix, as they turned
that way.
"We'll soon find out," replied his chum; "but the chances are ten to one
it was a bullet from a rifle."
He bent over to examine the few remains, and presently looked up with a
smile.
"What did I tell you, Felix?" he demanded, holding some small object
before his chum's eyes.
It was a bullet, somewhat flattened from having struck the heavier
bones, when it pierced the body of the deer.
"And only a week back, you say, Tom?" remarked Felix, a frown appearing
on his face. "Then some party has been around here a short time ago? I
had begun to believe we were going to have it all to ourselves; but I
suppose that would be too good luck. Any idea what sort of a man the
hunter was?"
"Injun," replied Tom, laconically, as he pointed to the mark of a
moccasin in the soft soil near by; and which Felix noticed "toed-in;"
for an Indian always walks that way; as Nature intended man should,
before he began to wear stiff boots, and started to use his feet the
wrong way, by "toeing-out."
"Whew! then all I hope is, that it turns out to be that good old
halfbreed we heard so much about, Charley Crow they call him, because
his other name is too much for a fellow's tongue. I wouldn't mind him so
much; and if he's starting to put in a season trapping in this
neighborhood, why, we might make friends with him, you know."
"As for me," declared Tom, with a disconsolate look on his sun-burned
face; "you know, I don't take much stock in any Injun or half-breed. I
only hope we have the good fortune not to run across this fellow, or any
of his kind, all the time we stick it out up here. But then I'm
prejudiced, I own up. Charley may be all they say about him. We'll let
it go at that. If he doesn't bother us, be sure I'll not go ten steps
out of my way to look him up."
All the same, it made them a little serious as they walked back to the
camp. If there were others hunting and trapping in that section, such a
thing always opened the door for all sorts of new troubles.
Supposing there should turn out to be a whole hunting party of Shoshones
or Flatfoot Indians off their reservation, and engaged in a grand hunt;
they would make things look pretty "sick," as Tom expressed it, around
there, in short order.
But then, fortunately perhaps, boys are not much given to forebodings;
and presently both Tom and his chum were feeling themselves again.
Doubtless the recollection of that deer would return to them more than a
few times to arouse these same doubts and speculations. And every time
Tom felt that smashed bit of lead in his pocket, he would allow himself
to indulge in guesses that could hardly lead to anywhere in particular.
It was now getting on toward noon, and Felix announced that he would not
bother making a start until some time afterwards. There was no need of
hurry, and inside of a couple of hours, he thought he ought to cover as
much ground as he wanted to get over for that time.
"I'd better be making a start with those wolf pelts," said Tom; "because
there's no telling what we may have on our hands by tomorrow, if only a
third of those nine traps bring us returns. Makes me think I'm out again
with Old Sol. How much I'd like to have him along, right now, he's such
a bully old chap; and with a lot of queer things to tell about his
experiences."
Although Felix did not bother to say so, truth to tell, he was entirely
satisfied with the way things ran just then; there could not be a better
comrade than Tom Tucker, and according to his mind, two was always a
better number than three.
He watched Tom get busy with one of the pelts, and affix it to the large
stretching board; after he had done considerable scraping, so as to get
the skin as free from flesh as possible.
"They're prime skins, and that's what," the worker declared. "And if
you'd shot this fellow on purpose so as not to injure his hide, you
couldn't have done better."
"That must be the one that was trying to butt in at the door when I
opened it just a mite," declared Felix. "I gave him his right down his
throat; for he had his mouth open, and I could see the rows of shining
white teeth; besides his red tongue hanging out."
"Of course that's it," remarked Tom. "I remember now that the others are
shot in the side, and both of them just back of the foreleg. Great work,
that, my boy; and when it comes to shooting I'll have to take a back
seat, I reckon."
"Lay it to the gun," chuckled Felix; "all you have to do is to stick
that shooting-iron out, and shut your eyes as you pull trigger. It does
all the rest."
"Yes, and goes out to retrieve your game besides," added Tom, with a
laugh. "The gun's all right, and I've used it enough to know what it can
do; but there's a whole lot in the fellow behind the gun, as they say in
the navy."
"By the way, Tom, you'd better tell me if you think there's any chance
of my getting lost in these same old woods. I don't know half as much as
you do about finding my way about; and I used to have the greatest
weakness for losing my bearings you ever saw, some time back. Yes, I
studied up all the known ways for telling the direction, if I lost my
compass and could point out north as well as the next fellow; but the
trouble with me was, I couldn't say whether camp meant north, south,
east or west, most of the time. Of course, here I'd have the mountains
to guide me; and besides, I've got a bully little compass somewhere
around; so I don't think I'll worry about it. And even if I did stray
off, it could only be for a night. After several stabs at it, I'd be
sure to arrive at the proper direction."
