THE WAY TO FISH FOR BULL FROGS
Here was a pretty how-dye-do; Dolph going innocently back to the
cranberry bog to pick up a dinner of frogs’ legs, and being chased by a
savage old bear!
Somebody did get a move on, as Dolph had pleaded for them to do;
everybody did, in fact; for Teddy dropped whatever he was doing,
snatched up a gun, and put out as fast as he could run; while Amos,
forgetting all about the chances of his fire going out just when it
needed the most attention, followed close in the footsteps of his camp
mate, also armed with a deadly weapon.
There was not the slightest difficulty in locating the scene of
operations. The continued whoops of Dolph did that all right for them.
All at once the yells ceased, as if by magic, and a fear gripped the
would-be rescuers that they were, alas, too late to be of help. Then
they heard what sounded like a hysterical laugh, followed by the
exclamation:
“Well, I’ll be hanged, if that ain’t a good one on me!”
That was Dolph’s well known voice; there could not be the slightest
doubt about it; and to judge from the fact of his actually uttering a
sort of laugh, it seemed as though Bruin could not have eaten him up,
as yet. Both gallant rescuers felt vastly encouraged, and emboldened to
push right on.
Breaking through a fringe of bushes they were just in time to catch
a last glimpse of a badly rattled black bear, putting for all he was
worth into the adjacent scrubbery, and never looking back once to
ascertain whether or not he was being pursued by the object that had so
thoroughly frightened him.
Dolph was standing there, panting heavily, and yet shaking all over at
the same time, either with nervousness, or an inclination to laugh at
his late scare, possibly both.
“He’s vamosed, has he?” queried Teddy, drily, though both he and Amos
were conscious of feeling a broad grin creeping over their respective
faces.
“Why, yes, seems like he has,” replied Dolph, heaving a deep sigh of
relief, “and I’m right glad of it. Honest to goodness, fellows, he
made straight at me, and had on his fighting face to boot. I thought
it was a she bear with cubs; and you know they’re always ready for a
scrap. That’s why I whooped it up like I did. I was a little bothered,
I admit; yes, considerably so, if you will have it. Because, you see, I
couldn’t very well stand off a ferocious bear with one little fishing
rod, could I? What if he’d grabbed that red ibis fly, was I to try
and play him? Not much. All I knew just then was that I had a very
important engagement in the next county. And while I was trying my
best to keep it, I thought it my duty to send you fellows warning, so
you wouldn’t be scared when he bobbed in on you. And I couldn’t seem
to make up my mind which tree I wanted to climb, either; not that it
mattered much, because black bears climb like monkeys. But anyway,
whatever do you think made him take after me like that?”
“Mebbe he thought you wanted to steal some of his pets, the frogs,”
suggested Amos, pleasantly.
“Rather say he wanted to give you a try in a wrestle; these black bears
have got a hug that will crack a man’s ribs, if you let ’em get the
right hold,” was what Teddy advanced as his theory, but with a twinkle
in his eye that plainly proclaimed that he was joking.
“Seriously, now, Teddy, what do you think made him chase after me so? I
hadn’t bothered him, thrown sticks at him, or even said ‘boo!’ when he
started straight toward me on the jump, making the queerest sounds you
ever heard.”
“Well, if you want my honest, unadulterated opinion,” said Teddy,
“here it is, I happen to know this same cranberry bog. It’s surrounded
on nearly every side by swampy ground, where you heard those big
frogs tuning their bass notes. In fact, right here is the only way of
reaching the bog dry-shod. A sort of natural causeway leads to it,
so to speak. Now, Mr. Bear knew that as well as I do. He had used
that same many a time in the past. When he saw you, he was scared,
and wanted to get away the worst kind. You happened to be blocking
his passage, and so he had to gallop toward you. He was grunting in
fright, that’s what caused him to make those queer sounds. Perhaps he
hoped to squeeze past you. But one thing sure, Dolph, while you had a
scare, that poor bear was the worse rattled of the two. Right now he is
congratulating himself on having got off with his life!”
“There might be another around, because bears often hunt in couples?”
suggested Dolph.
“Wouldn’t be surprised; and I reckon there goes all our hopes of frogs’
legs for dinner tonight,” remarked Teddy, dejectedly.
“Well, I guess not,” said the other, with a compression of his lips, “I
see you snatched up my gun in your hurry. Let me have it. I’ll keep it
handy, and then I don’t care a hang for all the old bears in Michigan.
Who’s afraid? Go back to your jobs, fellows, and many thanks for saving
my precious life.”
Laughing at his merry mood, Teddy and Amos did turn about, the latter
running back, for fear lest his newly-started fire might have suffered
during his short absence.
Dolph walked on into the cranberry marsh. He found that the ground was
fairly covered with the plants, and that an abundant crop of berries
seemed assured for the coming fall. Already in many instances they
were taking on a pinkish tinge, although they would hardly be fit for
picking before the first frost.
But a mere glance around was enough for Dolph just then. As he had
said, a cranberry bog was not a new sight to him, though this chanced
to be the first wild uncultivated one he had ever gazed upon.