"I don't believe you would lose yourself around here if you tried,
Felix," asserted Tom, positively. "You're only saying that to josh me.
But I'm not going to let it bother me any. If you don't turn up, why,
I'll be on your trail in the morning." Tom said this jokingly, never
dreaming that he might have a chance to put his words into practice so
soon.
He, himself, had never been lost in all his life. Like the homing
pigeon, Tom seemed to have some sort of instinct that, under all
circumstances, allowed him to face toward home when he wanted to turn
that way. And he could not understand how anyone could make such
mountains out of mole-hills. Why, all they had to do was to use their
eyes, and what sense lay in their head, in order to figure out just how
to head to get back to their starting point.
And yet you could drop Felix down into the heart of a strange city, even
great London, and he would presently be able to find his way around, so
that in a week's time the streets would be as familiar to him as those
of his native town; while probably Tom Tucker would have to be escorted
to his hotel by the police every time he sauntered forth. He was used to
one thing, and Felix another.
When two hours had passed Tom, seeing that his companion had not made
any sign of going forth began to ask questions.
"Give up the idea of that little hunt for today, Felix?"
"Oh! no," was the reply, as the other got up and stretched himself, for
he had been busying himself with some small job that allowed of sitting.
"Better be moving, then, or you'll be caught by darkness away from camp;
and then you'll have to try bunking alone for once," suggested the
other.
"That's so," Felix went on, beginning to buckle on his ammunition belt,
and put a few things in the pockets of his coat, the sight of which made
Tom elevate his eyebrows.
"Don't mean to take any chances, eh?" he remarked.
"Oh! well, there's no telling, and you yourself always say its best to
be prepared. I expect to be back inside of two hours at the most,
however," and Felix picked up his gun, showing that he was now ready to
start.
"And I expect to have a lot of things done by the time you do come
back," remarked Tom. "If you're lucky enough to get your deer, perhaps
you'd better only bring home the saddle, and leave the rest for
tomorrow."
"You're saying that because you know I'm not built along the same husky
lines you are," declared Felix; "but lots of times these thin fellows
can show plenty of grit and carrying power. So-long, Tom."
"And Felix," called out the other, as an after thought, "if you happen
to run up against any of those fellows like Abe Cozzins and Perley
Kline,--you remember Frazer telling us about their stamp, don't
you?--better give 'em a wide berth. We know they're being looked for by
the Government men, and p'raps they know it too, so they may feel ugly
toward every one. If we were together I wouldn't think much of it; but
you haven't rubbed up against that sort of border scoundrel as much as I
have. Be careful, won't you?"
"I guess I will, Tom; and don't worry about me."
With that Felix was gone, his gun over his shoulder, and not a sign of
his recent weariness to be seen about his quick, springy step, Tom
noticed, with satisfaction.
The time passed rapidly to the boy who was so busy in camp. In fact, he
hardly noticed its passage, and when he heard a distant shot, soon
followed by a second, he was astonished to find that two hours had
really gone.
"That sounded as though he'd struck something worth while," Tom was
saying to himself, with a smile, once more turning his attention to
whatever it was at which he chanced to be working at the time. "But
unless he hurries in his work, it'll come on dark before he gets back.
At this time of year night just seems to be in the tallest kind of a
hurry to get a move on the daylight."
And indeed, as the dusk deepened, and he saw nothing of his chum, Tom
went to the open door many times, wondering whether after all Felix
might not have wandered so far afield that his own laughing prediction
was being fulfilled, and that in truth he was temporarily lost.
But Tom, having prepared supper for two, waited a long time before he
would sit down alone to eat his portion. As Felix was still absent the
Western boy began to feel more or less worried. He had thought there
could be little or no danger in those woods at the base of the Rockies;
but now, with the absence of his chum, he began to see all sorts of evil
things that might have come upon Felix, rather unused to these vast
ranges of wilderness, so different from those he was accustomed to
roaming in the Far East.
Later grew the hour, and Tom realized that the matter was getting a bit
serious. He even went out, and fired his gun three times in rapid
succession; and then listened eagerly; but there was no air stirring to
carry sounds, and only the melancholy hooting of an owl up among the
cliffs far away answered him.