Just now he had other fish to fry. Those big deep-toned bull-frogs had
opened up again, and were loudly accusing each other of having had
“more rum” than was good for them.
Dolph knew just how to go about it, and was presently having “more fun
than a circus,” as he called it. But evidently the frogs did not enjoy
the picnic so much as the fisherman; but then, whoever considers what
the feelings of the submerged half is, when in quest of food?
Discovering just where a monster was squatted on the bank, uttering
sounds like the lowing of a bull, Dolph would creep up behind him,
until he could glimpse his intended quarry. Then he would elevate his
stiff rod, and allow that flaming bunch of red feathers to descend in
front of the creature’s nose. There would be a start, the bull-frog
could be seen to half crouch down, after the manner of a sly cat, and
then he would jump up at the tempting lure, which, of course, the poor
silly thing believed to be the finest moth it had ever seen. After that
it was ludicrous in one way to see how badly he wanted to let go, and
couldn’t. But Dolph wasted no more time, and quickly put an end to the
acrobatic stunts of the hooked frog.
Then he would go on to the next serenader, whose song might prove just
as much a symbol of his approaching end as that which the swan is said
to give vent to, when death draws near.
So it went on, and the load Dolph was carrying kept on getting heavier;
while his visions of a treat in the way of frogs’ legs for supper kept
advancing with each new capture.
When Teddy blew the conch shell as a signal that lunch was ready, the
coffee having boiled sufficiently, on counting his prizes, Dolph found
that he had just fourteen, almost five apiece.
He came staggering into camp with his load, to be greeted with much
clapping of hands, and all sorts of suggestive gestures, which were
calculated to tell what pleasure the other two anticipated from the
results of his raid on the frog preserves guarded by that bear.
After they had eaten their noon meal, Dolph busied himself in preparing
the catch. Of course he lacked some of the dexterity of the man in the
French market, who can take off the saddles in such wonderfully fast
time; but then Dolph manipulated his hunting knife with good results,
and in the end the load to be carried had diminished considerably.
“Fourteen splendid saddles,” declared the pleased frog fisherman, as
he gazed down at his catch. “And we’ll have the finest dinner tonight
either of you ever set your teeth into; I give you my word on that.
Just wait, and get good and hungry. You can have your fill for once.”
“How do you cook the blooming things?” asked Teddy, looking a little
dubiously at the array of double hind-legs spread out, in what Dolph
considered a most tempting way. “You see, I never yet have tried one,
though Amos here says he has, many a time. But they do look kind of
nice and clean, just like chicken breast.”
“You’ll say they are like the most tender spring chicken you ever saw,”
remarked Dolph. “Of course, there is a suspicion of fish about them,
so you must remember that it’s frogs you’re having. How do I cook ’em?
Why, exactly like we do trout. Sizzle out some salt pork, and have
plenty of the grease, and piping hot. Then wet your frog legs, and roll
them in the cracker crumbs. If you haven’t any, corn meal would answer.
After that, just let them get as pretty a brown all over as you can;
and then start in for a grand time. That’s all. Just hold your horses,
and see. You’ll never hear an old granddaddy frog tuning up again,
without smacking your lips, and looking around for something to spear
him with.”
After a while the cruisers of the Upper Peninsula once more started up
the Manistique. The current was getting somewhat less strong now, and
hence they did not have to fight quite so hard in order to shove their
craft against it.
The time passed as usual. Now they indulged in an exchange of
pleasantries, with more or less laughter, that sprang from boyish
hearts not yet burdened with the cares and responsibilities of life.
Then again they would sing some popular ditty, all of them having fair
voices, that seemed to blend splendidly; for Teddy had a high tenor,
Amos a baritone, while Dolph could come in with a pretty fair article
of bass that added harmony to the whole, though he would never venture
it alone.
The sun was now more than half way down its regular afternoon route
toward the western horizon.
“We must be getting somewhere near there,” Dolph suggested, as he got
on his knees, to change the swing of his stroke, but more because he
felt dreadfully cramped sitting in one position so long.
“I was just thinking that way myself, and if I remember the lay of
things at all, we ought to glimpse the lake inside of the next ten
minutes. How about that, Amos?”
“I think the same way,” replied the woods boy, nodding his head, and
smiling.
“For one, then, I won’t be sorry,” declared Dolph, frankly. “My back’s
as humped as an old man’s seventy years old; and one of my legs has
gone to sleep so hard I’m afraid it never will wake up again.”
“Oh! well, then I suppose Amos and myself will have to cook those
frogs’ legs, and make way with the entire bunch, after all,” sighed
Teddy.
“Wow! don’t you believe it!” exclaimed Dolph. “Why, honest, I can feel
a quiver in my dead leg right away. I’m good for my share, and I’m
going to cook ’em too, just you make sure of that, my hearty.”
“There’s the lake!” cried Amos at that interesting juncture, and Dolph
was so excited by the news that he tried to stand up in the canoe,
spreading his feet so as to steady the frail craft, and came near
taking a header over the side, as one of his legs refused to bear his
weight; but all the same he managed to shout:
“It is, for a fact. Three cheers for a camp on Manistique Lake!”